6 posts tagged “chocolate”
Getting four bars of Galaxy chocolate sent to you as a surprise from England.
You rule, Weegoddess!
Nom nom nom nom.....
Phew! That was a whirlwind.
I think I can literally and figuratively say this was the sweetest birthday I've ever had -- and the nicest part was it lasted just about a full week. Since I'm about to run out the door to Thanksgiving in the state I like to mess with, this'll all be way too much information compressed into too short a space. But: Photos! That'll do instead of words, right?
So it all started out on the 8th with a lovely dinner from Julia and Sanjay. They said: Pick a restaurant, and swanky is not a problem. So I picked the revamped Russian Tea Room, which I had not been in since the re-opening. Still a little over the top, but service is impeccable and attentive, the booths are luxurious and the food -- ah! My goodness, so rich and so lovely. You really feel cared for.
If I look like a lush in the photo, I can't explain it: I'm very shiny and reddish these days. Though I did have that one cherry-flavored vodka cocktail ... that could explain things.
Anyway, the sweetness got underway with the dessert: A souffle we all shared. Delicious!
Things then continued on Sunday with an early birthday present from Mike: Tickets to the annual Chocolate Show.
At which there were enormous chocolate tower cakes, a fashion "show" of chocolate dresses, and of course lots of delicious goodies, many of which were sample-able. It's supposed to be a trade show, but really what it is is a bunch of chocolate freaks checking out the samples.
If you weren't aware of it before you went into the Chocolate Show, you'd know by the time you came out (definitely overloaded on cocoa) -- the next big wave of delicacies is in chocolate. Single origin, dark chocolate, often flavored oddly, and tasted the way a person checks out wine. Sure, Dove and M&Ms were on hand (dark chocolate peanut candies coming to a theater near you soon), but most of these were independent dealers with their own unique blends of chocolate from countries like Madagascar and Ecuador. Mike knows his chocolate, and ended up getting some amazing -- if expensive -- bars.
Also, impossible to get in the U.S., and ordering means you have to be able to read Japanese from their Web site, which means I'm screwed. So I got two boxes, one for Thanksgiving and one to save. (Anyone who knows Japanese and can help me order, do drop an email!
Then, the pièce de résistance: Mike came through for the big birthday surprise -- dinner at One If By Land, Two If By Sea, one of the most romantic places in the city. Again, the food was amazing and rich and just enough -- none of this "neverending pasta bowl" philosophy of dinner.
The dessert came with a special personalization for someone with a name close to my spelling, but not entirely right. Ah, who cares? The point was, it had a candle and was beautiful.
Score! Afterwards we hit the Upright Citizens' Brigade (best described by Mike here) and as if that wasn't enough, I also landed a copy of Absolute Sandman, Vol. 1. Yes indeed, a sweet ride all around.
Happy Thanksgiving, all!
Has there been some kind of undeclared shortage of chocolate out there?
Because while the squirrel who couldn't help himself was cute and prompted me to make a LOLsquirrel for Noralita ...
... I'm not sure what to say about Catherine Anne Delgado, of my home state, who couldn't seem to help herself either:
Delgado had chocolate smeared on her arms and shirt, and there was so much unwrapped chocolate in her purse that it was spilling out onto a hotel sofa. Eagle-eyed Officer Robert Galusha recognized the fudge "to be of the same type which is sold at A.L. Goodies" a block from the hotel. A check of the candy store revealed a break-in, which was captured on several surveillance cameras. As cops investigated, Delgado unsuccessfully tried to flush fudge bricks down a hotel toilet. The "large amount of fudge" clogged up the toilet, reported police.
The sad thing now is I really want a Galaxy bar.
Oh, won't someone think of the children? The squirrels? The just-plain-squirrelly?
On the one hand ....
Stubb's was closed.
On the other ....
Rudy's was not.
So....
I had ribs. Yay! Burp!
On the one hand ...
I dreamed about a young Michael Caine, and we made plans for a dinner date.
On the other hand ...
He didn't make it into the real world, so, no ribs for him.
On the one hand ....
My mother stewed all night and after I came back from working out blasted me and her hubby for "touching her stuff" last night (while we packed it away so the furniture could get rearranged). Though she was present for the entire experience, she said we were "sneaky" about it.
On the other ....
I yelled right back. Then was told not to be "fresh." So I told her I was old enough to yell back and if she didn't like it, I'd stay at my brother's tonight. She got over things, more or less pronto, and we went shopping. For more "things" which can't be touched without permission, and maybe not even then. (This store was awesome, and it's nice to go to one of those places with someone who finds The Last Supper After Dinner Mints a funny novelty, rather than something seen in 100 other shops already.)
On the one hand ....
I bought half price Easter Candy: Chocolate Marshmallow delights! (In a match between Russell Stover and Hershey, RS wins, because its shell-to-marshmallow texture ratio is pleasingly complementary.)
On the other....
I didn't buy enough half price marshmallow delights. Woe is me!
Still, overall, a good day.
In my mailbox this morning, from Harper's magazine's weekly email dispatch, a correction:
The statement "In New York City, someone stole the penis of a
chocolate Jesus" is not true; the source was a satire website that was
mistakenly thought to be a genuine news source. Harper's Weekly
apologizes for the error.
And here I thought only The Onion could dupe the MSM, now we must include Pugbus.
Watch your statementology!
As Thanksgiving recedes and I fail to write about it due to time constraints, I fear the events of that week may never be recorded for all posterity.
Eh, who cares. I'll get to it if I can.
What I'm stuck on now is my complete addiction to Palmer chocolate candy. Seriously.
You've seen these in the drugstore, and probably not anywhere else, and you see them during the holidays, and probably not anytime else. And when they're there, so am I, plonking out my $1.29 for what is called -- at least this time of year -- "Santa's Sack." (And yes, I've already snickered ironically about that particular name.)
But the fact that they're called Santa's Sack is somehow completely indicative of the Palmer way. If you go to their Web site, you'll understand much of this. First of all, they're a chocolate company. In Pennsylvania. And yet -- not Hershey's. They didn't even open for business until about 50 years after Hershey's opened. That takes some guts. Some, dare I say, sack.
Or was it a form of innocence? Evidence points to the latter. The Web site is well designed but wholesome, and even uses a Willy Wonka-reminiscent figure to introduce the factory tour. Did you know those Easter bunny eyes and details were hand-painted? Well, now you do! And then there are the contents of the sacks, which this time of year are called "Peanut Butter" (shaped like bells), "Double Crisp Santa's Letters" (a trapezoidal shape with Rice Krispie-like contents encased in chocolate), and "Fudge Teddies" (not something out of Victoria's Secret, but rather a behatted-bear-in-tinfoil chocolate personage wtih a fudgy interior). The first time I looked at the "Letters" tinfoil for more than three seconds I realized it featured rather sour-looking children on it with phrases written next to them that read, "I was just a little naughty," and "I promise to do better next year" and the somewhat Clinton-esque "define 'good.'"
The important thing about Palmer's chocolates, however, is this: They are are not, definitely not, Hershey's. They're not Lindt, they're not Perugina, Neuhaus or Godiva. They're actually -- pretty crappy. The chocolate is just not great and comes with a strange aftertaste which, after two or three, you find you just can't live without. I think that aftertaste is actually called "meth." So I call them my bad candy, bad in so many ways more than just calorie-wise. And this time of year, as well as at Easter, I buy as many sacks as I can. There's a deep satisfaction to be achieved in tearing open the plastic mesh holder and choosing one of each kind, then dumping the rest in the communal candy jar near my desk.
Too, too near.
So when I don't write about Thanksgiving, this is why. And having various movie-related events in the evening. More soon. Meanwhile, get yourself some Palmer candy. You'll regret it the rest of your life, and go back for more.
