Chocolates and chocolate bars are love. I’m a chocolate snob and will freely admit it. Other things in my life I’m not so particular about- I’ll use discounted drugstore polish in ridiculous shades just for fun, adore munching on plain old cheerios (yep, baby food), and have a backpack so holey it should be given sainthood by the Catholic Church. But, in terms of chocolate and my lips- THOU SHALT NOT PASS, unless of supremely high quality. Any Hershey’s bars, paydays, and milky ways go directly into a Mason jar, which I bake into goodies and give out to other college students or anyone who looks like they want/could use a brownie.
Chocolate Bars And Some Fun To Know
But for myself, I am the dang pickiest. Usually, the best chocolate bar to me is one that is small-batch, sustainably sourced, and has limited add-ins. When I want chocolate, I want it in it’s purest form and don’t want to taste “imperfections” in the chocolate like too granular sugar crystals or burnt cocoa beans. Though, if candy or a simple sweet treat is what I’m looking for, then, by all means, bring on the kit kat.
The best chocolate bar I ever had was a vegan dark chocolate bar with roasted almonds and dried pomegranate. My dad always knew I was a chocolate lover, and whenever he traveled- be in Switzerland, Germany, New York, Baltimore. Or be it San Francisco- he always greeted me with a smile on his face. And a small bar on chocolate in his hands. And the chocolate tasted the sweetest when he was away, and I was missing him.
Looking out the window onto the moonlight street below, I sat in the bay windows, waiting to see the glare of headlights on the pavement, and the crunch of gravel on our driveway. On the nights that he didn’t come home, I’d break off three small bites of chocolate- one for me, one for my sister. And one for my mum- we’d all eat in silence, then pile into bed, waiting for the light to come.
Some More To Know As I Grew Up
As I grew older, my dad began to travel less. And I more, as I began to compete nationally for my sport, and once again, it was the three of us- my mum, sister, and I. Without him. But this time we were the ones leaving. With the new life came new stress and joy. But I no longer saw life’s small rewards or saw worth in indulgence of a quiet moment or square of chocolate.
No, my eyes got fixed on a horizon that would never arrive: a light that would never come. But one day, my dad decided to take a few days of work off. And then travel with me. And I was encouraged at first. But within days of losing and getting beat up, I had had it emotionally. That light and podium were never going to come. As I trudged into the hotel room after another long day of competing, my dad greeted me with a hug, a smile, and a small paper square.
Confused, I held it up, flipped it over to read the label: “Dark chocolate, 90%, with almonds and pomegranate, vegan”. He had gone out to a small local chocolatier and bought it for me. I couldn’t remember the last time I tasted chocolate. As I bit into the bar, he refusing to take even a single piece from me. I remembered those childhood moments of us sharing a square at the international terminal of SFO, eating chocolate around the Christmas tree, and him cheering me at the first competition. What happened to those small bits of joy, and whatever happened to chocolate.