Cuteness on a scale I dare only dream about, but there he was, oggling me from the display case. I had to take him home, along with a vanilla vanilla cupcake. I watched as the lady behind the counter fairly tossed them both into a paper bag, so I was fretting all the way home that Mr. Whoopi would be crushed. But he wasn't. And neither was the cupcake. That, friends, is a huge red flag. Because if your bakery item can be grabbed by a burly bakery lady and tossed in a paper bag and STILL retain its good looks, that means you're not dealing with anything cream based. You're dealing with shortening that's been whipped into a frosting like lump. One bite of Mr. Whoopi and I had that sinking feeling that what I was gnawing at was actually a now hardened disc of crisco. Oh Mr. Whoopi, you were so good looking, such a charmer, but your guts were made of chemically altered oil that left me feeling cheated. Why, Mr. Whoopi, why!!!
|Frosting entirely in tact after being tossed in a bag.|
And the cupcake was no better. A bit of a looker, but the entire frosting unit came off in one indivisible hunk of flavorless shortening. I sadly nibbled at the vaguely acceptable cake before sending the better part of both pastries on to clog the landfill (half life estimated to be at least 20 years before that frosting gives up the ghost and degrades).
The moral here? Don't be seduced by sweet talking pastries with oggly eyes? Well, at least you should certainly stick to the doughnuts at Verna's.