This is Valentine’s Day in a Cretan bakery.
Not a special collection. Not a limited-edition fantasy. Just the usual cakes — sitting there — with one minor concession to the calendar.
Chocolate cakes dominate the display, as they always do. Glossy, dark, properly finished. Some are round, some slightly reshaped, some left entirely alone. No one felt the need to reinvent chocolate for February 14.
A cheesecake with red glaze appears in the middle, smoothed into a heart and topped with white chocolate shards. It is not subtle, but it is familiar. The same cake people buy all year, briefly acknowledging the date and moving on.
Another cake wears its heart shape more clearly, coated in chocolate and decorated with just enough white chocolate to signal its intention. No extra piping. No scripted romance.
Nothing here is screaming. Nothing is pretending. These cakes are not trying to seduce anyone. They are priced by the kilo, labeled plainly, and waiting to be chosen — or ignored.
This is how Valentine’s Day works in Crete: The baker notices the date, adjusts the shape, keeps the recipe, and goes back to work. If you want a cake, you buy one, or if you do not, nobody cares.
