Here is a statement.
Cake is inspirational.
I say this as I lick the last remnants of the strangest and perhaps the most delicious cake I have ever eaten from my lips.
It was small, and arrived in a box. It was coated in a soft, luxurious film of glossy chocolate, and on top lay five single curls of the same, arranged to deceive my eyes. When the sharp knife slid down right into its core, and a small slice was gently pulled out of the whole, a golden brown substance oozed from the middle.
Once on my place, a cup of cinnamon and apple tea steaming beside me, I examined it. It was very brown, and I realised the little moist smudges within the cakey texture were dates. A date cake, then, coated with chocolate and filled with…?
I let my fork sink into the cake, taking a sizeable chunk along with some of the golden cream, and closed my lips over it.
An explosion in my mouth. Sweetness, solid cake, my mouth enriched.
First the dates. Not bad at all. Then the chocolate. Finally, swirling its fingers over my tongue, caressing my tastebuds, a surge of.. salted caramel?!
What an odd combination of flavours, but how well they worked together.
Immediately the exhaustion evaporated, I settled back to really enjoy this slice. Immediately my brain fizzled into action. I no longer felt lethargic. I washed my cake down with the deep warm cinnamon tea, the perfect balance to the overwhelming sweetness of cake.
The perfect high note to a day filled with lows.