I have Oliver Kita chocolates. I do. Lots of them.
I am writing a protocol for the care and handling of Oliver Kita chocolates.
Step 1. The box
Luckily, it is a beautiful box, whether you get the luscious cocoa brown one or the gorgeous red one for Valentine's day. Admire the box. Admire the red ribbon tied just so. Not only is it the perfect adornment, it's a great cat toy.
Step 2. Open the box
You're at the first layer of paper with a seal across it. Don't break the seal yet. Let it be virgin bon bons just a little longer. Hold it up and have a sniff. Close your eyes. Mmmm. It is deep, rich, the true non-candy smell of excellent chocolate.
Step 3. Reveal the dainties in their nests
Break the seal. Remove a padded piece of paper that says "mind love chocolate" over and over again. Remove two more pieces of padded paper. And there before you are les bon bons just as they should be.
Step 4. Revel in the bon bons
They are beautiful. Just beautiful. Pick out one. I chose one that had a bit of candied violet on top.
Step 5. This is how you eat chocolate
Okay, I cheated and nibbled a leaf of candied violet. But what I usually do is pop the entire piece into my mouth and just wait. Wait for my body heat to soften and melt the chocolate. And if I can bear to be patient enough, the center of the bon bon begins to melt.
It's all right if a little moan escapes you.
The flavors are subtle at first but then you taste chocolate mingled with violet essence and - wait, was that a little bit of raspberry, too?
And how perfect is this? I get to do this 31 more times.
Life is good. Oh yes. Life is very good.
Showing posts with label chocolate. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chocolate. Show all posts
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Friday, February 15, 2008
DIY Therapy
Overnight, my brain settled back to where it's supposed to be.
I thought about all that had transpired during the week. And this morning, however odd it may seem, I feel just peachy again.
Of course, this may have to do with the arrival of a box of French chocolates for Valentine's Day. Don't hate me because I have good candy. Who needs clonazepam when you've got some of the best stuff in the world waiting in your kitchen cabinet? It really is the kind of chocolate that releases all kinds of good self-produced hormones and drugs into your system. This, I'm using very judiciously. It is precious and rare and not easy to come by.
Anyway. Back in the day when I lived with Xman in Florida, he was busy taking classes to get his BA at night. I was left to my own devices at night and more often than not, spent them in Xman's recliner, with a glass of orange juice and gin in hand. My drinking got to the point where I had blacked out at home one night. The next day, I called the local AA and talked to one of the old-timers there. He said, "If you think you might have a problem, you probably do. Come to the meeting tonight -" And I stopped listening. Because all I could imagine was a squalid meeting room in the VFW with old linoleum, reeking of cigarette smoke and gagging on the stench of burned coffee, with a couple dozen men like my worthless alcoholic Uncle Jerry.
So I decided to stop drinking. I went home and poured the gin down the drain and since then, have had no gin in the house. Yes, I have gotten drunk maybe eight times in the intervening years. (Yes, Wolfey, the triple-tequila margaritas were a bit much, even considering the circumstances.)
I realize I should make every effort to find a shrink to help wean me away from the clonazepam, so will continue to look for one. In the meantime, I'm going to begin my own DIY therapy. It's worked before. It can work again.
Honestly, I'm sick of all my moaning and whining. Whatever's making me miserable in my life doesn't compare with the misery of so many all over the world. I have my home, my job, my cats, even the crumpled Bullet, and a box of chocolates. How bad can this be? I am up to date on my bills. I have fed myself and my cats. I actually have money left over from this pay period.
If I could yank myself back to the point where I gain perspective, I can see it ain't all that bad at all, really. And the stuff that is bad, can be dealt with.
But I'm telling you now - the next time I get the urge to go flying off to a pricey therapist, I'm making an appointment for a massage instead.
I thought about all that had transpired during the week. And this morning, however odd it may seem, I feel just peachy again.
Of course, this may have to do with the arrival of a box of French chocolates for Valentine's Day. Don't hate me because I have good candy. Who needs clonazepam when you've got some of the best stuff in the world waiting in your kitchen cabinet? It really is the kind of chocolate that releases all kinds of good self-produced hormones and drugs into your system. This, I'm using very judiciously. It is precious and rare and not easy to come by.
Anyway. Back in the day when I lived with Xman in Florida, he was busy taking classes to get his BA at night. I was left to my own devices at night and more often than not, spent them in Xman's recliner, with a glass of orange juice and gin in hand. My drinking got to the point where I had blacked out at home one night. The next day, I called the local AA and talked to one of the old-timers there. He said, "If you think you might have a problem, you probably do. Come to the meeting tonight -" And I stopped listening. Because all I could imagine was a squalid meeting room in the VFW with old linoleum, reeking of cigarette smoke and gagging on the stench of burned coffee, with a couple dozen men like my worthless alcoholic Uncle Jerry.
So I decided to stop drinking. I went home and poured the gin down the drain and since then, have had no gin in the house. Yes, I have gotten drunk maybe eight times in the intervening years. (Yes, Wolfey, the triple-tequila margaritas were a bit much, even considering the circumstances.)
I realize I should make every effort to find a shrink to help wean me away from the clonazepam, so will continue to look for one. In the meantime, I'm going to begin my own DIY therapy. It's worked before. It can work again.
Honestly, I'm sick of all my moaning and whining. Whatever's making me miserable in my life doesn't compare with the misery of so many all over the world. I have my home, my job, my cats, even the crumpled Bullet, and a box of chocolates. How bad can this be? I am up to date on my bills. I have fed myself and my cats. I actually have money left over from this pay period.
If I could yank myself back to the point where I gain perspective, I can see it ain't all that bad at all, really. And the stuff that is bad, can be dealt with.
But I'm telling you now - the next time I get the urge to go flying off to a pricey therapist, I'm making an appointment for a massage instead.
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