Fishy Delights 52: Richfield Farms Ready-to-Serve Clam Chowder

I spent most of last week along the southern Maine coast, doing things like visiting lighthouses, walking the beaches, and gawking at the gorgeous New England autumn foliage (seriously, those of you who don't live here should put "Second Week Of October In New England" on your bucket list.) One of the things Maryanne and I always do on visits to Maine is hit up Marden's, a regional chain of discount/job lot/cultch stores. We generally go to the Biddeford store on US 1.

And it was here that I found a few cans of Richfield Farms Ready to Serve Savory Selections Clam Chowder, Healthy Chunky New England Style. (Look at all that text. Who designed this label, Leo Tolstoy?)

Clam chowder - even canned - is one of my favorite lunches. In addition, I try to keep track of what chowders are good and which are crap. In my Comprehensive Guide to Canned Clam Chowder, I've reviewed and rated nearly every available clam chowder I could find. Discovering Richfield Farms chowder in Marden's reminded me that the guide is still a work in progress.

So how is it?  Pretty good, I'd say.  The color and consistency is pretty much what you'd expect of a New England-style chowder, although the texture is a little on the "slippery" side. I was surprised to see visible bits of herbs in the broth - mostly, though, it seems to be finely minced parsley with enough thyme to give the chowder a vaguely aromatic aftertaste. I was also a little unsettled by these weird little white floaty bits that just would not stir into the chowder. I think that might have been some kind of starch or fat or something. The floaters persisted even after microwaving and the chowder didn't have an off taste. Despite how it looked, it definitely wasn't mold and probably wasn't a bacterial colony either (I ate it at the beginning of the week and I'm still alive.) 

There were big chunks of nice, waxy potatoes and plenty of clam bits of varying sizes. Overall flavor was pretty good - clammy and a bit herbal, but a little tinny. Like most canned chowders, it was improved with a good dose of black pepper.

I would love to give Richfield Farms a 7/10 but them floaty bits, yo. Gotta knock it down a tad to a 6+/10.

To see how this chowder stacks up against other canned chowders, you can click here to go to the Richfield entry in the Comprehensive Guide.

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Out of the Can: Grandma Brown's Baked Beans

Presenting Grandma Brown's Home Baked Beans. That old-timey can with the retro design sure looks innocent enough.

But Grandma Brown's beans slide from the can in a more or less solid mass.

Personally, I am not a fan of Grandma Brown's Home Baked Beans. They're pasty and dense and taste much more like refritos than baked beans to me.

This has got to be a regional thing. Grandma Brown's beans are canned in Mexico, NY, which is north of Syracuse. I know a number of people in upstate NY who love them, but I grew up with the New England style of baked beans, with their looser, saucier consistency and contrasting notes of salty and sweet. (You can find my recipe here.) 

Fishy Delights 51: Look's Atlantic Premium Smoked Sardine Fillets

Man, I loves me some canned sardines, as you can probably tell by looking at how many different brands I've reviewed over the years. I often take a can to work for lunch - they're easy to eat, wicked good for you, and they have a side benefit of making my office smell fishy until the trash is emptied (I derive amusement from the annoyance of the next shift.)

These smoked sardine fillets are a bit of a departure for me, since I usually go for the smaller cans of "whole" fish. And, as you might expect, not only the flavor but the texture of these little morsels are very different than whole canned sardines.

I've had many smoked sardines before. It's very common for a label to note that the fish are "lightly smoked." Sometimes - as with the Galleon brand sardines I recently reviewed - the smoke flavor is of the utmost subtlety, almost a whisper. Other times the smoke flavor is more distinct, though still gentle. Not, however, with these fillets. The smoke flavor is strong and assertive (though not as strong as with, say, Blind Robin smoked herring,) and the fish tends to fall apart and be a bit on the dry side. I think that this is because the fish are simply packed in the cans with a bit of salt - no added water or oil - and the resulting liquid in the can is released from the fishies when they cook during processing.

Like all the sardines I eat, I enjoyed these just the way they were, straight out of the can. But if you were to flake the fish with a fork and mix it well with some cream cheese and some finely chopped capers, and then season it with a bit of salt, some good hot Hungarian or Spanish paprika, and just the slightest dash of allspice, you'd have a pretty damn good cracker spread.

In New England, you can usually find Look's products at Ocean State Job Lot stores.

Out of The Can: Hormel Black Label Canned Ham

Dat Ham

Canned hams have a terrible reputation, and if you've ever had a bite of a really cheap and nasty slice of canned ham, you'd feel that the reputation is actually too kind. I know because I've had some totally unpleasant canned hams.

And now, you're looking at that picture above or a Hormel Black Label canned ham and thinking to yourself, "What a nasty-looking chunk of pink meat." You might even be inspired to try vegetarianism, thanks to that photo.

Well, I have got news for you, my friend. Hormel's Black Label canned ham is surprisingly good - I might even say very good. I prepared it just as described on the label and although it still wasn't much to look at when it came out of the oven, it sliced beautifully. If you've ever had a really expensive deli ham - say, a Boar's Head or Krakus ham - you'll know what to expect from the Black Label. It was firm and delicious, and quite similar to a traditional cured pig laig.

Kudos, then, to Hormel. Finally, I get to review a canned meat that is worthy enough to be actually eaten rather than enter long-term storage in a bomb/zombie apocalypse shelter as a survival food of last resort. We had the ham with peas and scalloped potatoes and it was a great family meal.

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Review: Dominique's Snapper Turtle Soup

My only previous experience with turtle soup was the poem in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland:

Beautiful Soup, so rich and green, 
Waiting in a hot tureen! 
Who for such dainties would not stoop? 
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup! 
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

So, you can see that I'm totally unqualified to review this stuff in comparison to any other canned or homemade turtle soup (not that that's ever stopped me from reviewing anything else I've found on a grocery store shelf.)

Anyway, as a total Snapper Turtle Soup N00b, I had no idea what to expect. I read the ingredient panel and found stuff like beef stock, celery, carrots, wine, and snapper turtle meat and figured it couldn't be all that bad. So I gambled a couple of bucks and bought a can to give it a try.

Dominique's Snapper Turtle Soup is condensed, so it requires the addition of one can-measure of water before heating. I opened up the can and poured the soup out into a saucepan to find a thick, gelatinous glob the consistency of slightly warming Jell-O, which dropped into the pan with a wet slap. I added the canful of water and stirred with little effect - the brown glue just didn't want to combine with the water. Eventually, I was able to stir it together and put it over the fire. I heated and stirred, but the soup never thinned out. (I've found out since then that snapper turtle soup is supposed to be thick like a gravy, so I guess that's the way it was actually intended to be.)

Mon dieu.

With the soup heated up and ready to eat, I sat down to try it out. It was, in a word, disgusting.

It was thicker than gravy, brown and viscous, swimming with tiny bits of what were probably vegetables, and small squares of spongy, flavorless meat which I think was supposed to be turtle. The flavor was sickening - slightly sour, as though they used the cheapest industrial-cleaning-fluid-grade wine they could find. It took a concerted effort to eat more than the first couple spoonfuls, but it didn't take me long to just give up.

Personally, I would never buy this again. And if this is an example of what snapper turtle soup is like, I'd never order it out, either.

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Out of the Can: Senora Verde's Beef Tamales

The pale- and incredibly foul-looking cylinders of evil pictured above are the contents of a can of Senora Verde Beef Tamales,  directly as emptied onto a paper plate. Some of them retained their paper sleeves as the can was tipped, others slipped from them like vile giant larvae shedding their outgrown skin. They were supposedly packed in "sauce," but that proved to be merely a watery tomato-flavored bile with a thick film of bright red grease floating on top. The "sauce" was easily disposed of, but globs of the grease stuck sort of randomly to everything else (including the plate, my fingers, and the walls of the microwave when I heated up this mess at work.)

Fast and cheap beef tamales don't have to be bad. I've picked up packages of them at the dollar store that were pretty decent. But these...things...were hideous.

Despite the illustration on the label showing a thick meaty center surrounded by a layer of corn, the tamales that actually writhed from the can were much more heavily maize-based. It was difficult to tell exactly where the cornmeal stopped and the meat began, but it was immediately apparent when I cut through the center of one that the beef filling was little more than a thin line running down the middle of each flaccid cornwobble. 

Sometimes I get a product that looks terrible, but then redeems itself with an enjoyable flavor. Not so with these tamales. Eating them only made the experience worse. The texture was disgusting - slippery and about as resilient as melty gelatine - and the greasy globs that clung to everything gave a tallowy coating to the roof of my mouth. The tallow carried through in the flavor, but there were also backnotes of rancid corn and slightly "off" canner-grade beef with the overall sourness of tomato sauce that has just started to go bad.  I managed to eat two or three bites before tipping the whole pile of shit into the bin, which is two or three bites more than anyone should ever have to eat of these goddamn yellow turds.

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Out of the Can: Caravelle Brand Canned Jack Mackerel (Fishy Delights 48)

The label on the can show a delightful slice of pink-fleshed fish steak, tastefully presented on a plate surrounded by parsely. Of course that's not what is actually inside.

Caravelle canned Jack Mackerel is pretty unexceptional stuff, as you would likely expect from such a basic bony fish. Somewhat coarse in texture, it's even more strong-tasting than the cheapest sardines, and each cut features a thick backbone (which is rendered soft by cooking.)

I don't actually buy this product for myself; I use it to supplement my dog Zim's supper. As he's gotten older, he's started to develop some arthritis in his hips. His vet has me putting fish oil and glucosamine caps daily in his food, and I add a chunk of mackerel to it both to hide the taste of the pills and give him the added benefit of the natural Omega-3s that are found in the fish.

Review: Bove's All Natural Roasted Tomato Pasta Sauce

Although my favorite pasta sauce is the stuff I make from scratch at home, I don't always have the time or ambition to make a pot of tomato sauce - especially in the summer, when my kitchen is hot enough without a big pot simmering on the stove.  

So, I do what millions of other people do: I buy prepared pasta sauce in jars at the supermarket. Over the years, I've discovered that there are a lot of bad sauces, a bunch of good sauces, and a few that are really excellent.

Allow me to introduce you to one of the excellent ones: Bove's All Natural Roasted Tomato Pasta Sauce. Discovering a sauce like Bove's makes me really happy - not only did I find a really high-quality product, but it's made right here in New England (in Vermont, to be specific) and as you might know by now, I'm a big fan of New England-made stuff.

Anyway, the Roasted Tomato sauce is awesome. Officially, the ingredients are fire-roasted plum tomatoes, fresh garlic and onions, and spices. Unofficially, I'm pretty sure the ingredients also include Win and Rad. The roasted tomatoes contribute to a deep and rich flavor that is second only to homemade. I used Bove's Roasted Tomato sauce in a lasagna on Sunday, and it was one of the best lasagnas I've ever made. The sauce held its own against the pasta and cheeses and didn't get "lost" among the cheeses and sheets of lasagna noodles.

I'm actively looking for Bove's in local supermarkets now. I bought the jars of Roasted Tomato at my local job lot store, and the other varieties weren't available. If I have to, I'll look for it on Amazon, but I really prefer to give my hard-earned paycheck to local groceries than to any online guys I've never met.

I totally recommend this stuff, without hesitation. 

More about Bove's

Bove's Cafe is a three-generations-old restaurant in Burlington VT. They started out being locally famous for their Italian food and in the past few years have become more widely known after being "discovered" by Food Network. They bottle a fairly big line of tomato sauces; besides the Roasted Tomato variety, there is also Marinara, Three Cheese & Tomato, Mushroom & Wine, Roasted Garlic, Basil, and Vodka.

Out of the Can: B&M Brown Bread

This is Boston Brown Bread. It's made commercially by B&M (the baked bean people) and in New England, you can often find it in the supermarket right alongside the baked beans. Although it looks vaguely turd-like, it's quite delicious, and makes an excellent accompaniment to baked beans. It's made with flour, cornmeal, and molasses and it has a fairly dense texture, more cake-like than bready.

The best way to serve it is heated (either in the microwave or the oven), then sliced, spread with butter, and put on the plate right next to a big scoop of beans & weenies as shown at left. When I was a kid, my mother rarely served baked beans without B&M Brown Bread alongside. And I am happy to report that it is one of the very few food products from my childhood that still tastes exactly the same today as it did forty-some-odd years ago. (Yes. Holy shit. I really am that old.)

I've always taken for granted that B&M Brown Bread is available in the stores, though I know that it's probably one of those New England things that can be hard to find once you get out of the Northeast (kind of like Bell's Poultry Seasoning.)  But if you're really interested in trying it, you could make your own with Alton Brown's recipe from Food Network.

Comfort Creek Canned Gravy & Roast Beef

If there is one thing I've learned from buying oddball food products in dollar stores and ethnic markets, it is this: Canned beef is generally pretty nasty. It's often tricked out with fillers and glutamates, and the associated "gravy" is usually tastes artificial and tinny.

And so, my expectations were pretty low (as usual) when I bought a can of Comfort Creek Foods Gravy and Roast Beef at Dollar Tree. For one thing, I knew there'd be more gravy in the can than beef - not only was it right there on the label, but the can sloshed a little when I gently shook it.

Lynnafred mocked me when I brought it home. "It's in a dog food can," she said, "You and your damned food shenanigans."

I opened the can carefully so it wouldn't slosh, and found what looked like a can of nothing but gravy (since the level of the liquid was far above that of the meat.) And I have to admit, the first sniff was not promising: it smelled rather cheap and pet-foody.

But I dumped it out on a plate anyway and found chunks of real beef which did not seem to have been stretched with TVP or other weirdness. I heated it up in the microwave and gave it a taste, and...

...found that it was actually pretty good.

The beef was tender and tasted just like homemade pot roast, although a little more dry and a bit crumbly. And the gravy was flavorful - beefy, well-seasoned, and not too salty.

I heated up some leftover mashed potatoes, made a well in the center of them, poured in the gravy and beef and had a really good lunch. 

Potted Meat Is Nastier Than You Can Imagine

Of all the cheap canned pseudo-foods out there, the one that undoubtably resides on the very lowest rung of the ladder is Potted Meat (which was once upon a time called "Potted Meat Food Product.") I remember having bought it once long ago and being severely underwhelmed. 

Most of the time when I find Potted Meat, it's either Libby or Armour brand, and stocked on the shelves next to the Vienna Sausage. But at Dollar Tree, the Potted Meat has it's very own shelf, and different brands are sold side by side.

And that's how I found Brunswick Potted Meat With Crackers. How cool! It's just like having an entire lunch in one convenient package! Because the Brunswick kit came with Bryan Potted Meat, a brand I had never tried before, I also picked up a can of Armour Potted Meat so i could do a side by side comparison.

After I got the stuff home, though, I discovered that I really didn't need to compare these side by side. I noticed the USDA inspection seals - Both of them were made at Establishment P-4247. That's Pinnacle Foods, owner of the Armour brand as well as others like Hartford House and Hungry Man. Apparently, their plant is also making Potted Meat for sale under other labels...such as Bryan.  

The primary ingredients of Potted Meat these days are mechanically separated chicken, beef tripe, and salt. There are traces of seasonings and spices as well. "Mechanically separated chicken" is a meat product which celebrates the triumph of technology over nature. Chicken carcasses and bones which are left over from normal processing are forced through a sieve under high pressure, removing every last bit of meat from them. This makes the final product very finely ground and paste-like. 

The Brunswick lunch pack comes with a small Mylar packet containing five nondescript round crackers, a tiny plastic spoon/spreader for the Potted Meat, and the can of Bryan Potted Meat. There are a couple problems with this setup. First, five crackers are a totally stingy portion. Even with the Potted Meat heaped generously upon them, I still ran out of crackers long before running out of Potted Meat. And trust me, having enough crackers is critical to the enjoyment of this product. The texture of the Potted Meat is pretty horrendous. It's a slippery paste with a slightly granular feel (thanks to the tripe) with nothing to sink your teeth into. Putting it on a crispy cracker gives it a more pleasing texture along with a satisfying crunch. And when the crackers run out, it's a lot harder to be enthusiastic about eating a can of salty meat paste.

As for the flavor - well, if you've ever eaten a Vienna Sausage or some cheap bologna, you kind of know what Potted Meat tastes like. But not really because the flavor of the beef tripe really does stand out against the bland "white slime" chicken. And above all else, there's the salt: the choking, throat-parching salt - enough, it seems, to cause cardiac arrest.

Clearly, Potted Meat is virtually inedible on its own. And yet, there has to be a market for it - Armour wouldn't be producing so many cans of it if no one were buying the stuff.  Perhaps people are creating some of the various snackular dishes that Armour suggests on their website. Things like:

Tangy Spread  

2 3-oz cans ARMOUR® STAR POTTED MEAT
1 tablespoon prepared horseradish
1 tablespoon prepared mustard
1 8-oz pkg cream cheese, softened
Bread or assorted crackers 

Combine all ingredients, except bread or crackers; chill thoroughly. Serve on bread or crackers.

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Party Pleasers 

1 3-oz. can ARMOUR® STAR POTTED MEAT
1 cup Cheddar cheese, shredded
1/2 cup margarine, softened
1/4 cup onion, diced
12 slices French Bread 

Combine first 4 ingredients, mix well. Spread mixture on bread slices. Broil 5-10 minutes, or until brown.

For more recipes, you can click here to go to Armour's website and follow their links to the recipes if you dare.

Sweet Sue Canned Whole Chicken

I've had Sweet Sue Canned Whole Chicken on my Grail List since I first learned of its existence several years ago. The sheer bizarreness of a canned whole chicken drew me to it like a moth to a flame. Alas, however, Sweet Sue products have severely limited availability in my area - I might occasionally find their Chicken and Dumplings or tins of chicken breast, but that's it.

However, thanks to the generosity of an anonymous reader who lives in Sweet Sue Land, I recently received the elusive Sweet Sue Canned Whole Chicken.  It immediately went into the fridge, can and all, because the instructions on the label advise that it should be chilled before removing (makes sense - cooked meat is always easier to handle chilled.)

This photo, taken by Tracy O'Connor and first published on her awesome blog, I Hate My Message Board, is what I was expecting to find when I opened the can: a whole (albeit small) cooked chicken, goopy with the broth created during processing. Kind of looks like it just came out of one of the egg pods in Alien, doesn't it?

But when I opened the can, what slid out was even more horrifying.

This is what actually came out.

I poked through the shredded, gooey poultry meat and discovered that there was indeed most of the components of a whole chicken in there. There was skin, lots of bones, and plenty of chunks and fibers that I'm pretty sure once comprised a chicken. The only readily identifiable bits were the legs and the breast; all the rest of the bird had been pulverized.

Needless to say, I didn't bother to follow the rest of the cooking instructions (which told me to put the chicken in a pan in a hot oven and bake for 10 to 15 minutes, basting frequently with the delicious broth.)  I spent some time picking out as many of the bones as I could find, then heated up the whole mess in a Dutch oven and made chicken and dumplings with it.

The flavor was okay. It had the kind of tinny flavor and strange mouthfeel of cheap canned chicken soup, and it was somewhat on the salty side, but the taste was recognizable as chicken when all was said and done.

So, I'm ticking this one off the Grail List, with no regrets - and no desire for a repeat.

Out Of The Can: Bacon Grill Luncheon Loaf

Bacon Grill Luncheon Loaf is a dollar-store SPAM knockoff that is perhaps the worst-tasting homogeneous tinned meat product that I have ever tasted. The photo doesn't really do it justice, because it fails to show its true, vividly pink color/ Popped out of the can as shown, it looks very much like it was made of melted pink crayon topped with transparent Jell-O.

Sliced and fried, it developed a nicely browned crust which is probably the best thing I'm going to say about it. The texture was spongy and unpleasant, and it tasted like the cheapest, most filler-laden bologna you can imagine.

Really horrible. I might eat it again if I were starving. No, literally starving, not just "wicked hungry" starving.

Out Of The Can: Brookdale Corned Beef Hash (ALDI)

Today's Out of the Can feature is Brookdale Corned Beef Hash, sold by ALDI. Bearing in mind that ALDI is a no-frills, low-price sort of supermarket, I was expecting this hash to be a hilarious cylinder of fat and lurid pink mystery meat, much like the cheap house brand hash that provided me with so many lulz in April 2010.

But no - Like so many other ALDI branded products, Brookdale Corned Beef Hash is pretty awesome. Very little fat cooks out of it in the skillet. The meat and potatoes are both decent quality, and the flavor is good without being overly salty.

A quick check of the USDA Establishment Number printed on the can reveals that the hash is actually made by Hormel, then labeled for distribution and sale by ALDI (regardless of how secretive ALDI is about the source of their private brand stuff, this is something they cannot hide on anything containing any kind of meat - federal regulations require that the processors of meat products be revealed on the package.)

I like canned corned beef hash - 'ash an' heggs is a favorite Sunday morning breakfast for us, especially as the weather gets colder. I've gotten used to tipping the pan and spooning out a quarter of a cup of fat as the hash cooked, so it was a mighty pleasant surprise to find that Brookdale hash doesn't pour off a load of grease as it heats up.  And what makes it even better is the price (I'm pretty sure I paid less than $1.50 a can for it.)

Recommended with no qualms.

Fishy Delights 44: Roland Mussels a la Nicoise & Mussels In Tomato Sauce

Roland Mussels a la Nicoise and Mussels in Tomato Sauce.  I turned the jars over in my hands at Ocean State Job Lot, peering through the glass at the shucked and prepared mussels inside, trying to make up my mind whether or not to put them in my shopping cart.  On the one hand, they were by Roland, a company I have come to trust through long experience with their truly excellent (and generally low-cost) products. On the other hand, they were mussels, which are delicious but somewhat delicate, and my prior encounters with canned mussels have been less than ideal.  In the end, curiosity won out. Of course.

Mussels a la Nicoise was more of a mussel salad. Tiny tender mussels, pickled in a vinegar brine along with small bits of cucumber, onion, celery, and red pepper. The vinegar was a bit overpowering but I have to admit the mussels were rather awesome - nicely prepared and not at all similar to the nasty tinned smoked mussels I've had in the past, which taste and feel like little lumps of smoked clay. These would be quite worthy served as one portion of a relish plate.

The Mussels in Tomato Sauce are equally well-prepared and tender but I thought they were somewhat less successful. I guess I was just not expecting the tomato-sauced variety to be pickled (though I have to admit the flavors of the vinegary brine and the thin but very tomatoey sauce blended nicely.) As with the mussels a la Nicoise, I wouldn't hesitate to put them out on a relish plate. I think I would dress them up with some horseradish, though.

Available at some Ocean State Job Lot stores in southern New England while supplies last.

Seasoned Lima Beans

When I was a kid, I hated lima beans. I had only ever had them out of a can, and they were always horrible: starchy, squishy, with a skin that would pop off and gag me when I was trying desperately to choke them down, and to top it all off they tasted as metallic as the can they were packed in.  Truly, I can totally understand why someone would say they hate lima beans.

These days, I like lima beans just fine as long as they are either fresh or frozen and cooked so that they haven't been rendered by overcooking into something the consistency of a grasshopper's gutbag.  But I still loathe canned lima beans.

When I saw a can of Margaret Holmes Seasoned Medium Green Lima Beans at Big Lots I inexplicably decided to give them a try.  Maybe it was the awkwardly-worded label. "Medium Green Lima Beans." Did that mean they were medium-sized lima beans which were green in color? Or maybe it meant that they were colored "medium green?" I seem to remember my dad having a Country Squire station wagon with wood grain sides which came from the factory a pretty horrible shade of "medium green" (Ford called it "Lime Gold." Whatever.)

Anyway, I checked the ingredients on the can and it looked kind of promising: onions, spices, salt, a little sugar, some smoke flavoring, some chicken fat...  Chicken fat? Really?  Okay, I was on board.

So this is your fair warning:  If you already hate canned lima beans, don't bother with these. They're still starchy, squishy, and the skins pop off when you're chewing (though I'm a lot better at controlling my gag reflex than I was when I was five years old.) And they still have that nasty metallic flavor.  The best I can say about them is the broth they were in tasted pretty good. I bet if I cooked some fresh or frozen lima beans in a duplicate of that pot likker, they'd be mighty fine.

Shop Rite San Marzano Tomatoes

Behold another reason why I love having a Shop-Rite in my town.  They have their own store brand San Marzano tomatoes.

Hénaff Pork Pâté

This morning, I posted a picture of a French pork product, Pâté Hénaff, freshly tipped from its tin onto a festive and colorful paper plate.  It looked pretty awful plopped down like that. Perhaps some of you wondered what it tasted like.  Never having been one to let a can of good pigmeat go to waste, I invited the somewhat fatty puck of pâté to lunch.

Other than the thick and drooling crust of pork fat on the surface of the pâté when freshly freed from it's steel-clad prison, the Serving Suggestion on the lid of the can is remarkably faithful to the real thing, right down its depiction of what the typical slice looks like in cross section. There seems to be little (if any) photoshopping involved.

Pâté Hénaff is a reasonably decent chopped ham product. It is both less heavily-seasoned and less fatty than Hormel's SPAM, but don't let that fool you; there is still plenty of fat to go around here.  The can says "ready to eat, cold or hot," but Pâté Hénaff is less than optimal when cold - the fat is unpleasant and the texture slightly grainy. It's much better sliced and fried, when it becomes rather pleasant, with a crispy browned crust over a tender hammy inner core.  It was okay for what it was, but if I feel the overwhelming need to buy highly processed canned pork loaf product again, I'll probably get SPAM instead because it's less expensive and the square can makes it easier to get uniform slices.

Canned Clam Chowder: A Comprehensive Guide

It isn't easy to find a decent canned clam chowder.  I've spent the past month or so of lunches evaluating every canned or prepared New England clam chowder I could find.  Here they are, rated from worst to best. In case of tie scores, the brands are listed in alphabetical order:

BAD 

Hanover Chunky (ready to serve) - I couldn't even pour this out when I opened it - I had to open both ends of the can and push the contents into my bowl. It was so thick that I double-checked the instructions to make sure it isn't a condensed soup - and it isn't; the label explicitly says not to add water.  There is absolutely nothing to like about this chowder. It smells like canned dog food (seriously) and it's made up almost entirely of grainy, dry-textured chunks of potatoes held together with a gluey beige sludge/broth. Tiny pieces of clams are sparsely distributed here and there throughout the vomitous mass - there are so few of them they should be listed as a "seasoning" rather than an "ingredient."  I suppose that's just as well. I'd hate to think that large amounts of tasty bivalves were being wasted in this crap, which didn't even taste like clam chowder. It had an overpoweringly salty, artificial "bouillon" taste and reminded me of the cheap "chicken" soup that used to be sold by the cup in coffee vending machines. Thoroughly nasty, unredeemable shit. Final score: 0/10. 

Big Y Chunky (ready to serve) - One of the worst canned clam chowder I've ever had. Although there was an adequate amount of clams, it was very heavy on the potatoes and bizarrely thick - so thick and starchy a spoon could stand in it unassisted as though it was in a bowl of pudding. There was also an odd non-clam aftertaste that was vaguely brackish. I would not ever buy this one again. Final score: 2/10

Snow's (condensed) - As I noted in an earlier post dedicated to them, Snow's was once the benchmark against which all clam chowders were measured. Although I had noticed the quality slipping several years ago (after the company was moved out of New England to Cape May,  New Jersey), it still surprised me just how bad Snow's has gotten.  The chowder base is a thick, gummy gel that never really combines with added milk.  Light on clams with a moderate amount of potatoes.  This chowder is extremely bland - almost flavorless.  I was able to partially rescue it by adding thyme, celery salt, paprika and lots of black pepper as I heated it up - as well as ladling the chowder over a pat of butter in every bowl when serving.  Final score: 3/10

MEDIOCRE

Valu Time (ready to serve; a "generic" brand produced by Topco) - Honestly, I wasn't expecting very much from this economy brand, but I have to give it credit for decent flavor, and an adequate amount of clams.  Kind of heavy on the potatoes. The broth was a freakishly unnatural white, very thick, starchy, and gluey. It actually jiggles in the spoon. This is probably due to the modified food starch in the broth, although there are token amounts of cream and butter as well. Final Score:  5/10

ACCEPTABLE

Richfield Farms Savory Selections Healthy Chunky New England Style (ready to serve) - Good consistency though a little "slippery." Visible herbs in the broth (parsley and, I think, thyme) give it a pleasant herbiness that enhances the clam flavor. Nice chunks of potatoes and clams. Not sure what makes this "healthy," though - there is still plenty of sodium and fat in that little can. Broth has a strange white floaty component (see this full review for more info) which knocks the score down a bit. Richfield's chowder slides under the wire to barely score in the Acceptable category with  6+/10.

 Bookbinder's (semi-condensed) - Flavorful, well-seasoned broth with a good consistency, Bookbinder's puts in plenty of big, meaty clam pieces and chunks of potatoes.  Points off, however, for a "slippery" texture from xanthan gum and the high price for what is fundamentally an only-slightly-better-than-average condensed soup. Final score: 7/10 

Campbell's (condensed) - Snow's could learn a thing or two from Campbell's, who manages to make an inexpensive condensed clam chowder which blends smoothly with milk to make an excellent broth. Perfect consistency and with a rich clam flavor, this chowder could have scored a lot higher than it did if only Campbell's weren't so stingy with the potatoes and clams. Final score: 7/10

Campbells Chunky (ready to serve)- Although excessively thick and starchy when it comes out of the can, it thins out as it is heated until it reaches nearly perfect consistency. Lots of clams and a fair amount of potato, but still somewhat bland and needs to be further seasoned - celery salt and pepper makes a big difference. Not bad, though. Final score: an acceptable 7/10

Campbell's Soup At Hand (ready to serve) - Very much like the other Campbell's selections here; excellent consistency and very good flavor marred only by a very slight plasticy aftertaste (perhaps from the cup.) The recipe uses tiny potatoes and bits of clams - a slight alteration for the "sippy-cup" format of the Soup at Hand line - but there are plenty of both.  It's also quick to heat in the microwave, but keep an eye on it because the narrow, tall format makes it easy to overheat until it overflows (well, it made it easy for me, anyway.)  Overall, a tasty New England clam chowder with the bonus of convenience - you don't even need a spoon. Final Score: 7/10

Chef's Cupboard (ready to serve, ALDI store brand) - This is so similar to Campbell's Chunky that I would not be surprised to find that Campbell's produces it for ALDI as a private label - I would not be able to tell the difference between them in a blind tasting.  Like the Campbell's, it has lots of clams, decent amount of nice hearty potato chunks, and although it has a good flavor it is still somewhat bland and needs a seasoning boost.  And like Campbell's Chunky, it scores a solid and acceptable 7/10

Healthy Choice (ready to serve) - Although the broth was a little "slippery" (there's that xanthan gum again!) the flavor is decent, with plenty of nice waxy potatoes and lots of clams. Slightly underseasoned, but I took care of that with some black pepper. Overall, my opinion of Healthy Choice New England Clam Chowder hasn't changed since I wrote this review in September, 2010: it's not too bad. Final score: 7/10

Campbell's 100% Natural (ready to serve) - Plenty of potatoes and an adequate amount of (very tiny) clams. Thick broth with good flavor (Campbell's adds flavorings from pollack, clams, shrimp, and cod) but points off for using vegetable oil as a major ingredient and relegating cream and butter to the less-than-2% category. Thanks to all that oil, the broth also has a "slippery" mouthfeel that's less than idea. Can't give this one more than a 7/10.

GOOD

Kirkland Label Campbell's Premium (ready to serve, made by Campbell's for Costco) - Not surprisingly, this is very similar to Campbell's Chunky. But they've done something differently with the seasonings for the Kirkland label, adding more parsley and black pepper. Quite decent when all is said and done. Final score: 7+/10

Olde Cape Cod (condensed) - Lots of clams and chunks of potato, and a rich creamy broth that's just the right consistency.  This is a very high-quality chowder, but I had to take points off for underseasoning. Add a little thyme, just a hint of salt, and some black pepper when you're heating it up, and it's top-notch. Final score: 7+/10 

Campbell's 100% Natural Light (98% Fat Free) (ready to serve) - I bought this chowder expecting to be underwhelmed, but was totally surprised by how decent it was. There were lots of good waxy potatoes, a decent amount of clams (though mostly in tiny bits) and irregular chunks of roughly-chopped celery just like homemade. Although cream and butter were in the less-than-2% category of the ingredients, the broth had a slightly buttery taste as well as a depth of flavor provided by additional pollack and flavorings derived from shrimp, cod, and clams. Most surprising to me was the complete lack of any kind of gum as a thickener; Campbell's relied on good ol' cornstarch, just like you might do in your own kitchen. Final score: 8/10, believe it or not.

Bar Harbor Foods (condensed) - Very good, with an appropriate amount of potatoes and a generous amount of clams, yet surprisingly bland. The preparation instructions are rather vague and say to add milk or cream and butter to taste.  I get the milk or cream part, but I usually add a pat of butter to a bowl of canned chowder if it's not that great and needs a flavor boost. Still, it's a better-than-average chowder and the clam base blends smoothly with the milk when prepared, so there are no disgusting little gooey balls. Final score: 8/10

Trader Joe's "Pilgrim Joe's" (condensed) - Excellent ratio of potatoes to clams, with a relatively smooth clam base that needs quite a bit of stirring as it heats to blend well with the milk. Very good clam flavor, but exceptionally under-seasoned - I needed to add a moderate amount of salt and pepper to bring it up to my standards. Like so many other Trader Joe's products, this is better than average and I would buy it again. Final score: 8/10

Price Chopper (ready to serve) - Rich clam flavor with a hint of butter, big chunks of waxy potatoes, and plenty of clams (though most of them are in tiny pieces.) Definitely better than other store brands, and don't be fooled by the "golden" color of the chowder on the label picture; the actual product is a very traditional "clam broth" shade of white. Price Chopper's house brand holds its own quite respectably against any of the "name brands" in this category. Final score: 8/10

Progresso (ready to serve) - I heated up this chowder in a microwave and interestingly, although it started out a little too thick, it thinned a little as it cooled to nearly a perfect consistency.  Big hearty chunks of potatoes, with lots of clams (although the clams were in small pieces.) Although not necessarily richer than any of the other chowders, Progresso has a very deep flavor with complex shellfishy notes thanks to addition of lobster powder, shrimp, crab powder, and fish powder. Like many of the other chowders tasted, it was a tad underseasoned - I recommend a good shake of black pepper. Gluten-free for those of you who may be on a special diet.  I found Progresso to be very good, and I would buy this brand again.  Final score: 8/10

Progresso Rich & Hearty (ready to serve) - Extremely similar to Progresso's "Traditional" New England clam chowder - same consistency, with lots of clams and potatoes - but with a slightly different taste profile. For the Rich & Hearty version, they've taken out the various fish and shellfish powders and instead seasoned the chowder with chablis wine and brandy. The result is no less delicious, and still gluten-free.  Final score: 8/10

Snow's (ready to serve) - The difference between this and Snow's condensed is like night and day.  Delicious broth, just the right consistency, luscious with cream and butter. Plenty of clams (mostly small pieces, but there are some fairly good chunks in there too) and lots of chunky potatoes.This is good enough to buy again! Final score: 8/10

Campbell's Select Harvest (ready to serve) - Chunky potatoes and loads of clams in a well-seasoned broth of nearly ideal consistency. Although lacking the buttery flavor of a true New England clam chowder (no surprise - there's no butter in it) the rich clamminess helps make up for it. And look! Those are real slices of celery in there! Top notch, and this is another canned variety I would buy again. Final score: 8+/10

 EXCELLENT

New England Country Soup (ready to serve) - Sold ready to heat and eat, in shelf-stable pouches. This chowder was outstanding, just about as close to homemade as I have ever had. The broth is a perfect consistency, lightly thickened without being pasty or gummy - it's made with real cream and butter, and it tastes it. Loads of clams and plenty of potatoes. I was surprised to taste a hint of dill and even more surprised that I liked it, because when not part of a pickle recipe, dill is my least favorite herb. Seriously, I would buy this again in a heartbeat.  Made by New England Country Foods LLC, in Manchester Village, Vermont.  You can check out their very informative website by clicking here. Final score: 9+/10