The top dip by my lights is the Mardi Gras Mustard, which boasts the grainy Creole condiment and lends a complex tang to the equation. A friend really digs the Sweet Heat, which balances notes of honey and hot sauce, though I find it leans a tad sugary. Blackened Ranch is a slightly spicy twist on the ubiquitous creamy dressing. Bayou Buffalo is a vinegary, classic-style dupe of the beloved Frank's. But which one? The chain offers a large array, and so I ordered the entire range of little tubs and got to dunking. This bland bird badly needs a bath in one of the many sauces Popeyes offers. The visuals confirm it - no flecks of pepper, no trace of paprika. But beyond that, there's just no seasoning in that beautiful breading. There's a decent level of salt happening, and the anticipated crunch definitely delivers. Where, in the name of all things feathery, is the flavor? But a bite in, I'm disappointed and a little bewildered. And if you tear one open, the flesh is reassuringly birdlike - no McChicken paste here. Popeyes says it uses the same buttermilk batter it does on the famed sandwich, which is another reason to get excited. The breading is promisingly craggy, with jagged edges of golden brown breading (yes, the color is lovely, too!) for days.

The little guys are stunners: to start with, they're irregularly shaped, which is a good thing in the nugget world, where a natural profile indicates they didn't get cut out of a slab of meat amalgam with a nugget-shaped cookie cutter. I picked up a box on Tuesday, and a survey of the box's contents had me feeling optimistic. That's what the people are saying, anyway: The nuggs have been for sale nationwide for more than a day, and longer than that in some areas, and so far, there's been no drive-through stampede or mass Twitter fawning that accompanied the launch of The Sandwich.

Popeyes nuggets