Harrods cheese Danish

If Wal-Mart is as American as apple pie and baseball, then Harrods is as British as spotted dick and cricket. So I had high hopes for their interpretation of our old friend, the cheese Danish. And they were were right on the money, sorta. Imagine a cellist that hits all the right notes but then decides to fart halfway through the performance. Yo-yo Ma would never think about breaking wind, so why ruin a Danish like this?

What am I talking about? I’ll let the Generalissimo explain, as he did it so much more eloquently than I.

“They put effing raisins in the effing cheese filling!”

Yeah, that sums it up. The bread was little dry, but not painfully so. The flavor of the bread was great, the texture was spot on, and the crusty edges from baking were a welcome treat. Near perfect scores.

The frosting was a tad dry, but a delight just the same. Sweet, but not overpowering. A gentle nudge of flavor to make you forget the dryness was even there.

Then, the cream cheese filling.

“It was sublime!” he said as he wiped a tear from his mustache. “Then they…they…I cannot say it!”

I will. Underneath a moist, sweet, perfectly tarted filling, below a texture so smooth you could call it Billy Dee Williams, lurking where nothing but perfection should have roamed with impunity…

Raisins. They put effing raisins in the effing cream cheese filling. Someone should be dragged out into Brompton Road and shot.

So close, yet no cigar.

B

Pioneer Bakery cheese Danish

Doughy instead of flakey. A balance of sweet and sour. A folded pastry with two problems that keep it from the title fight.

The Pioneer Bakery of Puyallup, Washington, is one of those little places you’d miss if you blinked. That would be your loss, because they’ve got a few tricks up their sleeves that make me want to go back. The Generalissimo and I aren’t ones to turn up our noses at local bakeries; we tend to prefer them, actually. There’s a place in D.C. that makes these—

“Just get on with it!”

“Yes, sir.” The Generalissimo hasn’t had his daily dose of caffeine, or lithium, or whatever the hell it is that—

“The Danish!”

“Right.” The bread is just that: bread. Most Danishes go for a flakey crust that peels away when provoked. This one didn’t. It was a little off-putting at first, but the flavor was dead on. Its glaring problem was with moisture content. When eaten as a whole, the moisture was less of an issue, but on its own, the bread crumbled around the edges.

Then came the frosting. Buttery goodness laced with sugar. I’ve tasted few Danish frostings that were its equal.

The filling had the right balance of tart and sweet, with a consistency that reminded me of homemade whipped cream. “Hey, did I ever tell you that a friend of mine in high school nicknamed me Whip?”

“No!”

“It was because of—”

“We do not need to hear the sordid escapades from your misspent youth, young Thurman! On with the review!”

“Right.” Like he’s never gone on some tangent about what he and the Generalissima did the previous night in the back of her Citroën DS convertible.

“You asked me how my evening went!”

Anyway, the cheese Danish’s filling was almost perfect, but there just wasn’t enough of it. And for $2.45, more wouldn’t be out of line.

Overall, it was fantastic, which made up for some of its shortfalls. Not the best Danish out there, but definitely on my list of places to stop when I’m in the area.

A-

A Taste of Eden cheese Danish

“Why have we stopped here, young Thurman?” the Generalissimo asked.

“Here” was the Puyallup Farmer’s Market. And we’d stopped because the Generalissimo once again forgot his counterpart’s birthday, and was in need of some fresh flowers to rectify the situation. Of course he’d forgotten that, too.

While I went through the fresh tulips, searching for a nice dozen to get her, the Generalissimo wandered off. I didn’t bother trying to keep track o him; I’d hear the screams of young children soon enough. Or so I thought.

“Young Thurman! Come quick! I have found a situation that requires immediate dispensation!”

“Crap.” I put the flowers back, gave the man at the booth my humblest apologies, and followed the sunglassed avenger of righteousness inside the pavilion.

“Here!” he said. I followed his pointed finger to a small display near the west wall selling bread products. He forced his way to the front of the line, knocking over untold civilians in his haste. “Excuse me, fine citizens! I must ask your acquiescence in this matter! At once!” He thrust a finger at the display case. “Two cheese Danishes, fine sir! To go!”

“You dragged me over here for Danishes? Are you nuts?”

“Four out of five dentists say yes!”

A Taste of Eden Bakeries out of Rochester, Washington, makes artisan breads and assorted baked goods, including a cheese Danish. I’ve definitely had better, but I’ve also had much worse. The bread was excellent, lacking just a bit of moisture to be a solid A in my book. This may have been caused by our late arrival to the farmer’s market, and the warm, dry day. Earlier in the morning, and they might have been better. The frosting was good. Not great, but good. Same with the filling, which came in a generous dollop that I approved of.

The one problem that seemed to permeate this effort was flavor: it had very little. The filling had a slight tartness, but not enough. No lemon that I detected. No special spice to entice me to have another. No flair, given freely by the baker as a sign of his or her expertise. A culinary signature that labeled the Danish as theirs and theirs alone.

I don’t want you to think I disliked this Danish; far from it. It was a solid Danish by any measurement. But when one is searching for the best of the best, one continues looking after a Danish such as this.

Good enough for most folks, but not enough to take the crown.

B+

Nemo's Carrot Cake

I know, I know, we don’t normally taste things outside of the cheese Danish realm, but I was hungry, and the Generalissimo took the only cheese Danish we found at the Chevron station. And as he isn’t one to share, I took what I could find.

I love carrot cake. When done right, it can be a religious experience. My grandmother, for example, could open the megachurch dedicated to carrot cake. Duncan Hines and Betty Crocker might be able to open a local parish of some sort by comparison.

Nemo’s...they might be that guy on the street corner, ranting about the coming apocalypse while scaring away all the tourists. It’s not that Nemo’s heart is in the wrong place, just that they didn’t put it into this cake.

The bread is plenty moist; possibly the moistest I’ve ever come across. The bits of carrot and walnut are very tiny, almost to the point where they blend fully into the rest of the bread. The flavor’s okay, but I’m not going to call and ask for the recipe.

The frosting is the one bright spot here. As carrot cake uses cream cheese frosting, I figured we could give them a chance to prove themselves. And this frosting doesn’t disappoint. Much. The volume is good, the texture is fine, and the sweetness is more than adequate, but it’s missing the tartness that you expect in something like this. Where’s the lemon zest? Where’s the cinnamon?

I tried to get the sunglassed one to take a bite, but he growled, said something unkind about my hair, and got back to driving faster than the cop chasing us thought to be prudent.

So, you’ll just have to live with my evaluation. And my grade.
C+

Albertson's cheese Danish

“This is more like it!” the Generalissimo cried.

I’d made the mistake of having the great sunglassed one over to my place for an evening of cheese Danishes and fine boxed wine. Unfortunately, the first Danish I pulled out wasn’t a Danish at all, but a cheese croissant. He wasn’t amused. This offering, also from Albertson’s, was a true cheese Danish, and he seemed much more inclined to enjoy it, right until he put it into his mouth.

“GAAAAA! What is this vile creature? Upon whose sullied hands have wrought such a lifeless abomination?”

“Albertson’s.”

“They shall feel my wrath!” He pulled out his stainless steel Colt Anacondas and ran out the door, into the night.

“What about the boxed wine?” I called after him.

His head popped back in. “You have the boxed wine?”

“Indeed.”

“Is it any good?”

“Why don’t you tell me.”

He smiled, put away the weapons, and got back to work. While he drank himself stupid to wash down the foul taste in his mouth, I decided to have a go at the Danish. He was right. It was better than the croissant, but that’s like saying the Mustang II was a better car than the Pinto. Like saying Two-Buck Chuck is a step up from Boone’s. Like saying Natural Light is a better deal than Keystone Light.

The bread was a little better, but still not something I’d gladly toss into my mouth. The filling was the same baby vomit consistency of the croissant’s, only there was less of it (might have been a good thing). The frosting was good, but when the rest is so bad, the icing on the crap cake seems kinda irrelevant. But for some sick reason, when taken all together, the overall result wasn’t too bad. But I only had the one bite, and I wasn’t willing to take any more chances with this one than I had to.

C+

Albertson's cheese croissant

“This is not a cheese Danish!” the Generalissimo said. “You promised me cheese Danish! I salute your deception!”

He saluted.

It wasn’t much of a deception. When I went to Albertson’s, I bought two things that looked like cheese Danishes, only one of them turned out to be a cheese croissant. No big whoop. We’d try it, and if he liked it, then all was right with the world. Except, I made the mistake of trying it first.

“You look ill, young Thurman! Am I correct in assuming this fine looking pastry is less than it appears?!”

“Indubitably.”

He had no idea. The bread was dry. Dry croissants aren’t usually bad, but they’re at least tasty in a buttery goodness sort of way. This wasn’t. The frosting was pretty good, but also dry. And don’t get me started on the filling. It had the consistency of dog vomit, and I’m guessing didn’t taste much better. I certainly didn’t enjoy it.

“Where is the cheese Danish you promised?!”

“Wait here. I’ll see if I can find one.”

If you see this pastry at the store, do yourself a favor: keep walking.

C

Prairie City Bakery’s Creamy Cheese Danish

Prairie City Bakery’s Creamy Cheese Danish isn’t as bad as it could be. Compared to some of the other Danishes we’ve tested, it’s fantastic. The flavor is nothing special, the bread isn’t the best out there, and the frosting isn’t provided in enough quantity to make it relevant, but the filling...wow. Creamy and soft, with just enough tart to keep it interesting. The flavor reminds me of homemade, and that isn’t a criticism.

But Prairie City gets serious bonus points for the volume of cheese filling. The center core was almost three inches in diameter, and three quarters of an inch deep. That may not sound like much to you, but in the world of cheap Danishes, that’s a lot. Easily twice what I’ve seen on other Danishes, and almost twice what our local bakery puts out.

“Tell them about the filling!” the Generalissimo screamed in my ear. I didn’t even know he was in my apartment. Come to think of it, I distinctly remembered locking the door when I got home.

“I just did,” I said.

“You did?”

“See, right there.”

He read over my shoulder. “Indeed! A thousand apologies, oh stinky one! I can think of no higher honor—”

“Oh please no.”

“—than to salute you!” He saluted. Think flourish. Think extravagant. Think gay pride parade, and you’re getting warmer.

I wouldn’t call this cheese Danish the best, but it has enough going for it that I’d be willing to overlook its problem areas for more of its cheesy goodness. And if they could fix those problems...

B-

Bon Appetit Vienna Cream Danish

This is the worst pastry I’ve ever eaten. Bon Appetit, you are officially on my list. The Generalissimo not only refused to try it, but whipped out his Colt Anaconda and punched a pair of .44 holes in my plate, putting me out of my misery. And the antique table the plate was on. And the floor. Did I mention he uses explosive tipped rounds? Can you say “shrapnel wound to the shin?”

No frosting.

The bread was generic, bordering on useless.

The filling was gooey, flavorless, and made my stomach do a Triple Lindy off the 10M board.

I have but one question: are you effing kidding me? Because I’m not.

F

Top Food and Drug cheese Danish

I’m a big fan of Top Food and Drug. I do quite a bit of my grocery shopping there, mainly because it’s close, but also because they carry a lot of odd items I can only find in trendier places (think Metropolitan Market or Whole Foods). And as we don’t have either of the other two, Top works for me.

I rather enjoy their individual pieces of carrot cake. The cake tends to be moist, the carrots are rarely rancid, and the cream cheese frosting is sublime. So it goes with their cheese Danish.

Our Top won’t let you buy an individual Danish, which is my loss. I had to buy an eight-pack, which included two each of lemon, mixed berry, apple-pineapple, and of course, cheese.

The bread is solid. Flaky, moist, and not overpowering in the taste department, just the way it should be. The frosting is an unfortunate aberration. It’s wet, even a few days after it’s made. There’s also very little of it, which held it back from a better score.

“The cheese! You always forget the cheese!” the Generalissimo barked from behind me.

“I never forget the cheese, you crazy bastard. I just haven’t gotten to it yet.”

“Then get to it!”

“Fine.” It was good. Just a hint of lemon that never got too pungent, but lingered like it should. The texture was right on the money, and they didn’t sweeten it to death. But like the frosting, they went cheap on us and added just a dollop. Huge mistake. With a creamy filling this good, they shouldn’t skimp. Bump the price and make the core a solid mass of the good stuff.

But alas, it wasn’t to be. And as a result, what could have ranked among the top ten regionally will have to live with being just mildly above average.

“But the filling! It was a masterpiece! A Van Gogh, but with the ear still attached!”

He’s scaring me again. But for once, his crazy is making some sense.

B

Bon Appetit cheese croissant

I like creativity. I applaud it, even. But some formulas should not be messed with unless you’re a professional. And the people at Bon Appetit are...not.

The idea probably seemed like a good one at the time. Take a croissant. Everybody loves croissants. Add some cream cheese filling. Everybody loves cream cheese filling. Then put it in a package.

Um, aren’t we forgetting something here?

Yes. FROSTING!!! I know, it’s not advertised as a cheese Danish, and can therefore ignore the formula, but come on. To be even mildly successful, you need good ingredients. The croissant wasn’t bad. It wasn’t nearly flaky enough, but the moisture was pretty good. The flavor was unimpressive, which shouldn’t surprise me. Anything purchased at a gas station should come with some kind of warning, unless the fact that you BOUGHT IT AT A GAS STATION wasn’t enough of a hint.

The filling was more like a soft bit of cake. It lacked flavor, sugar, flavor, refinement, and of course, flavor. Then comes the total lack of frosting. I can get behind trying new things, but no frosting? That’s a bit of a stretch.

And because it was mostly bread, sorry, croissant, and maybe 1/8 filling, it became less of a dessert pastry and more of a bread item. The Generalissimo refused to eat this one, too, citing that it “Wasn’t a Danish! Not even a little!” I tried to get him to take a bite, but he’s quick for an old guy.

Probably all for the best. I don’t think he would have had anything nice to say about it.

D

Tina’s Lemon Cheese Turnover

Tina’s Lemon Cheese Turnover is not a cheese Danish. Let’s just be perfectly clear on that before we continue. Tina’s makes Danishes, but I have been unable to find them. Don’t think this means I’ll stop.

The first thing you’ll notice is the total lack of frosting. Yep, that’s minus ten points right there. Then there’s the lemon filling. It’s not very good. It also looks (from the outside of the package) that there’s enough filling in this thing to give me diabetes. Nope. And it’s not very good. It’s sorta sweet, but lacks punch. It’s all rather bland. Same with the read. It’s smooth and soft, with some moisture, but not lots. And the flavors, when combined, create a giant ball of nothing.

I should cut it some slack, as it’s a turnover, and not a Danish. But I won’t, because it should still be tasty in its own right, but it isn’t. It’s a gooey caloric pastry, but not something I’ll ever feel inclined to eat. I offered some to the Generalissimo, but he pointed to the package, mocked it, then walked out the door.

I should have followed his lead on this one.

F

Wal-Mart cheese Danish twist

If you’re looking for an inexpensive way to feed a small family, then this is the way to go. If you’re looking for a refined taste experience, keep walking...

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the Generalissimo barked in my ear.

I hadn’t heard him come in. No big surprise there. “So you liked it?”

“Not really!”

Didn’t think so. It’s not that it’s a bad Danish; it’s not. It’s just not a good one. The bread is okay. The texture is less traditionally flaky, but still pretty good. In fact, I’d say it’s the highlight of this Danish. The taste was bland. The moisture was there, but not in quantities to overcome the lack of flavor.

The frosting was frosting. It could have come out of a plastic container on aisle 12 for all I know. What I do know is that they should have splurged and gotten one with flavor. Any flavor would have been nice.

Which brings us to the cheese—

“Tell them about the cheese!”

“I am!”

“That’s the spirit!”

The cheese was in smaller than average quantities, which was good, because it wasn’t. They tried to overcome the bland with extra sugar, which might work on a five-year-old, but not me. And certainly not the Generalissimo. It also gave me heartburn, and not the good kind.

“I give it three poorly trimmed mustaches!”

He’s being generous.

C-

Fred Meyer cheese Danish

I had such high hopes for this one.

“As did I!” The Generalissimo paused to wipe some frosting from his mustache. “It looked better on TV!”

“Um, okay.” But I sorta understood his point. Individually wrapped snack treats fall into two categories: bland rest stop food, or unexpected treasures. This was definitely the former.

The bread was dry and tasteless, but had a touch of sweetness to it that most Danishes shy away from. It gave me hope, which was then dashed by the pitiful amount of cream cheese filling. The filling wasn’t bad. It also wasn’t great. It had a pleasant tartness to it that the sugar tried to mask—unsuccessfully I might add—but the texture was too grainy for my tastes.

“Mine too!”

“Good to know.” The frosting wasn’t as good as its volume would suggest. The white drizzle crisscrossing the top turned out to be less than ideal, but when combined with the rest of it, left me wanting something else.

“I’d eat another!”

“Of these?”

“Not on a bet!”

“Then why would you eat another?”

“Another what?!”

Never mind. If you’re in a hurry at Fred Meyer, and you have a hankering for a cheese Danish (and ready access to a microwave which is the only way to eat one with any pleasure), then you might want to...nah. I’d get something else.

C+

Safeway cheese Danish

Safeway’s bakery makes some pretty good deserts, including today’s subject, a cheese Danish. I managed to arrive at our local store just as the baker was putting the frosting on the morning’s pastries. It was still warm when she put the bag in my hand, and I skipped out the door to the car. The Generalissimo was less than amused.

“You mean I have to wait to eat this scrumptious morsel of righteousness?!”

“Yep.” We went back to my place, where the Generalissimo stared at the Danish for three hours, barking my name from time to time so I’d check the frosting for the appropriate amount of dryness.

The bread was quite good, scoring a respectable 23 out of 30. Moist, but not real moist. Smooth, but not smooth enough. The flavor was nice, but bland. Same with the cream cheese filling. It was quite sweet, and a little clumpier than expected, and its volume was poor.

The frosting was—

“Tell them about the cinnamon!”

“I was about to.” The frosting was good, but volume was an issue once again. The Danish got bonus points for the addition of cinnamon to the bread, giving a little more flavor to an otherwise dull pastry.

“Tell them about the cheese!”

“I did.”

“You did?”

“Yep.” The result was a mediocre Danish, something you’d expect from a store brand, which, it is. If you’re looking for the best Danish in the world, this ain’t it. If you’re looking for a Danish to eat on the way to work, one that won’t break the bank (not at $.99), then this might be for you. Just remember: you get what you pay for.

C+

(The Generalissimo was too busy watching reruns of Taxi to give us his rating. When asked later on, he had no memory of eating it, which should tell you something.)