It's no secret that I'm addicted to strange products. Weird flavors of chocolate or the latest frozen pizza flavor of the month has me salivating and panting at the freezer door. But sometimes a product comes along and is so striking in its simplicity and minimal presentation that I am forced to revisit my perspective on foods and whether there is a time and a place for exoticism or whether it is to be generously doled out.
While I'd love to say that the thousand layer cakes by Euforia could be more appetizing with a light dusting of cocoa-chipotle powder, a bacon and salsa verde infusion, or a slather of cream cheese and red wine frosting, the unadulterated truth is that they are phenomenal and perfect just the way they are. These are cakes that are beautiful on the inside. But unlike the fallacies your mother told you as a child, you zaftig beast, this is one hundred percent true and accurate.
The layers of the cakes meld into one smooth, textured bite, each mouthful buttery yet light, tasting of a pound cake with nicer ingredients. There's a subtle nutmeg, cinnamon, and brown sugar flavor, but no one spice came out ahead of the others and blended together wonderfully. The cakes are extremely moist, and the flavor is the most familiar taste you've never had. I say this because each bite is never alien in form, but somehow better than the snack cakes and commercial baked goods I certainly grew up with as a child. There's a delicacy to these that is clearly carefully crafted.
God, flavors like this just drive me bananas. Every time I think something I have is good enough, something better comes along. Knowing that these exist in the world, with their six ingredients and petite, soft forms, will forever drive me from the lands of snack cakes and zanily frosted cookies. With cakes like these, less is more, ingredient wise. The only time that doesn't apply will be when you're eating them by the boxful.
While I'd love to say that the thousand layer cakes by Euforia could be more appetizing with a light dusting of cocoa-chipotle powder, a bacon and salsa verde infusion, or a slather of cream cheese and red wine frosting, the unadulterated truth is that they are phenomenal and perfect just the way they are. These are cakes that are beautiful on the inside. But unlike the fallacies your mother told you as a child, you zaftig beast, this is one hundred percent true and accurate.
The layers of the cakes meld into one smooth, textured bite, each mouthful buttery yet light, tasting of a pound cake with nicer ingredients. There's a subtle nutmeg, cinnamon, and brown sugar flavor, but no one spice came out ahead of the others and blended together wonderfully. The cakes are extremely moist, and the flavor is the most familiar taste you've never had. I say this because each bite is never alien in form, but somehow better than the snack cakes and commercial baked goods I certainly grew up with as a child. There's a delicacy to these that is clearly carefully crafted.
God, flavors like this just drive me bananas. Every time I think something I have is good enough, something better comes along. Knowing that these exist in the world, with their six ingredients and petite, soft forms, will forever drive me from the lands of snack cakes and zanily frosted cookies. With cakes like these, less is more, ingredient wise. The only time that doesn't apply will be when you're eating them by the boxful.
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