Two lovely Canadians agreed to the crème egg exchange: longtime reader Sheila, as well as Gillian over at Hit Pay Dirt. Sheila sent me five crème eggs to my two (score!). And while my ambassadors traveled to Canada via coach in a ripped-up egg crate with an American flag plastered on it, Gillian sent her crème eggs First Class like this:
Is it any wonder why people hate Americans?
I had high hopes for showing my Canadian crème eggs the sights about town (complete with blog-worthy pictorial) before tearing into them, but no such luck. The lure of sweet nostalgia was too much to bear.
First off, the Canadian eggs are clearly bigger.
I thought B.J. Novak was trying to pull a fast one, but the camera doesn’t lie and I’m no magician. Cadbury has since admitted that Hershey chose to make them smaller for the American market. I say chalk one up for shrewd American businessmen because I’ll pay whatever it costs for a crème egg, no matter what the size.
We all know that bigger doesn’t necessarily mean better, but in this case it quite possibly is better because there may be a correlation between size and the delectability of the filling. As if the bigger Canadian ones have the original Cadbury recipe and the smaller American ones have some kind of inferior Hershey-ized recipe. So, is there a difference?
I broke the first rule of scientific analysis by coming into these trials clearly biased. I knew the Canadian crème eggs would be better, I just knew it. So I ate one. And it was awesome. Then I ate an American one. And, wouldn’t you know it, it was less awesome. The Canadian ones had a thicker filling, better mouthfeel, and seemed slightly less sweet (though still able to shatter your teeth in a single bite). The American ones were a bit runnier and slightly more cloying. But the differences were subtle.
Once I had cemented my bias, I set up a blind taste-test. It’s hard to do this by yourself, mind you. I couldn’t enlist my Husband to help because: a) he can’t stand the sight of crème eggs; and b) he likes to trick me, whenever possible, and I don’t have a sense of humor when it comes to crème eggs. Anyone else was a security risk. I wasn’t sharing them with the kids, no way no how, and even my close friends, god bless them, can only take so much of me.
So, it was just me (eyes shut) and the eggs. The problem (besides the goo spilling out all over the place during my blindness) was that I could tell which one was bigger in my hand, and I knew that the bigger one was supposed to be better and I’m sure my taste buds were paying close attention. I tried to confuse myself by rearranging them with my eyes closed, but I seem to have a freaky ability to detect miniscule weight differences. Or maybe it was the difference in texture. Anyway, I could tell. Even so, I’ll admit I waffled a bit on which one I liked better. Until I decided that the Canadian one was better. Whichever one that was.
The verdict: I don’t have any fucking idea. All I know is that they’re gone, I want more, and I don’t care where they come from.
P.S. Be sure to check out Gillian’s post on the subject, which puts mine to shame with regards to photography, scientific method, and overall professionalism.