Confection's Confessions

I trepidatiously choose a place to sit down in the cafe while awaiting what is presumed to be the best chocolate cake I have ever had. I'm only nervous because my connoisseur colleagues have all raved about this place known as Confection's Confessions. Anytime I'm at odds with them, it seems I'm shifted out of the social circle little by little with every occurrence. It's a cold morning outside at a frigid 34°F and the last thing I want to eat is something of mild temperature. Why couldn't my work take me to a soup diner today to warm up a bit? I decide to take a seat by the window as I always do when I can and pull out my laptop to prep.

The inside of the cafe is quite nice and there seems to be a jovial atmosphere to help lighten my mood. The tables themselves are made with a fair oak trim with the rest of the table encased by laminate to help with eventual coffee stains. This is a nice touch. My chair itself is quite comfortable and sturdy. Most confection or coffee shops have a quaint look to them but everything usually feels like it could break at any moment. However, what seals the deal is that the chair is comfortable.

It almost feels like these locations get off on offering the chairs with the worst backrests to get the customers out as quickly as possible to make space for new ones. That's not how you treat your guests, is it? Perhaps I'm about to give this place too much of a biased review based on one dish due to my mood. It feels as if it's elating itself which helps assuage my concerns of mockery in the future. As I'm pondering every viable outcome, the waitress comes over to my table and asks what I would like to try out today.

Making eye contact has never been my forte and I sheepishly look in her direction and ask for a slice of their best chocolate cake. She mentions something about coffee but I have yet to find a coffee shop that serves a good cup while being reasonably priced, so I decline. Instead, I opt for a small glass of milk to which she obliges. As she leaves, I comprehend our conversation only lasted about 20 seconds and she didn't push anything extra on me other than the coffee. Another plus.

The waitress returns with the cake and milk in tow and it is only now that I'm realizing this will be a relatively quick exercise. This is to my liking. Not that I have anything important to do today but time to myself comes few and far between these days. She places the plate of cake gently on the table in front of me with an assortment of cutlery to accompany it. Why do I need a fork, spoon, and knife to indulge in a simple cake? It's more than likely pre-assembled but still seems like an oversight. The placement of the milk is next on my right-hand side. That's a good touch.

She smiles and asks if everything looks good. It occurred to me that I hadn't even looked at the cake yet. I examine the innards of the dessert and find it to be incredibly precise. Most triple-layer cakes are messy and falling apart at the seams. I peer over at my milk and it definitely looks like milk. I tell her everything looks good, she smiles and walks back to the front end. Now that I'm alone with this cake, the thought of getting this review wrong starts to pollute my mind yet again. I'm the prototypical scatterbrain and it's on in full effect as I start grasping at straws to find something to nitpick.

Looking at the cake, something suddenly dawns on me. The seasoning isn't quite there. Wait. Does seasoning go on a cake? Determining to squelch my overly-critical self, I unwrap the utensils to grab the fork and use it to cut into the piece of supposed confection perfection. The cut glides quite easily and the cake pops right back up as my cut has finished. With this piece lying on my fork, I finally guide it toward my mouth. As the slice hovers over my salivating tongue, my fears quadruple by the second. What if this doesn't turn out the way I have it in my head?

What if it isn't a lifetime memory that I cherish but a curse that haunts me forever!

Before I could get a chance to think any further, my mandible subconsciously tears into the piece and perplexes my synapses. An explosion of something causes me to pause and reflect. What is this that I'm experiencing?! Never before have I tasted anything like it! The gooey center tries to melt away in its new, humid environment but the sponge-like texture of the cake itself holds everything in place. How interesting! I immediately want to devour all of that remains. I also want to take it slow and live in the moment. Oh, too many choices!

I choose to chew slowly as my taste buds transcend my culinary palette, further cementing this moment in time. Small chunks drop from my palate to keep the rapid-fire escapade endearing. A cycle in motion unheeded by any interruption. To focus on distractions would be to miss the point of this creation. The left side of my brain starts preparing a review to cater to those who have yet to try Confection's Confessions but I don't want to be lost. I must remain focused.

I finally swallow what remains of the original slice and it easily flows downwards. Not a hint of dryness in this cake. This place takes their creations with absolute gusto and nothing short of that will suffice. I prepare myself for a repeat experience fully knowing that it cannot possibly grant me the same satisfaction it bestowed at first. This wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about something.

For the first time in my recollection of existence, the time passing by slowly was inherently a good thing. It felt like what must have been hours of consuming the cake bit by bit just to get the full effect. The constant state of euphoria has made me exhausted by this point as I feel weathered by the powerful confection. Now that the cake and milk are gone, all that's left is the review. Do my cohorts finally adhere to my writing prose and critical analysis or do they continue to brush me off? Where is there to go from here?