What is it?

These are Little Debbie’s attempt to corner the market on treats made specifically for Mother’s Day. They come in strawberry and lemon, and lemon is the only lemon-flavored product available from Little Debbie. I’m not sure what strawberry and lemon have to do with Mother’s Day, but at least the cakes don’t taste like Mom.

How is it?

These have the same textures as most Little Debbie products: cheap, plasticky coating; a super-sweet, oily filling; and dry-ish cake.

The lemon variety has a powerful scent when I open it; the strawberry is less pronounced, but it still has a fruity smell. I really can’t tell what part of the cake is flavored, whether it’s the filling or the cake. The lemon has a nice citrusy taste, but it’s not spectacular — Little Debbie played it safe. The strawberry has more of an artificial flavor, but I actually like it better. If they were bite-sized, I could mindlessly eat 500 calories worth. Again, not spectacular, but it is yummy.

Is there anything else I need to know?

Since these are marketed for Mother’s Day, I had to get the opinions of mothers. My sister agreed with my take on both flavors. My mom agreed with my take on the lemon, but she thought the strawberry was equal to it, not better.

Conclusion:

These are typical Little Debbie fare with fun new flavors. They should not be your only Mother’s Day gifts, but they would be an acceptable supplement. If you’re Cinderella or Snow White and all you have is a wicked stepmother, they would be more than generous.

DISCLOSURE: I received these cakes for free from Little Debbie, but that did not affect my review.

Purchased Price: FREE
Size: 12.01 oz. box
Purchased at: Received from Little Debbie
Rating: 6 out of 10 (Lemon)
Rating: 7 out of 10 (Strawberry)
Nutrition Facts: (1 cake) Lemon – 200 calories, 90 calories from fat, 10 grams of fat, 6 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 1 gram of polyunsaturated fat, 2.5 grams of monounsaturated fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 90 milligrams of sodium, 15 milligrams of potassium, 26 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of dietary fiber, 20 grams of sugar, and 1 gram of protein. Strawberry – 200 calories, 90 calories from fat, 10 grams of fat, 6 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 1 gram of polyunsaturated fat, 2.5 grams of monounsaturated fat, 0 milligrams of cholesterol, 80 milligrams of sodium, 15 milligrams of potassium, 26 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of dietary fiber, 20 grams of sugar, and 1 gram of protein.

Every summer, s’mores fever grips the snack food aisle like a charred marshmallow to a hot skewer. But there’s a good reason only an elite corps of s’mores junk food, with S’mores Pop-Tarts as their patron saint, stick around after the last autumn bonfire is snowed out—and it has nothing to do with seasonality.

See, while any M.B.A. can throw graham, chocolate, and marshmallow flavor into a snack, it takes a wise marketer to understand that smoky, oaky, and toasted marshmallowiness is the literal and flavorful glue that holds a great s’more experience together.

Those who haven’t read Lao Tzu’s The Art of S’more end up overwhelming their treat with bland sugary fluff, a gastronomical mistake comparable to invading Russia in the winter—on two fronts. And Little Debbie’s new S’mores Cake Rolls prove this.

Each individually wrapped roll is fat. I’d put their girth somewhere between “Fudgsicle” and “cartoon cigar.”

But each individually wrapped is not phat. Most of their bulk is cream filling weight, and this barely evolved Reddi-Wip is more like aerated custard than toasted marshmallow. Heavy on the fructose and vanilla, yet lightly eggy, this vapid stuff overwhelms the rest of the S’mores Cake Roll like a kid trusted to put whipped cream on his own pie slice.

Which is a shame, because the sponge cake itself is pretty tasty. It’s better than a pillowy Twinkie’s, because a S’mores Cake Roll’s namesake cake roll is denser and butterier, like a buttermilk pancake or some New Age cracker. It has tragically little baked graham flavor, and practically no honey notes, though, further downgrading S’mores Cake Rolls’ authenticity from “poorly made s’more” to “flea market bootleg s’more.”

Oh, and the chocolate? Like one of those abstract smudges on a fancy, well-plated dish, the latticed fudge on every roll is more decorative than flavorful. If you chew your roll with the vigor of a beaver who moonlights as an MLB pitcher, you can taste some generic milk chocolate notes in the aftertaste, but it’s about as compelling as coagulated Hershey’s syrup.

Which, considering how most people make their s’mores, is actually a point in Diminutive Deborah’s favor.

Taken as a whole roll, these things aren’t bad. They’re just misguided. With their interesting dough, pudding-esque filling, and light icing, they taste way more like Éclair Cake Rolls than anything roasted over a fire, and I think Small Deb would’ve been better off advertising them as such to transcend the marshmallow white noise of s’mores product competition.

With their aggressively saccharine cream, smothered pancake swirls, and choco-phantoms, S’mores Cake Rolls aren’t for me. But if you’re a whipped cream whiz, éclair enthusiast, or retired clown desperately jonesing for one last pie to the face, roll on over to the snack cake aisle and get your fix.

The rest of us can try skewering a S’mores Cake Roll over the campfire to get our fix of toastiness. I apologize in advance to Smokey the Bear.

(Nutrition Facts – 1 roll – 260 calories, 11 grams of fat, 6 grams of saturated fat, 2 grams of polyunsaturated fat, 3 grams of monounsaturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 10 milligrams of cholesterol, 120 milligrams of sodium, 30 milligrams of potassium, 40 grams of carbohydrates, 0 grams of fiber, 25 grams of sugar, and 1 gram of protein.)

Purchased Price: $2.00
Size: 6 cake rolls (13.13 oz box)
Purchased at: Dollar General
Rating: 4 out of 10
Pros: Hypnotic pancake cylinders. Benevolent custard spirits. Snack cake calories not counting if you’re camping. Learning that eclaire [sic] is French for “enlightened.”
Cons: Fire hoses of cloying cream. Ornamental chocolate ghosts. Geneva Convention-breaking s’more crimes. Clown junkies.