tma - fears but they’re desserts
saw a post about jane prentiss but instead she has gummy worms and wanted to expand upon that
the buried - almost inedibly rich chocolate cake. you’re struggling through your slice. your vocal cords feel as if they’ve become clogged with mucus, sponge drying the inside of your throat. you can’t swallow. you can’t breathe.
the corruption - gummy worms as aforementioned. everything is covered in a mixture of citric acid and sugar. you thought you could keep it contained to the bag but the gritty substance has somehow scattered all over you and your carpet. the ants are coming.
the dark - what is in this mousse. there’s bits in it, oddly chunky bits that feel somewhat overcooked yet slimy in texture. you eat out of politeness, fearing what the next bite will hold.
the desolation - you didn’t spread the meringue thick enough on your baked alaska, and now the ice cream’s melted and the cake’s burnt and the carpet is on fire. nice job.
the end - there’s too much molasses in these cookies. it’s the wrong molasses too, it tastes faintly of black olives. they’re charred and sickly, but you feel bad for the little old lady offering them so you take one anyway.
the eye - this is- wait- how the fuck are you meant to eat this? did it necessarily have to be plated on a miniature clothesline? it takes up half the table and holds exactly four tiny cakes pegged to the thing. it has a stupid name like ‘big daddy’s chocolate surprise’ that you had to say out loud in front of your date.
the flesh - i’m sorry there’s WHAT in this chocolate pudding? sure, you can put it in savoury dishes and cook it, but in chocolate pudding?
the hunt - it’s easter you little shits go find your damn eggs
the lonely - freezer burned name brand ice cream straight out of the tub. you’re eating it with corn chips. best served while crying about how no one will ever love you.
the slaughter - ow. ow. owwww. don’t fuck with sugar glass unless you’re prepared to fuck with sugar glass. tanghulu looks easy on youtube, but the sugar has to be heated to 150 celcius. also, it’s possible to cut your mouth on the shards. just an overall painful treat.
the spiral - you are surrounded with trays and trays of failed macarons. when they develop feet, they crack. some are sunken in the middle. some became stuck to the sheet. your eyes are teary. your hands are aching. your ears are still filled with the whirr of an upright mixer, and you can only smell sugar, egg and the smoke from when the mixer overheated. you will die cursing the french.
the stranger - there’s something about your mum’s pineapple tarts that you just can’t get right. no matter what you do, they’ll never taste like hers.
the vast - improbably large sundae. you didn’t think it would be this big when you ordered it. even sharing with your friends you can only get about halfway through. it terrifies you in its enormity.
the web - you can’t stop eating this tiramisu. you made it for some reason, maybe to ration over a while, maybe for a party, but that doesn’t matter now. it’s somehow so light and airy despite being mostly cream, and you’ll be having just one more bite for a while to come.