12 Pocky Flavors, Ranked Worst To Best

Those of us who grew up running errands at Asian grocery stores and supermarkets know that Pocky's bright red box rivals Kit-Kat's wrapper, Coca-Cola's can, and Taylor Swift's preferred lip shade as red's most recognizable wearer. Like all greats, Pocky-inspired imitators from around the globe, like Korea's Pepero and Toppo and Japan's Fran, all attempt to mimic the originator with their cylindrical-designed biscuits dunked in sweet coatings.

Although it was once a niche treat, I've seen the coated biscuit stick's popularity slowly creep over the past decade from the corner of the candy aisle into mainstream markets and even movie theaters. While the cookie grew in prominence, an assortment of flavors also followed. Now, the brand produces over ten options for hungry snackaphiles like myself. And since I'm nothing if not a completist, I tracked down as many boxes of Pocky as I could find and ranked them based on their flavor and enjoyability.

Salted vanilla was one of the harder-to-track-down flavors — just ask my Subaru, which had to get driven all over creation in order to source these treats. Though, this flavor has promise; the salt crystals seemingly blanket the exterior coating and the flavor is unique to Pocky's expanding catalog of options. But a closer examination (i.e., licking) of the lucent flakes revealed a lack of flavor. It must only exist for show; there was no salty zing, just a dull, disappointing sweetness. During my time with salted vanilla, I found no salty notes. If I was blindfolded, I would've guessed the ivory appendage approximated birthday cake or another sweet tidbit.

Just like the contestant Tyra Banks famously chewed out on "America's Next Top Model," sometimes how much you root for something makes no difference in whether or not it will succeed. Not only was this flavor difficult to track down, but there was little correlation between how challenging it was to find and how rewarding it was to enjoy. I'll remember to evade Pocky's salted vanilla sticks from now on. 

The cookies and cream pocky is one of the only ones endowed with a chocolate stick as opposed to an unflavored biscuit, So, I'd be lying if I said my hopes weren't high as I punched in the perforated "open" slot at the top of the box.

But just like college, "Ocean's Eight," and the viability of a Spice Girls reunion, I learned yet again to tether my hopes to more viable causes. I eyed the chocolate biscuit's pallid color by merely plucking a single cookie stake from its box. It was pasty — more gray than sable — and left me longing for the dark, dulcet tint of an Oreo cookie.

Once this Pocky was in my mouth, my idealism continued to rust. The cookies and cream coating tastes mostly like sweetened milk. It evades the tempting qualities of cookies and cream ice cream, cookies dunked in milk, and the aforementioned Oreos — which are misleadingly illustrated on the package.

Bananas and I have never enjoyed a relationship sans disagreement. Banana cream pie remains my most dreaded dessert and the raw, unadulterated fruit itself, once pricked by a single blemish of brown, is ruled as inedible in my kitchen. Though the appeal of a banana split or banana cake doesn't evade me, once it's impersonated in candy, the flavor caves to the worst of its tendencies.

The flavor on these Pocky was overripe, flat, and reminiscent of a banana Airhead. Meanwhile, the artificial banana scent was instantly recognizable as soon as I unsealed the package. Though, the use of a chocolate biscuit instead of a plain one really saves this Pocky from the bottom of the pile. As expected, the flavor doesn't suit my specific palate, but I concede that Pocky's banana variation probably pleases fans of this divisive flavor.

Though I've mindlessly consumed dozens of matcha Pocky over the years at picnics, in movie theaters, and at work for a quick hit of sugar, never before have I examined the matcha sticks with any scrutiny. I immediately noticed the pale greenness of the matcha with these, though. It was closer in color to a subdued Yoda than Kermit the Frog. And in terms of flavor, these sticks veer toward the profile of a matcha latte and away from a pure depiction of the unadulterated tea.

Like many Japanese confections featuring matcha, the people behind Pocky avoided overly sweetening the treat and distracting from matcha's grassy notes. However, the creaminess muddies the overall appeal of the sticks — especially in comparison to other members of Pocky's esteemed catalog.

A closer examination of the cookie aisle clued me into a fact I overlooked for years: Pocky makes two matcha-themed treats. And while I momentarily judged the decision as overkill (and lamented the flavors not yet in production, like coffee, passionfruit, and malt), I quickly remembered how prominent and oversaturated caramel and peanut butter are in American candy selections. 

Similar to the matcha Pockys, the double rich matcha Pockys also have a matcha glaze. A side-by-side comparison showed that the double rich sticks had a two-shade leg-up over their kid brother. This also shined through on the taste. It was earthier, grassier, and more pleasantly bitter. But, what makes double rich twice as desirable as the lower-ranked variety is the soft, matcha stems. 

The Pocky that started it all: chocolate. Glico debuted the sticks in 1966 and likely had no idea of the influence the treat would have on the public. Much like the burnt orange and gold packaging of Reese's Cups or the iconic envelope-like shape of Goldfish crackers, the beacon of Pocky's fire engine red container visually cues its fans to the treat aisles.

Chocolate Pocky, a simple biscuit coated three-quarters of the way with chocolate, manages to blur the lines of candy and cookie. Chocolate Pocky, like Reese's and Goldfish crackers, all have a blatant, nearly-mindless goodness to them. The chocolate is careful not to veer overly milky or semi-sweet. Instead, it remains simple and avoids taking the center stage. Although chocolate isn't the box I immediately reach for, it satisfies my restless snacking syndrome. The box I keep inside of my tote bag seems to evaporate before I can say the word, "oops." 

The ultra slim Pockys are, unsurprisingly, thinner and more delicate versions of the classic chocolate Pocky. It's like the angel hair pasta of the Pocky clan. The ultra slims are about as girthy as a bucatini noodle, whereas the original appears to be roughly the width of a cocktail straw. I had no complaints about Pocky's default radius. However, after snapping an ultra slim under my molars, I surrendered to its appeal.

Because of the cracker's smaller proportion, the chocolate coating took center stage and had a more appealing ratio than its predecessor. Praise aside, I worried for the remainder of my ultra slims. The lack of structural integrity meant that these aren't equipped for real-world situations. Smuggled-in movie treats, purse snacks, and sacked lunches are all ruled out if you want your ultra slims to remain intact.

Strawberry Pocky delivers all the positive notes of artificial berry without any of the cloying baggage (unlike Pez). It's a pocketable sweet able to hit (some of) the notes of a strawberry dessert. I couldn't find any tart tones from fresh berries, but this was forgivable thanks to the marriage of snappy biscuits and creamy (albeit fake) fruit.

Perhaps these sticks would reach their highest potential if they were incorporated into an over-the-top dessert as a cutty sprinkle or garnish — like as an edible cake pop handle, ice cream flourish, or decorative cake detail. These snacks have an undeniable leg up on their peers thanks to their inherent color. The flirty blush hue of these snacks calls to those who like their food to look as good as it tastes. 

The folks in the Pocky boardroom must have known they had a hit on their hand before the candy boxes went to press. Golden, decadent, and more adult-looking than Pocky's largely jovial packets, the aura almond crush Pocky emits differs from the otherwise unserious cookies.

When it's unleashed from the golden wrapper, the almond-coated stick offers nearly twice the girth of other members of its cohort. They're craggy from the bits of roasted almonds flecking the chocolate dip. Plus, the feathered texture allows for the sticks to cling to more chocolate than the other Pockys I sampled.

The increased surface area wedded with the almond pebbles is almost reminiscent of nut-filled American candies, but it remains restrained by comparison. If Anne Hathaway were coming over for coffee, I'd set out a box of almond crush Pocky (chicly plated in bud vases) and feel somewhat confident that she'd sign off on my high-brow/low-brow snack selection.

Again, the fine team at Pocky dialed in on the strawberry coating and managed to find a recipe capable of dodging the common pitfalls of many fruity confections. If I was Pocky, I would have settled down with the original strawberry box and quit while I was ahead. But not Pocky. The brand tried and tested and came out with a confection even better than the last. 

Crunchy strawberry, though not as rugged as the almond crush Pocky, also don a slightly pebbled surface and the same chocolate stick that the cookies and cream Pocky fumbled. It's a delightful treat that inverts the classic chocolate-covered strawberry, and I can't help but admit that this flavor has a flirtatious zeal that's absent from the other Pocky options.

If banana inspires me to run for the hills, mint (especially when paired with chocolate) offers me a cozy cushion, a heavy-handed pour of gamay, and a Cary Grant film while come-hitherly patting the couch. All this to say that I'm a sucker for the wintery, refreshing tones of mint candy. I was raised on Andes and and After Eights and could happily forego most post-dinner sweets if I was palmed a minty morsel instead of being handed a dessert menu.

So, my heart did a fluttery double take when I encountered Pocky's subdued jade box. The mint gloss, cast over a chocolate biscuit, punches below the potency of American mint candies, like York Peppermint Patties and Junior Mints. It has just enough mintiness, all of which the cocoa cookie can handle. The mint Pocky's appeal is its subdued nature and balance between dueling attributes (coating and cookie). 

Coconut Pocky is one of my all-time favorite treats; it could even sway a Pocky agnostic to its ranks. Like almond crush, coconut Pockys also wear shards of texture in its frosting, which act as a puffer coat for the otherwise simplistic sweet. I know coconut often ranks among the most polarizing flavors (La Croix, I have your back) but Pocky's coconut, toasted and crisped, never veers into syrupy territory, nor does it embody the sunscreen-like flavor of some coconut products.

Instead, the crunch recalls Girl Scout cookies or the topping of a decadent coconut cake. It's a bite that's both lively and multi-phased. I never quite get enough of the coconut no matter how many I eat. It would be an excellent candidate to blend into a Blizzard-inspired milkshake, as its flavor gets better when it's allowed to chill in the freezer. The chomp becomes more loud once these treats are cold, plus storing the ice-blue box away from the naked eye elongates its lifespan in my kitchen.

I ranked each Pocky flavor I could find based on its taste and how enjoyable it was. I was aware of my personal biases and flavor aversions, such as with the banana sticks. And, I did not allow flavor redundancy, as was the case with the two matcha and two strawberry sticks, to affect the overall rating of an individual box. Sadly, while I was able to find most of the Pocky flavors, I failed at locating a handful of varieties I initially wanted to include, including blueberry, mixed berry, purple sweet potato, and milk flavors.