The obsession started young. I have a memory of
demanding politely requesting the Easter Bunny only bring me Creme Eggs one year. When I discovered some mini Crunchie eggs had made their way into in the mix I was not a happy camper.
I buy bundles of the deliciously creamy, way-too-sweet-to-be-consumed-on-a-regular-basis treats every year. I will fight tooth and nail for the last tub of Creme Egg ice cream. I know all the recipes. I will happily debate for hours with anyone who dares to suggest Creme Eggs are “the worst”.
I consider myself an expert. Or at least, I did, until the company behind the chocolate treat declared I'd been pronouncing the name wrong THIS ENTIRE TIME.