Basically, people are crazy about their cats.
I discovered this firsthand when I, in a whim of cat fancy (and at the request of my wife), created a 10-week game of sorts titled "The CATchelor," which pitted a dozen beloved pet contestants through a series of increasingly ridiculous tasks to win the heart of my dashing but ill-tempered feline (may he rest in peace). There was absolutely no real prize and the elimination process was without rhyme or reason, yet each and every owner put forth great time and effort to win (and I use that term very loosely), because... well, they are crazy about their cats (I was very thankful for their participation).
And the kicker is, if one looks at the situation objectively, it's hard to deny that cats are jerks. If you were to date a human with the personality of a cat (and if you are dating, I do so hope it is a human), your friends would tell you to break it off as soon as possible because you were being treated like garbage. And they'd be right.
But somehow it's okay for cats. A gentle purr and warm nuzzle, and suddenly it doesn't matter that they've torn your new furniture to shreds and vomited mouse innards on your pillow. Also, they're hungry, and their food bowl is ONLY HALF FULL!
Cats have an unexplainable hold over people.
It was inevitable, then, that I should sooner or later come across candy that was feline-themed in some manner. Cats inspire all sorts of inane products, after all. And so I humbly present to you Sarotti Katzenzungen (marbled):
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| Hang in there, kitties! |
Sarotti is one of those companies that, while largely unknown in the United States, boasts a lengthy history in Germany. Its age is revealed by its mascot, Sarotti-Mohr (first debuted 100 years ago), who was, until recently, a small stereotyped dark-skinned boy (or possibly man?) from the "Orient" who pulled pieces off of his never-ending chocolate bar and deposited them directly into the mouths of expectant fellow human beings (not to mention animals and woodland gnomes). Cringeworthy stuff. Thankfully, Sarotti finally came to their senses in 2004, deciding that perhaps a more culturally sensitive icon would be preferable. So they changed his skin to gold (sort of a lateral move, if you ask me). One can read the whole story (assuming one can read German) on the company's mascot page.
If one does not like to read, one can instead watch Sarotti's "Chocolait Chips" commercial and risk never again being able to say the words "chocolate chips" without breaking into song (I know it's unrelated to anything, but how could I resist?).
But let's leave that all behind us and focus on the packaging, shall we? My first impression was that the box felt cheaply constructed and the print quality of the kittens (which I assume were chosen for their "marbled" fur) was surprisingly poor. Additionally, the badly-superimposed photo of the product was (and is) unappetizing (and an observant individual would notice that both chocolates appear to be exactly the same; I guess Sarotti was too stingy to provide two for the photo shoot). I think someone needs to inform Sarotti that slapping a picture of a group of kittens onto the front of a package is not the solution to... well, anything, really. The overall effect is more depressing than adorable, and I do not feel confident that the kittens pictured have happy lives or bright futures.
That impression is further supported by the collective body language and expressions of the kittens. The leftmost kitty seems slightly curious about the odd-shaped treats, but the one in the middle looks to be backing away in uncertainty (with a hint of horror?), and the feline farthest to the right looks to be giving the stink eye to an unseen individual to the left, who presumably left the candies at their feet.
Could their reactions be due to the fact that chocolate is dangerous to cats? Or maybe it's simply because cats do not have the ability to taste sweets? Sadly, the answer is far more nefarious: "katzenzungen" translates to "cat tongues." That's right, folks, this is a box of marbled chocolate "cat tongues" (which admittedly don't look much like real cat tongues; my wife thought they were supposed to be bones, which would be just about as accurate, appearance-wise).
Suddenly, it all makes more sense, doesn't it?
Believe it or not, cat tongue chocolates (and cookies) have been popular throughout the world for a long time. I'm not sure how anyone could have found the idea of severed cat tongues appealing, but, as I've said before, people will find inspiration for candies absolutely anywhere.
Anyhow, while my mind tries to make sense of the concept (a futile endeavor, no doubt), I might as well continue on with the review.
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| My, how time flies! |
So here goes. The "best before" date can be found on the back of the box, with the obligatory additional information not meant for the consumer. Looking at the recommended date, it would be fair to assume I missed it. By more than two months, even. But, as it turns out, things aren't always what they seem. I actually consumed my samples on time, and the publishing of this review has just been delayed again and again (due to holiday festivities, bouts with illness, and general laziness).
Just pretend you're reading this two months or so ago (you know, before the thought of eating cat tongues had entered your mind) and everything will be all right.
The nutritional facts are also on the back, in so many languages that the panel practically doubles as a multilingual travel dictionary:
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| Learn to say "fat" in many tongues (feline variety excluded). |
As is standard in Europe, the data is based on a serving size of 100g, and, as a very welcome surprise, the entire box is conveniently labeled as 100g. Nice!
Compared to other chocolate candies I've had, the fat content is slightly higher than average (with perhaps ever-so-slightly less sugar), but not enough to be a significant difference. Really, there's nothing noteworthy or unexpected here, though the panel does bring a (non-cat-tongue-related) question to mind: how many languages is too many to include on the back of a box of chocolates? I think Sarotti is really pushing the envelope here in that regard, and I suppose I ought to view their inclusivity favorably, even if it does make things a little messy.
The ingredients list follows suit, providing the buyer with several more words and phrases to add to his or her international vernacular:
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| The "all-caps" allergens just jump right out at you, don't they? |
Honestly, the ingredients are neither unusual (no real cat tongues, for instance) nor very numerous, but the sheer number of languages provided creates a giant, unreadable word jumble unmatched by even the mighty Marinela Gansito. Common allergens are written in all capital letters with the intent that they'll stand out. I'm sure we can all agree that the effort is every bit as effective as the altering of Sarotti-Mohr's skin color.
Sarotti, you never cease to amaze me!
Needless to say, I was ready to be done with the exterior investigation and open up my box of marbled chocolate "cat tongues."
So that's what I did.
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| These must be formal cat tongues. |
The front of the box advertises (at least according to Google Translate) "with foil sealing for the finest chocolate treat," and there was most certainly a seal protecting my chocolates. Things were off to a good start.
But then I noticed that something was amiss: the marbled design of my "tongues" was different from what was pictured on the packaging, with a milk chocolate band (a cummerbund - or "tonguerbund" - of sorts) across the middle. Now, I'm generally not one to complain about the appearance of my marbled cat tongues (you can ask anyone), but it did cause me to wonder what happened. Is the image of the product on the front so old that it does not reflect the current trend in cat tongue marbling (and has anyone produced a "Where are they now?" documentary about the kitten models?), or did the Sarotti marbler (I assume that's a job title) have a bit too much to drink before/during work the day my batch was prepared? Regardless, it probably doesn't matter, as I can't decide whether I prefer what I expected or what I received.
After removing the seal and giving the chocolates a closer look, I concluded that the photograph on the box was indeed a failure on Sarotti's part (to be fair, I don't think I did any better); based on their appearance I would not classify the tongues as "the finest chocolate treat" by any means, but they did seem edible, at least, and that's something. Still not appetizing (I don't know what it was about them), but edible.
Unfortunately, the flavor did little to improve my opinion of the "tongues." It was fine, just, again, not "the finest." Both the milk chocolate and white chocolate portions had tastes and textures so generic that I can not even find words to describe them (I guess you could say that the tables have turned and the cat's got my tongue). Seriously, I feel you can buy a box of marbled chocolates from any unknown manufacturer at your favorite discount store and get a similar product (flavor-wise, anyhow).
That's not necessarily a bad thing; I was just disappointed by the lack of uniqueness. I was, frankly, disappointed by Sarotti Katzenzungen altogether, and I can't put my finger on why. Sure, the packaging left much to be desired, but the taste was decent (if not special), and the whole "cat tongue" concept, while bizarre, doesn't bother me.
And so it is with confusion and reluctance that I rate Sarotti Katzenzungen (at least the marbled variety) a lowly 1. I've not doubt that on taste alone it should've been rated a 2, but something about the whole experience was off-putting to me, and I have no desire to relive it (the parameters of my rating scale are pretty clear). My capacity for sugar intake is too limited to use on candy that I don't enjoy. So, sorry, Sarotti, but it's going to take more than a picture of kittens (and cloned chocolates) to win me over.
I just wish I knew where things went so wrong. Who knows, maybe the thought of eating cat tongues does bother me more than I thought. Maybe it's the idea of the poor, traumatized kittens confronted with the tongues of their parents (hence the two on the box), which were cut out for incessant meowing (if you think I'm being overly dramatic here, you haven't read enough classic German children's stories).
Or maybe it's the fact that cats use their tongues to clean their butts.
I guess we'll never know.
With a renewed appreciation for toilet paper,
The Sweets Fiend
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| I'd have taken a picture of two "tongues," but... tradition and all... |
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