I really hate it when people confuse "Rainbow Chip" frosting and "Funfetti" frosting.
Rainbow Chip frosting is made by Betty Crocker. It's the frosting that already has the round chips harmoniously integrated into the frosting. Funfetti is the Pillsbury frosting that has an unenlightened segregated package of sprinkles that one is expected to manually mix in.
Walking through Target today, I saw this section of Funfetti sniggering at me. "Hey there, chump. Target doesn't carry Whore Crocker's Rainbow Chip." Defending my frosting mother's honor, I knocked out one of Funfetti's front teeth. Who's laughing now, Doughboy?
But there wasn't always this hate between us. I open-mindedly bought a can of Funfetti about four years ago when I was still in college. How bad could it be? While preparing the frosting for my first cake, my knuckles kept dipping into the frosting making my hands sticky. Excuse me Pillsbury, but I don't have extra-long frosting stirring spoons.
And I'm no baker: I didn't know how many sprinkles to put in. My first cake came out like a sprinkle donut: sprinkles crushing the aesthetic. The sprinkles on my second cake were so sparse that it looked like a topping mistake: the lone gummy bear in your mixed nuts at the ice cream parlor.
Some people are particular about their wine, some about their coffee. Me? I'm particular about my pre-packaged, fat-inducing, Betty Crocker cake toppings.
The rainbow chips are softer than than Funfetti sprinkles. It's as if the rainbow chips have somehow absorbed the frosting's poofy essence into their genetic structure. The Funfetti sprinkles are, in texture, too different from the frosting itself. It's like getting a stale raisin in your oatmeal. And that is the beauty of the rainbow chip: it exists in neither the sprinkle realm nor the frosting realm—it exists in the same realm that unicorns and mermaids exist: sweet delight.