Have you ever wished that every single pumpkin in Maine was chopped up and stirred into a syrupy vat of sweet munich malt, molasses, and vanilla? And that the amalgamation of these parts would give off a tart aroma laced with a delicate eau de Twizzler scent? Neither did I.
If I took a knife to Smashed Pumpkin, I could slice off a piece of cloying Pumpkin Robitussin Cake, but I’d rather turn the knife elsewhere first. 54/100
Nic’s thoughts from a past year: Too many strong, jarring flavors; molasses jostles with licorice, heavy smoke and cloying syrup. Like a concentrated drip-tray after a pumpkinbeer fest. 49/100