10 Sara Lee Frozen Desserts, Ranked Worst To Best

"It had to be perfect because he was naming it after me." These words are attributed to a very confident Sara Lee. Maybe you're familiar? You've likely invited her to your holiday table for dessert or employed her help in making sandwiches or toast. She is a celebrity of the bakery world and the namesake for the now global brand that was founded by her father in 1949.

It was then that Charles Lubin started out with just a single recipe for a cream cheesecake, which he dedicated to his daughter Sara. However, that lone dessert sparked a fudge ripple effect of other treats. Soon, the business was shelling out additional sweet products like all-butter pound cakes and making a name for itself as a pioneer of frozen baked goods. Pies, cobblers, and other cakes were additionally thrown into the mix, not to mention a side baking fresh bread.

There's no denying that Sara Lee is a leading lady of both the bakery and frozen dessert aisle — in good company next to Marie Callender. But now it's time for her to put her cakes and confections where her mouth is. In order to find out whether Sara's products really are perfection or if perhaps the brand's muse was a touch biased, I tried out 10 of her frozen desserts. Risking a sugar rush, I sliced my way through fruit cobblers, cheesecakes, and creme pies, ranking them from my least to most favorite, based on fresh fillings, creamy textures, crumbly crusts, and a controlled sweetness. Let's find out which treat takes the cake.

As soon as that first leaf falls for the season (or even long before), pumpkin pies begin to come out of the woodwork. Fresh versions, like the famed monstrosity from Costco, take over grocery store bakery departments, and then there are the frozen burnt orange pies from brands like Sara Lee that quietly make their way to the freezer case.

I was glad to see that Sara's pumpkin pie is made with pumpkin and spices, as outlined on the box. You'd think that would be a given, but I'm glad the brand doubled down to prevent any confusion. As someone who has taken up (but not quite mastered) the art of made-from-scratch pumpkin pies over the last few holiday seasons, though, I was still wary of this baked-from-frozen confection. It turns out I was right to be skeptical.

After cooking for the allotted 75 minutes and then some, the pie came out suspiciously jiggly. My first bite confirmed that it was much too runny and soft for my liking — more like sopping pumpkin puree than a firm slice. At the same time, the taste was anything but diluted. Nutmeg and cloves are spiced aggressors, trampling all other flavors in their path, even the pumpkin itself. The crust turned out to be my only friend on the plate — a crumbly silver lining. It miraculously didn't succumb to sogginess under the weight of the damp mixture, standing strong with equal parts salt and butter. I was tempted to pick at the pie's edges and do away with the rest.

Ooh la la, I was excited for this French-style cheesecake. As a spin-off of Sara Lee's foundational dessert, I expected big things, and the ode to a lighter, more delicate French confection made it all the more intriguing. Unfortunately, though, it missed the sweet spot.

Even with a combination of cream, cream cheese, sour cream topping, and Neufchâtel cheese, it's not what I would call "creamy." The texture is more crumbly. Instead of melting in your mouth like a whipped product should, it coagulates into lumps. Then, instead of that rich tang, it has more of a custard or buttery nature, that coats your tongue. It was like cheesecake-flavored ice cream that overdid it with a highly exaggerated, artificial taste.

The strawberry topping was just as I envisioned it to be: more coulis than true strawberries. The berries are, in fact, real (per the box). But they're sad, squashy, and a far cry from plump fresh ones. Underneath it all is an average, everyday graham cracker crust. It's not good enough to save the rest, but not bad enough to complain about. As a light dusting, it actually escaped my senses altogether as I focused on the faults of the strawberries and cake base. I had to revisit the slice to give the crust a fair taste.

Each year around Christmastime, my family whips up a chocolate chip cheesecake from scratch, complete with an OREO crust and a generous chocolate chip layer on top. And it's absolutely divine. I recognize that it isn't necessarily fair to compare this treasured homemade treat to Sara Lee's cake. But I couldn't help myself. I weighed the similarities and differences with every bite, coming to the conclusion that Sara has some work to do.

Yes, the Cookies & Creme cheesecake follows a whipped French-style just like the strawberry, but the two are markedly distinct. This more indulgent take leans closer to the smooth side, but still tastes as though the cheeses, cream, milk, and sugar weren't properly incorporated together. Sweet and tang team up, forming a tasteful balance, and all could have been tied up in a bow quite nicely with a killer crust and indulgent cookie pieces laced throughout. No dice there, though.

Oreos were not used in the making — that fact would have been blatantly plastered on the box if so — and I was left pining for the real deal. The chocolate pellets on top are the same as the layer on the bottom. All of the above tasted less like crisp chocolate sandwich cookies and more like the soft sides of a Little Debbie Fudge Round. It's all just a bit dry and stale, which makes sense considering the pie was in the frozen tundra of my freezer just 30 minutes prior. As a whole, this pie has potential. But the execution prevents it from earning a spot on my Christmas dinner table.

The pound cake was not named for the weight of the dessert itself — nor was it named because of the poundage you gain by tackling the entire thing in one sitting. It was named this because the original 18th-century recipe called for an entire pound of all four of its core ingredients, including butter, sugar, flour, and eggs.

Sara Lee holds true to tradition ... sort of. The brand still uses the classic four ingredients in its frozen cake, though we'll never know in what proportions — that kind of information isn't readily disclosed on the product label. What is spelled out, however, is a lengthy lineup of supplemental ingredients, presumably added to keep the cake freezer-friendly.

Despite these instances of doctoring up the time-honored recipe, Sara Lee still manages to do it justice. Could it benefit from a bit more moisture? Sure — especially along the browned heel. But it ticks many other boxes. Its tightly-packed crumb makes it dense yet tender, and notes of vanilla lead the charge on the flavor side while sweetness and richness are more subdued. Just imagine a highly concentrated vanilla birthday cake that dialed back on the sugar content but dialed up the butter.

It's a staple kind of dessert — a neutral canvas ready to be dressed in fresh fruit, whipped cream, or a decadent chocolate ganache. It's surprisingly good for a frozen dessert. But all on its own, without more finesse, it doesn't surpass other more fully-formed Sara Lee creations.

I was ready to jet off on a tropical vacation after a slice of this coconut creme. It's one of many creme confections from Sara Lee — slathered between tastes like Key Lime, Banana, and Chocolate Creme. Though it was the only one I was able to find at my local store.

I can admit, coconut can be a polarizing ingredient — not just in pies but in any food or treat. Just think about the coconut-blasted Girl Scout Samoas (recently rebranded to Caramel deLites). You either love them or you hate them. As someone who does think that coconut tastes like sunscreen on some occasions, I am still on board with Samoas, and I feel the same way about Sara Lee's pie.

A standard pie crust meets a coconut cream layer meets a white whipped cream layer meets a sprinkling of coconut shreds at the crest — a classic build. Coconut comes on strong at first, but loses some of its potency when buddied up next to plenty of cream and crust. The two middle layers fuse together, creating a substance that lands somewhere between creamy and gelatin-like. I would have preferred it to be more velvety than light and fluffy, but its sweetness butters me up enough to let this slide.

My only other notes are minor. First, the ribbons of coconut could have been better distributed — a problem I probably could have solved myself. Second, while the crust does its job and holds together quite well, it's one of those crusts that looks and tastes undercooked, rendering it chewy and subsequently knocking the entire pie down a few notches further from a tropical paradise.

Fruit pies are a must, and Sara Lee covers all her bases. From apple to blueberry to peach, there's an entire bushel of them baked by the brand, and cherry was not denied an invite to the party.

Coming out of the oven, this pie is not much to look at — it's certainly not the first dessert I would have grabbed at a potluck, that's for sure. Its pale, crackling crust isn't promising, and inside the cherries are far from abundant, not to mention stripped of their vibrant red hue. Luckily, the taste compensates for its lousy appearance.

The box doesn't specify what kind of cherries are used — whether they're tart or sweet, from Michigan or somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. But the flavor hints that they are, in fact, tart cherries that have been neutralized by the baking process and a generous amount of sugar. The ratio between cherries and cherry filling (let's just call it what it is: goop) is a bit off, leaning more towards goop, but it still manages to be bright and juicy.

The crust then brings everything together–in more ways than one. It's no more impressive than a standard Pilsbury pie crust you would buy at the grocery store. But it gets the job done. Similar to the pumpkin pie's crust, it's flaky, dense, and just salty enough to offset the acidity and sugar of the cherry filling. The crimped fringes also became nice and crisp in the oven, resulting in my favorite part of the pie.

If you're the kind of person who simply can't stomach sharing your dessert (or waiting for it), then Sara Lee has just the treat for you. New to the brand's repertoire, the Sweet Moments line mimics fruit cobbler, but in single-serve microwaveable cups that are ready in 60 seconds. It sounds too good to be true. But it turns out to be a serving of expedited scrumptiousness.

One of three flavors, the Orchard Apple Cinnamon is a ramekin of apple crumble that traded a coarse and crunchy topping for a doughy, cake-like crown. The sliced and spiced apples underneath swim in minimal apple pie goop. They are a bit too crunchy for my liking — undercooked by perhaps just a couple of minutes — and a few carried a strange, synthetic taste that I assume came from their contact with the microwaved container. But most of that is hidden underneath the taste of lightly undercooked streusel swirled with hints of brown sugar and cinnamon. If you've ever ordered the fried apples from Cracker Barrel, imagine that, but capped with a sweet crumble of flour, sugar, and oil. It's autumn in a cup.

It is a pretty small portion, which is a bummer. In a true bout of sweet cravings, I would likely find myself reaching for both ramekins in the box. But 320 calories per cup is not too shabby (just don't mind the 36 grams of added sugars–those are a doozy).

The Berry Bliss has everything the Orchard Apple does, but with an elevated fruit filling. Sara goes all out with strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, and red raspberries all thrown into the mix. All four squashed berries coalesce into one jam-like substance in the miniature cup. Based on the deep coloring of the medley alone, I guessed that blackberries took over. But the lighter, more floral taste of raspberries is what inundated my taste buds. Strawberries, on the other hand, were forgotten completely, and I found but one lone blueberry hiding in the mix.

Whatever berry combination it may be, it works. The taste is tart yet sweet, as though true-to-life fresh fruit was used in the making — a difficult feat for a frozen dessert. I preferred the berries to the apples largely because of this fresh-picked quality, but also because they just go so darn well with the cobbler topping. Once again, it's goey, sweet, and buttery. Admittedly, it teeters on the line between cooked and undercooked. But who doesn't love that? Like a cross between vanilla cake batter and biscuit dough, it turns the confection into more of a dump cake than a cobbler, and I love it for that.

All things considered, I would label the new Sara Lee Sweet Moments treats as a win. The only thing left to do is to get my hands on the Salted Peach Cobbler version that happened to be out of stock at my local store. It sounds like it has the potential to give Berry Bliss a run for its money.

As Sara Lee's very first dessert, the classic cheesecake had a lot riding on it. It had everything to lose when pitted against subsequent confections, but still came out (almost) on top. I can confirm that it is an oldie but a goodie — either that, or the brand has used the last 75 years to perfect its inaugural recipe.

It doesn't venture far from the makings of a traditional New York-style cheesecake, leaning on cream cheese, cultured sour cream, sugar, and eggs to make up the bulk of its body. A sweetened sour cream layer also sits on top, in a lighter shade than the yellowed cake below. Together, these layers sing with creaminess, the texture landing close to that of a viscous custard. Thinking back to the strawberry French-style cheesecake, the crusts are nearly identical. But the combination of graham flour, brown sugar, honey, and cinnamon goes better with a no-frills recipe. So it can be forgiven for being more chewy than crumbly and light on overall flavor.

The classic cheesecake is not the richest or most lavish cheesecake I have ever had the pleasure of savoring. Don't hate me for jumping on the bandwagon, but I do still think the Costco Kirland version is better. But Sara Lee's debut dessert holds its ground, with just the right amount of sweetness and tang, like sweetened condensed milk in an enticing forkable form. For a frozen store-bought cheesecake, I'd say that's something to be proud of.

The Dutch just do apple pie better. And Sara Lee happens to do Dutch apple pie better than any of its other frozen desserts. This fruity creation is a slice of heaven. I'm a sucker for that sweet crumbly streusel on top of pies — a feature that happens to be signature to the Dutch style.

It melts in your mouth like crumbly nuggets of butter and sugar, making you wonder why any baker would opt for a traditional double crust or lattice top. I could have picked off these clumps from the top and been perfectly content. But the apples hiding below provide just as much candied savor. More sweet than tart and with faint whispers of cinnamon, they're similar to the slices found in the Sweet Moments orchard apple cobbler. However, within this full pie, the apples are cooked down and caramelized to the perfect tender texture with no underlying hints of artificiality. I was impressed with the sheer number of apples. They're present in every bite, and the gelatinous filling plays a supportive role, flowing into all the empty nooks and crannies.

From bottom crust to orchard-picked apples to top crumb, this is the kind of frozen dessert we all dream about. The one that is most likely to elicit the question at the get-together, "Is this homemade?" A question to which you can kindly reply with a smile, "No, my friend Sara made it."

"Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee". Hear me out. Perhaps the brand's old slogan is true. Maybe there really is a little something for everyone on the Sara Lee lineup of desserts and baked goods. But that doesn't mean that everything on the lineup is a winner.

Some products clearly outshine others, and there are some recipes that I would be content with never revisiting. Texture was a big problem for some confections, like the runny pumpkin pie or the mealy whipped cheesecakes. I wanted something more creamy and tender — and I'm sure any other sweet tooth would agree. Fruit pies and cobblers needed to find that balance of fruit, goop, and crust, led mostly by generous servings of real, authentic fruit that landed between sweet and tart. 

Crust was additionally not to be overlooked. Whether it's graham cracker, chocolate cookie, or standard pie crust, it's tricky to get a crust right, especially in frozen form. That's why the ones that got it right — like the Classic Cheesecake and Dutch Apple Pie — stood out all the more.