Trail Mix Has Morphed From A Quasi-Health Food Into A Bag Of Candy, And It's Kind Of Brilliant

I’ve always argued that one of the most underrated snacks on the planet is trail mix. 

Some iterations of trail mix contain dried fruit seeds and look like someone threw lawn trimmings in a bag. Others, take your tastebuds on a flavor journey with stops at salty roasted cashews, sweet chocolate, and everywhere in between.

Trail mix is like snowflakes in that no two trail mixes are the same (by the way, that snowflake thing is a load of bull. One guy took like 2,000 photos of snowflakes and then we decided “Nope, every single snowflake ever is unique.” As if there isn’t one in Siberia that looks a whole hell of a lot like another one on a ski slope in Aspen. C'mon man...).

In my mind, the GOAT trail mix blend is peanuts, cashews almonds, raisins, and M&Ms. I’m a traditionalist, and in this case, it’s as traditional as you can get.

Of course, you’ve got to get the ratios right. I like a 2-1 nut to raisin ratio. Too much raisin is no bueno. 

For most of my life, I feel like I’ve been told that trail mix is a healthy snack. Like, instead of eating a candy bar with chocolate and nuts — which is junk food, duh — a deconstructed version of it has massive nutritional value.

Why? I don’t know, but I think the reason for this is that it has the word “trail” in it. I assume that’s because it’s convenient to eat on a hike. That seems like a stretch though. It’s not like every time I eat a handful I feel like I’m hiking the Appalachian trail while wearing a pair of those dumb shoes with the toes.

Recently, my life-long assumption about the healthiness of trail mix was called into question.

Trail Mix Has Become Nothing But A Sack Of Candy

I was at home, waiting for my girlfriend to return from the grocery store. As I heard her walking up the steps, I pretended to be busy doing something in the kitchen so that when she arrived I could be like “Oh man, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you needed an extra set of hands. I would’ve helped but I was so busy.”

I set aside the toaster that was pretending to de-crumb and helped unload the groceries by supervising and traffic copping where they needed to go. 

My girlfriend pulled a jar of trail mix out of one of the bags with a flourish. Like a magician who pulled a rabbit out of his hat, unaware that he will soon get a sternly worded letter from those psychos at PETA.

“Nice,” I said. “I’m a big trail mix guy. Looks like a solid nut-to-raisin ratio too. You picked a good batch.”

However, I noticed something about this jar of trail mix. This wasn’t my usually prepared mix. Gone were the cashews and almonds I’ve grown accustomed to. In their place was what seemed like a metric ton of both chocolate and peanut butter chips.

I was aghast and geared up to give my usual diatribe about the perfection of the traditional trail mix and why it’s not to be trifled with. I was growing concerned with the trend I had noticed in trail mixes. Instead of various nuts, someone made the executive decision to throw things like chocolate-covered caramel in with the cashews and raisins. That’s not trail mix, that’s a bag of Rolos. 

However, it suddenly hit me that this candy dish masquerading as a somewhat healthy snack wasn’t a threat to my traditional preferences. Not at all. Instead, it's a stroke of complete and utter genius.

Why Eat Healthy When You Can Just Tell People You’re Doing It?

To me, the best part about eating healthy — aside from the part about not dying — is telling everyone you’re eating healthy. Nothing makes you feel better than your fellow man than making a big to-do about how you’re going to order a salad at the sports bar.

The problem with that is that you’re then stuck eating a kale salad while your buddy’s house chicken wings and mozzarella sticks.

This candy-forward trail mix figured it all out.

You can tell people that you’re eating trail mix, thereby claiming the social cache that comes with a moderately health-conscious snack choice. However, unbeknownst to everyone is that your trail mix contains the same nutritional value as a McFlurry or a sack of Funyuns.

No one is going to demand to see the nutrition label. They'll just take your word for it. No one will pry into your business to discover that your trail mix is full of Doritos and Kit-Kats.

This whole thing is genius. It also reminded me of a brilliant business idea I once had for a restaurant.

I submit for your approval, “Technically Still Salad.”

Technically Still Salad Is Technically A Brilliant Idea

This place would sell salads. Ones that would be carted out the door in non-descript packaging — I got that idea after seeing a commercial for a company that sells boner pills — that would make everyone think, “Hey, this guy had a salad for lunch,” and nothing more.

However, there’s one big secret at Technically Still Salad. One that is between you and your “Salad artist” as we’d call them.

Your salad would consist of a burger and fries or a cheesesteak or a quesadilla served on a bed of arugula (or some other leafy green; probably a cheaper one).

That’s it. Bon Appétit.

This way, it’s technically still a salad, hence the name. How would our salads be any different than going to a restaurant and getting a salad with buffalo chicken tenders on top of it?

It’s not, and our revenue would reflect this.

People don't want healthy food, they want to tell people they want healthy food. Business would be through the roof until Morgan Spurlock did an exposé documentary about us. The only other problem I can think of is if our spokesperson who (allegedly) lost a bunch of weight eating at Technically Still Salad wound up in the clink.

Other than that though, it'd be smooth sailing.

I don’t want to say it’s genius… but I will. I think I'll start trying to nail down some plans for how to get Technically Still Salad off the ground (renting some retail space next to a Weight Watchers seems like. a good start... do they still have brick-and-mortar Weight Watchers places?).

However, it seems like the movers and shakers of the trail mix industry have already figured this out.

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Matt is a University of Central Florida graduate and a long-suffering Philadelphia Flyers fan living in Orlando, Florida. He can usually be heard playing guitar, shoe-horning obscure quotes from The Simpsons into conversations, or giving dissertations to captive audiences on why Iron Maiden is the greatest band of all time.