For the discerning gourmand in search of a tasty truffle to accompany afternoon tea, or the sophisticate yearning for a delicious beverage to complement his fruit drops, the article before you is offered as a rough sketch of the enchanting realm of European culinary delightssweet, sour, and otherwise.
This charming drink comes in a diminutive glass bottle (6.7 fl. oz.) shaped like a rounded bullet, which works nicely with Looza's '70s aesthetic. Upon unscrewing the fermeture de securité, a queer odor of fermented fruit wafts to the consumer's nose. Pungently wine-like, the scent foreshadows the sour flavor of the beverage. Quaff it, and you are assaulted with an unusual tartness uncharacteristic of most American juices. This elegant drink may appeal to more eccentric tastes.
This tastes exactly like pears! It's even grainy like pears! Thus: pure power, clear gel.
Certain parties, who will remain nameless, think this looks like sewer-pissbut it doesn't. It's the color of peaches and I'm sorry if you can't appreciate that subtle shade of brown-orange.
"This tastes like plum whiskey," says Mr. K___-B____.
"So you've had plum whiskey before?" reply I.
"No, but if plum whiskey existed this is what it would taste like."
"Yeah, it does taste vaguely alcoholic, like a rum and coke with plum extract. I love the fact that it's got a picture of Santa Claus on the sticker."
"But it's so disappointing when you find out that it was bottled in Lexington, MA!"
Despite the presence of several mystery ingredients (i.e. invert sugar syrup and cocoa mass) in the formula, these little cookies are as delectable as they are delicate. All they are, you see, are patties of almond slivers with a milk chocolate base that acts as an adhesive. I especially appreciate the fact that they were "packaged in a protective atmosphere."
It is a commonly known and irrefutable fact that American wafers suck. The cookies taste like particleboard and the kreem filling is nothing more than tasteless brown (or white, or red) paste. After years of unhappy wafer-munching, feeling my mouth fill up with sawdust, Loacker rescues my opinion of the trifling cookies. Leave it to the Italians to do so. This flavor has an exotic name (featuring two Ks in one word!) and an equally exotic taste. Of course, the crunch factor is welcome, as well.
This is Loacker's hazelnut flavor, and the crème within tastes exactly like Nutella (which now features Kobe Bryant as company sloganeer, a wildly bizarre twist of fate comparable to Heino selling Coke in Deuscheland).
My French is failing me right now, so I can't tell you what "pastilles" means. However I'd like to think that it means "pills," because these sweet, simple chocolates are similarly shaped. Who needs gimmicks when you're selling the best chocolate in the world (although the classy hexagonal-cylindrical box doesn't hurt its appeal)?
OK, so it's no Loacker, but seeing as I had these before the Loackz, they were still impressive relative to the American competition.