I’ve been wanting to write this article for over a year but I’ve been too intimidated and confused to start. There are several hundred supermarket products that could be called a cracker. Imagine a taste test with 100 versions of the same thing. Do I have the stomach space or mental bandwidth to process that much? Otherwise, how do I decide what’s in or out? Even if I did, how do I rule what is a cracker or not? How do you determine the criteria for tasting something rarely eaten on its own? Do you rate the crackers for deliciousness or compatibility? Are those two things even that different?
Then there’s the anxiety of spending several days agonising over all that, and conducting a taste test only to arrive at the conclusion that Jatz are great. Do people want to read an article about why Sir Donald Bradman is better than whoever the second-best-ever cricketer is?
Instead of answering all those questions, I could just have a lovely afternoon making my way through 17 kinds of chocolate or many iced coffees. But last week, my curiosity overcame my anxiety. I sorted several hundred crackers into a complicated family tree-like categorisation system, then sorted that based on the following criteria: size and structure designed for dips, cheese and platters; unflavoured; and wheat-based. This left me with 19 products, a mix of classic, water and wafer crackers.
Rice crackers, crackers fit for stacking ingredients (the Vita-Weat and Cruskits category), crackers designed for snacking without toppings (the Shapes zone) and gluten-free options will have to wait for future taste tests.
I did the blind taste test with six others. We ranked every cracker on appearance, taste and texture. Appearance made up a small percentage of the final score, but texture and taste were weighted evenly.
When the taste test finished, I had five thoughts:
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Jatz are, predictably, awesome.
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So are the products trying to be like Jatz.
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Water crackers are the opposite of awesome.
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The best cracker is both enjoyable to eat on its own and paired with other things.
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What the hell are wafer crackers?
The best overall
Arnott’s Jatz Original, 225g, $4 ($1.78 per 100g), available at major supermarkets
Score: 8.5/10
There are several crackers that look, smell and taste like Jatz but all the reviewers knew which one was the real deal, and almost everyone gave it the highest score of the day. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t love them (or their southern equivalent, Savoy). So I don’t think it’s a good use of anyone’s time to read or write a paragraph on what they taste like. Instead, I want to address a suspicion I have: that the anxious social organisers among us are hesitant to lay them out on a picnic platter or dinner party. Will they pair with the Époisses de Bourgogne? Do they match the Arita ware? Do they fit in with my aspirational middle-class status? Maybe ask this instead: would you deny your most charismatic friend a wedding invite because their only suit doesn’t match the Pinterest board? Give yourself and your loved ones what they want.
The best value
Damora Eton Original Cracker Biscuits, 225g, $1.49 ($0.66 per 100g), available at Aldi
Score: 8/10
If both Abba and their tribute band Bjorn Again came to Australia, would you pay $178 to see the original or $66 for something almost as good? Like any great piece of art, Jatz has imitators at a cheaper price – this and Woolworths Snapz Crackers. The Woolworths version tastes like a dialled-down, drier version of the original (it’s lower in fat and salt) – a cover band without the sequined jumpsuits. But the Aldi version is, according to the reviewers, as good or better than the original. Choosing between this and Jatz depends on your budget, brand loyalty and how much heft you want in a cracker (this one is a little denser and crunchier).
The best cracker for a fancy dinner party
La Panzanella Mini Artisan Crackers, 85g, $4.99 ($5.87 per 100g), available at select grocers
Score: 6.5/10
These crackers didn’t score the highest on appearance – Ritz, Jatz and other recognisable crackers scored better. But I’ve picked out this category because it has a slightly different criteria: cultural capital, which in any middle-class world is hard to gain from anything broadly recognisable. And in that environment, a cracker that looks and tastes bespoke will flourish – look at the jagged edge, the uneven size, the wholemeal colour. Uneven seasoning (some parts bland, some popping with salt crystals) and an oily finish make these inappropriate for solo snacking, but the snap and neutral wheaty flavour will suit your goat’s cheese or quince jam.
The rest
Damora Crisps Sea Salt, 150g, $2.99 ($1.99 per 100g), available at Aldi
Score: 7/10
A cracker shaped like a country, cut with potato and cornflour, salted more generously than most packets of chips and labelled with a giant emboldened “crisps” is pushing the boundaries of what qualifies as a cracker. Despite how thin it is, it’s solid enough to scoop guacamole and has a good snap. Even if it isn’t a cracker, it does everything you need a cracker to do. You could say that about a Pringle too, but they won’t hold up to the curatorial rigours of the picnic aesthetic, unlike these “crisps”. Like Pringles, these also fail to pair well with Persian fetta, or anything else salty enough to kill a small mammal.
Ritz Original Crackers, 227g, $3.50 ($1.54 per 100g), available at major supermarkets
Score: 7/10
Ritz is unlike any other cracker on the market, and anything that stands out in a field with such homogeneity is going to be divisive. The haters scored it four or five out of 10 and described it as oily, crumbly and “like badly made junk food”. One reviewer wrote: “Way too fleshy, it dissolves in your mouth and sticks to your teeth.” The fans scored it nine out of 10. Instead of oily, they said it was buttery; instead of crumbly, melt-in-your-mouth. You will have to decide which side you’re on.
Woolworths Oven Baked Sea Salt Crackers, 185g, $2.20 ($1.19 per 100g), available at Woolworths
Score: 6.5/10
“Cute frilly edges, my grandma might serve this to me on a doily,” one reviewer wrote. In this case, grandma may have been storing them in the tin a little too long, giving them an oddly stale texture. This cracker has a decent snap but, compared with its peers, it’s far softer to bite and quickly becomes pasty in your mouth. I don’t think they’re literally stale, I think the texture is a result of how much oil they contain (per gram, this is the second-fattiest cracker after Ritz). There were more compliments about the taste, which some described as cheesy – unusual for a cracker made of wheat. My guess is that’s the result of deactivated yeast or “natural flavouring”. But the reason I won’t be buying these is the oddly large size. If you do, be prepared to inform picnic guests that double dipping is OK, or get ready to down a colossal hunk of cheese in one go.
Kurrajong Kitchen Oaklees Originals, 120g, $3 ($2.50 per 100g), available at Coles
Score: 6/10
These are sweet, mealy, malty and toasty, but all of it pushed a little too far, like eating cereal that has been flattened by a steamroller. Do I want to eat that as a snack? No. Do I want to smother it with hummus? Also no. It might be OK with a soft goat’s cheese or something very sharp, but when I’m laying out crackers for a social engagement I don’t want guests to have to troubleshoot their cracker and dip pairings. You might though, and if you do, you should be looking at the flavoured section of the cracker aisle, a wild land with figs, olives, unusual textures and opportunities for platter creativity.
Wafer crackers
Average price: $2.50 per 100g
Average score: 6.5/10
We tried four wafer crackers and they all scored six or six-and-a-half out of 10. If I hadn’t eaten them right after each other, I don’t think I would have been able to tell the difference. They all have a useful and pleasing rice-cracker-like brittleness, but they all go a bit gluey after a few chews, like a wheat-flavoured Roll-Up. I was shocked to find they all included cheese powder, a fact none of the reviewers picked up when tasting them. Ultimately, they’re serviceable but boring, a cracker that would be served at the Christmas parties of local government organisations. As they’re more expensive per gram than Jatz or Eton, I will never buy them.
Water crackers
Average price: $1.15 per 100g
Average score: 3.5/10
I don’t think there’s any point in comparing water crackers. Sure, some are worse than others, but as you can see from the score table below, the best water crackers are easily worse than all other crackers. The first red flag is the name, a comic advertisement of how boring the incoming experience is. Boredom is fine, you can put baba ganoush on that, but the real kicker is the irony: this is the least wet experience I’ve had in any taste test, and that includes eating 18 tahinis in one sitting. If I was a dentist, I’d use them as saliva ejectors. I’m surprised I hadn’t written off water crackers sooner. Given their absurdly low prices, I can forgive the oral dehydration but I can’t excuse buying them while knowing I can get a pack of Eton for cheaper. If there is ever a global wheat shortage, water crackers should be the first thing to go.