I Tried All Of Subway's New Footlong Snacks & the Best Was Rich, Chewy, and Delicious

Subway is a size queen. In the face of lagging sales and shuttered storefronts, the sandwich chain did what any thirsty brand would do: it rolled out a series of enticing new items—in this case, footlong snacks to complement its footlong subs.

Throwing caution to the wind and utterly ignoring the ethos of quality over quantity, Subway introduced a selection of footlong "Sidekicks" earlier this year, including a pretzel, a churro, and a cookie. And in case a full 12 inches of dough wasn't enough, the chain doubled down with three new footlong Dippers—wraps made, purportedly, with lavash (!)—this summer.

It's a lot to process. Altogether, the six new menu fixtures offer an array of sizable options for those who might not be in the mood for a sandwich the length of their forearm. But how do they actually stack up? To sample the Sidekicks, I visited a Subway in Oklahoma City to try them all. The results, which veered between pleasant surprise and complete disarray, prove that when it comes to quality, it's not the size that matters.

Auntie Anne's Footlong Pretzel

A needless collaboration between Subway and Auntie Anne's, the Footlong Pretzel is described on Subway's website quite effusively as "a twist on Auntie Anne's signature pretzel, baked to tasty golden-brown perfection and ready to share." The description goes on to say it's "served warm and topped with just the right amount of butter and salt." Sounds great! In reality, though, this pretzel was about 12 inches too much. The item cost me $3.

The look: For some reason, the thing this reminded me of the most was a Slinky. It's coiled shape is oddly perfect, and it even has the same kind of elastic bounce as the toy I used to push down the stairs. There's no discernible butter, and salt is meager. It's technically golden-brown, sure, but the lack of warmth was concerning. Clearly, this is something that needs to be eaten the second you order it, lest it plummet in quality.

The taste: This was just straight-up bad. The pretzel was quite tough and way too chewy—to the point where I was concerned for my teeth as I tried to gnaw off bites. This thing desperately needs a sauce, lest it dry your mouth out, and honey mustard helps a bit, but it can't mask the fact that this thing has the texture and flavor of a mattress pad.

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Chicken & Cheese Dipper

In an excitable recent press release announcing the arrival of its new Footlong Dippers, Subway describes the wraps as "served hot, swirling melted cheese and meat and rolled in Subway's soft and bubbly lavash-style flatbread." Honestly, it sounds great. Unfortunately, sound doesn't translate to taste and texture, as evidenced by the sheer mediocrity of the Chicken & Cheese Dipper, made with strips of chicken and American cheese wrapped in two six-inch pieces of "pillowy" lavash (which supposedly gets toasted, but didn't look it). This wrap cost me $3.

The look: I must say, of the three Dippers, this one looked the best, in that it looked the meatiest. That said, it still looked pretty pale and bland, with no evidence of toasting, while the chicken itself looked dry, and the cheese looked almost plastic-like.

The taste: For the Dipper that looked the best, it ironically tasted the worst. And by "worst," I mean it tasted like nothing. If you like the act of chewing, but care not for flavor, this is the snack for you. Too dry and too bland, it dries out your mouth without bringing anything to the table. And for all the hope I had for "bubbly lavash," it tasted mostly like a stale pita-style flatbread that overstays its welcome on the palate. Served with honey mustard, the condiment does 100% of the heavy lifting, and is absolutely essential to enjoyment or at least tolerance.

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Pepperoni & Cheese Dipper

Considering my recent obsession with Italian subs, and pepperoni particularly, I had high hopes for the Pepperoni & Cheese Dipper. Those hopes were immediately dashed, though, upon first sight and first bite. An Italian sub this is not—just an overpromised medley of "spicy" pepperoni and American cheese in more of that not-so-"pillowy" lavash. This item also cost me $3.

The look: Like the chicken version, the wrap itself looks rather dry and dusty. This one, even worse than the chicken, was thin and flimsy, with barely any visible pepperoni amid the room-temp cheese. The whole thing looks like it had been sitting under a heat lamp, rather than freshly toasted, as promised. It's also served with a side of Baja Chipotle sauce, which has a neon-orange hue that made me audibly gasp (and not in a good way).

The taste: A few bites in, the cheese barely comes through at all, for better or worse. The pepperoni—what little there is of it—offers the faintest whisper of spice, but it's drowned out by the dry lavash. And the Baja Chipotle tastes as freaky as it looks. The only thing separating this from the inferior chicken Dipper is that at least here the pepperoni had some semblance of flavor.

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Double Cheese Dipper

As evidenced by the previous two Dippers, cheese isn't Subway's forte. So, I wasn't expecting to like the Double Cheese Dipper at all. Surprisingly, though, despite its mediocre appearance, it was my clear favorite of the Footlong Dippers, made with both American cheese and shredded Monterey cheddar. Like the other Dippers, this one cost me $3.

The look: Aesthetic isn't the goal here, clearly. With no meat to bulk things up, this Dipper was the flattest and saddest looking of the trio. It mostly just looked like a rolled up piece of flatbread, with basically nothing inside. Not the most appetizing snack, and yet…

The taste: …it wasn't terrible? Not exactly glowing praise, but next to the previous two Dippers, it's a huge improvement. Granted, it kinda tastes like the sort of thing a parent would feed a picky child, but as someone who occasionally eats like a picky child, I'm on board with something as simple as a cheese wrap. And that's exactly what this is: a flavorless flatbread wrapped around a healthy amount of cheese. The Monterey cheddar helps differentiate and improve the filling, while the Peppercorn Ranch dipping sauce is actually pretty great.

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Cinnabon Footlong Churro

The most straightforward and traditional snack on the Sidekicks menu, the footlong churro isn't trying to reinvent the wheel or do anything crazy. Rather, it's just a Cinnabon collaboration that douses a footlong fritter in cinnamon-sugar. How bad can that be? The churro cost me $2.6254a4d1642c605c54bf1cab17d50f1e

The look: My first thought was, "it's a churro." As someone who loves Disney World and state fairs, it looks pretty identical to standard churros, its crispy ridges shimmering with sugar crystals, while the aroma wafted of warm cinnamon. My initial worry was about temperature—as a fried snack, I was concerned that the texture would rapidly dissipate, but in terms of looks and smell, this thing delivered exactly what you'd expect: no more, no less.

The taste: For something so straightforward and unimagined, the churro was a rather pleasant surprise. Proof that footlong snacks needn't be overcomplicated or fussed with, the simplest item was among the best. There was no clear "Cinnabon flavor," as Subway describes (does that just mean…cinnamon?), but the texture held up remarkably well, exhibiting a fluffy interior against a crispy exterior. It didn't wow me, or offer anything new in terms of churro innovation, but it was still magnitudes better than the aforementioned snacks.

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Subway Footlong Cookie

The far-and-away winner of Subway's Sidekicks, the Footlong Cookie is like the evil genius of the menu. I want to hate it, but I can't. Nutritionally, it's a nightmare, but it's the quintessentially trashy comfort food that I crave when I want to indulge. It just so happens that, as a sweet tooth, the item I was most excited for wound up being the obvious favorite. The cookie cost me $5.

The look: Quite simply, it's a thick and dense chocolate chip cookie, served deep dish-style in a foot-long case. It looks kinda like grocery store-style cookie cakes, albeit elongated, and it smelled amazing. Also, quite clearly, this is the bulkiest and heftiest of all the other snacks, most of which were comparatively flimsy. Subway isn't messing around with its footlong cookie, and it shows.

The taste: While acknowledging how terrible this was for me, nutritionally speaking, I also can't deny that it isn't downright delicious. It has the exact taste and texture of a cookie cake, which I love. It's loaded with chocolate chips and baked just enough to achieve a warm, gooey, decadent build. It ticks all the boxes: it's rich, fudgy, pleasantly chewy, a little salty, and satisfyingly sweet without clobbering me over the head with sugar.

Later, after telling myself I was done with this and storing it in the fridge, I went back for more. And more. And it's somehow even better chilled?! I'm not sure what sorcery Subway employed here, or why the cookie is eons better than its savory counterparts, but it's hard to deny. Is this thing a dietician's nightmare? Most definitely. But is it also undeniably decadent and delicious? Also, definitely.