The great rivalries of our time: Ali vs. Frazier, Zeus vs. Hades, Twitter vs. Facebook — are all overshadowed by the greatest one of all: Laffy Taffy vs. Airheads.
Laffy Taffy is a beloved treat and Wonka candies of all kinds have a childlike charm to them.
It is a good thing the jokes on the wrapper aren’t funny, since an ill-timed laugh with candy in one’s mouth can make the punchline a slow-choking death. The candy itself is OK. The flavor is rich, yet lacking in tanginess.
The weirdest part about taffy in general is the oily skin it develops during the chewing. It leaves a faint, milky film on the tongue when it is finally swallowed.
The film leaves the consumer with a long aftertaste. It takes a barnacle scraper to cleanse the palate afterward. Succinctly speaking, Laffy Taffys are good. But they are no Airheads.
The special thing about Airheads can be reduced to one word: consistency.
When an Airhead hits a person’s tongue, it is rigid as if it were made of plastic, yet one can detect a subtle sweetness. Upon the first chew, the sweetness explodes.
Four or five chews later, the plastic-esque object is gone and replaced by a bizarre and wonderful lump of dough.
The dough is very resilient and chewy, and filled with grains of sugary delight. I imagine that if one ate clay in heaven, it would taste like an Airhead.
As one chews, the grains dance and tickle their way across the tongue, then disappear. Where they go, nobody knows. Unlike chewing gum, the grains dissolve as soon as the candy dissolves, making for a satisfying “tying all loose ends” ending.
No other candy is quite as fun to eat. Airheads obliterate the most hardcore candy junkie’s sweet tooth.
The only problem I find is the name; the word Airhead has never made anyone’s mouth water. It’s like naming a candy “Fruity Fuselages”.
Regardless, Airheads win by a landslide.
Rating: Airheads: A, Laffy Taffy: C