Jamaican Reggae Fruit Bun Isn't the Bob Marley of Desserts
A mountain of dry, dry bread.
Photos by Eric Barton
When faced with random items in the ethnic aisle of Publix, I usually fall back on the messages scrolled on the packages. Reggae Country Style Brand Fruit Bun didn't promise much. "Ready to Eat" it exclaimed. And "Contains Real Fruit." Beyond that, it wasn't making many promises about quality or taste, and perhaps there's a reason for that humility.
Things started well with the Fruit Bun. The open package wafted nutmeg and cinnamon. The gingerbread-colored roll looked glazed and sweet, with bits of dried fruit hidden just
below the surface.
Then came the tugging match to get the thing
open. Thumbs pressed. Fingers dug into the sides. The Fruit Bun didn't
want to give. Finally it split down the middle, and that promise of
fruit and spices seemed less welcoming. Because inside was a mountain of
This may not live up to the "Ready to Eat" promise.
The Fruit Bun gave in to teeth easier than it
tore. The texture was like a kitchen sponge filled with Silly Glue,
hard and airy, dry and cakey. Fruit? Cinnamon? It didn't matter with a
mouth-parching texture like this.
How to salvage the Fruit Bun?
Perhaps a slathering of butter or a dip into rum sauce would help. But
then, this thing promised that it was "Ready to Eat," not in need of
Ready for your slapshot.
Who should eat it? Anyone who's always wondered how it'd be to eat a cinnamon-flavored hockey puck.
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