Larry David's Mini Bar Picks, Ranked From Worst To Best

Food is clearly a passion for Larry David, or at least the joyfully noxious fictional version of himself the "Seinfeld" co-creator inhabits on his iconic HBO comedy "Curb Your Enthusiasm." There was that ill-advised investment in Bobo's, the sceney Los Angeles restaurant which strangely hasn't appeared on the show since it was prominently featured in Season 3. And who can forget the spite-driven coffee shop Latte Larry's, which like many of the things that David touches, went up in flames (in this case, literally). Then, of course, there was the infamous Cobb Salad incident, his doomed Palestinian chicken romance, the Larry David sandwich, and the veritable buffet of other food-related mishaps that have satiated our hunger for cringe comedy throughout the show's historic run.

So it didn't come as much of a shock when in Season 11's stellar third episode (appropriately titled "The Mini Bar"), Larry declared himself an arbiter of mini bar tastes and tried to insert himself as the official in-room snack curator at Freddy Funkhouser's (Vince Vaughn) eponymous Beverly Hills hotel. Marty's cousin obliged and, per "Curb" tradition, things got pretty awkward.

When Larry gleefully trolls the supermarket aisles with Leon (JB Smoove) and Jeff (Jeff Garlin) in tow, stuffing his cart with divisive candy and cocktail accoutrements, we had a feeling this cocksure endeavor would not end well. His fate was sealed after a disastrous food pitch with Funkhouser and his associates that ended with Larry and his bruised ego poo-pooing the suggestion of bringing in a co-curator and ultimately storming out of the meeting.

While his full snack spread may not cover four quadrants, there were, to be sure, a few diamonds in the rough. Here's what Larry got right and wrong with his mini bar selections.

Plenty of awful incidents transpire in "Mini Bar": Maria Sofia's (Keyla Monterroso Mejia) brutal acting and genuine beatdown of Cheryl (Cheryl Hines) and Ted Danson; Cousin Andy's (Richard Kind) disastrous turn in the dreaded middle hot seat; Jeff claiming to have stage four cancer. But Larry's decision to include black licorice in his mini bar lineup may just be the most egregious of them all. (Okay, perhaps the cancer lie was worse.)

This is Larry's first pick at the supermarket, and it makes perfect sense. When he plucks the bag from the display and defiantly says, "Black licorice — yeah, I think so," you can tell the move is particularly meaningful to him. It's a polarizing man siding with a polarizing candy, and on some level we totally respect that.

But then there's the fact that black licorice tastes like absolute hot garbage and very few people would eat it, let alone pay a jacked up mini bar price for a bag of what's essentially the New York Jets of food. At the very least, Larry could've opted for some trendy brand instead going with generic Delish.

Though he may be in the process of developing "Young Larry" with Hulu, our favorite TV curmudgeon is giving off old man vibes with this selection. Unlike black licorice, we don't thoroughly despise black olives (assuming they're of the tiny, wrinkly variety and not the smooth, sad, crummy pasta salad bound specimens), and actually enjoy the salty, briny chew of the Mediterranean drupe.

Here's the thing: Those little gals and guys are massive in the flavor department, and getting your money's worth by polishing off an entire jar is quite the commitment. And then there's the whole potential struggle of opening the jar and making sure none of that juice spills. These are minor yet (potentially major) aggravations that you would assume someone as typically acute as Larry would think through.

If black olives were offered on a room service mezze plate, we would be happy to indulge. But served on their own, we'll have to pass.

Unable to decide between black and green olives, Larry took a cue from an all-time classic meme and went with the "why not both?" approach. We've already explained above why olives are generally a bad idea for a mini bar (the battle to open the jar, olive juice sloshing everywhere) but these get the slight edge over their darker, bolder cousins. (I guess you can say they're the mild Andy to Larry's black olive intensity.)

While green olives are a decent enough solo snack choice, they're far more enjoyable paired with a fancy pants cheese and charcuterie plate or a stiff martini (shaken not stirred ... or stirred not shaken — just give us our booze and we'll be happy). Perhaps if the mini bar was stocked with some tiny bottles of gin and dry vermouth, we would consider taking the green olive plunge. Otherwise, this is another misfire from Larry.

For a glimpse of Larry's galaxy brain, behold as he tries to sell the room on dried figs: "You ever see that in a mini bar? No. Of course not. Why? Nobody's thought of it! I have! I have."

At least Larry is aware that this is an unorthodox pitch, and quite frankly, we're ready for the curve ball. Figs are woefully underrated in the world of dried fruit. Meaty, with a terrific balance of sweet and sour, they put the far more ubiquitous raisin to shame. Sadly the La Cañada focus group hired by team Funkhouser doesn't share ours and Larry's fig enthusiasm. The numbers don't lie: Only 15% of men over the age of 25 want them stocked. And while that figure rises to 20% for educated men with four years of college under their belts, a mere 8% of uneducated men (we're talking a high school degree or less) are on board.

Perhaps they have an issue with the tiny stem on each piece of fruit and Larry, of all people, should be familiar with the annoyance of getting something small and seemingly innocuous lodged in your throat.

We've reached the point on this list where Larry is certainly onto something. Cheese crisps are all the rage right now, and a particular favorite of the keto set considering they're simply pure, unadulterated cheese with no additional carbs. We doubt that Larry is of the keto persuasion, and there's a good chance he has no idea what the diet even entails, but there is no denying his love for Perfectly Crisp Parmesan Crisps. "This is one of the world's great crackers," he asserts. "There's Parmesan in this!"

As a hotel snack goes, we're totally down for some Parmesan crisps. But the reason this one isn't higher in the rankings is twofold: First, there's the issue of the price. Larry's cheese crisp of choice goes for a hefty $5.99 at Whole Foods, and we're not sure we can stomach what the price tag is likely to be at the Funkhouser. Then, there's the issue of Larry's particular Perfectly Crisp flavor choice, the standard "Parmesan," even though "everything" is obviously the superior pick.

"Do we love the sound of that?" Larry inquires as he excitedly shakes a tube of wasabi peas like a toddler with a rattle. The trio sitting before him appear unenthused — but they should be. Wasabi peas traffic in the sort of superficiality that makes them the perfect match for a Beverly Hills hotel mini bar. They're just past their prime of being trendy, feature a once healthy vegetable that's gone through some dramatic cosmetic surgery, and ultimately, come off as more spicy than they actually are. All in all, wasabi peas are the snack version of "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" — Dorit Kemsley, if we're being specific.

But beyond the artifice, wasabi peas are genuinely craveable and stumbling into our room after an exhausting Hollywood night, we'd be willing to shell out for them. Just before Larry calls it a day, he declares, "If you don't have this vision to know how amazing a wasabi pea would be in a mini bar, I don't really want anything to do with you." And to that we say, amen.

"I don't think you're going to find a better mini bar display, not just in the country, but in the world," Larry tells Funkhouser and his associates. While the boast may not exactly ring true, including Tate's in the equation certainly helps his cause. The thin and crispy Southampton born and bred cookie has become a nationwide sensation over the past few years, and for good reason. The company's rapidly expanding legion of fans includes everyone from Ina Garten to, well us. (It landed in the top five of our favorite grocery store chocolate chip cookies.)

To be clear, Larry doesn't specifically highlight Tate's on the show, though the bag is prominently featured in his supermarket cart, as well as on the table during the pitch meeting. Perhaps that's because there is no humor to be mined from selecting Tate's to be on the mini bar roster. This is a slam dunk LeBron in 2003 draft pick, and we applaud Larry for bringing it into the fold.

"All right. The coup de grâce," Larry exclaims as he holds up a single, shimmering York Peppermint Pattie. While the Funkhouser squad deems it a "classic," they seem generally unenthused. Well, shame on them for failing to acknowledge Larry's brilliance. Wait, are you not getting it? Let us explain.

What is the single most iconic hotel food item? The pillow mint, of course. It's an always welcome, perfectly pleasant, sweet little treat to enjoy before you go to bed. And yet, the Peppermint Pattie is that and so much more. You're hit with that borderline-abrasive cool, creamy rush, but that welcome milk chocolate coating helps to temper the situation, a ying to the peppermint's yang (or is it the other way around?). Regardless, the union is reminiscent of the Larry and Jeff friendship but in candy form, so obviously we're fans.