Giant cupcake comes from here
You know those 100-calorie snack packs, right? They come in all kinds of shapes, flavors, and colors: from bright orange Cheetohs to pastel-pink cuppy cakes. It’s a great idea. Because each 100-calorie snack is packaged separately, you’re not tempted to gorge on a whole bag.
Does this approach really work on actual humans? Believe me, if I wanted more than 8 Goldfish crackers or 6 infant-sized Oreos, I would have absolutely no qualms about ripping open a second, third, fourth package. It’s just cellophane, people! Do you really feel that bad about taking another little bag from the ridiculously overpriced box of six and tearing it open?
I decided to give it a try and see if I could stop after only 100 calories.
Typically, I prefer my cupcakes to be the size of dinner platters. If they’re particularly good, I can stop at six. Unless there’s a ton of frosting. Then it’s eight.
Look! Instead of two normal cupcakes, you get three wee ones. And people, they are wee.
Yeah, the cupcake really is that small (It is also that blurry. So is the penny. Shut up.)
Who can eat anything so small? It’s ridiculous. It’s a novelty cupcake. It doesn’t even deserve the name “cupcake.” Maybe “thimblecake” or “atomcake.”
After I get over the shock of the teeny tiny size, I’m assaulted by an overpowering strawberry aroma. Oof, it’s like Mr. Bubble, and yes, I do speak from vast experience. Geez! OK, it’s strawberry. I get it. No need to knock me unconscious. The label says “Cream Cheese Icing,” but this is a lie.
Theoretically, these cakelets can be eaten in two bites. This really only works if you’re imitating a prissy old lady pretending to be having tea with other old ladies, where everyone is nibbling tea cakes with pursed lips and a delicate mincing of teeth. You know. Like, “Chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp. Oh, my dear Harriet. These are really ever so delicious but I cannot possibly eat another morsel! 3 atoms of crumbs is all I’m allowed per day!”
I’m no delicate old lady, but I bit one in two here for the purpose of science:
What a joke. There’s barely enough in my mouth to chew. If you take one bite, be prepared to just swallow it whole, because how do you chew three crumblets? The other two I popped into my mouth as if they were gumballs.
They’re not bad, once you get over the smell. The creamy inside is rather pleasant, and the “frosting” isn’t even as hard and rigid as you find on your typical Hostess Cupcake.
The verdict? I am NOT tempted to rip open another package. Possibly because I paid almost four dollars (Dave! Stop reading!) for a box of these so-called cupcakes, but more likely because I’m saving my appetite for that giant cupcake at the top.
How many bites to finish off that one?