I think I’ve outgrown chocolate.
This epiphany disturbs me some.
Chocolate was one a treat that I’d buy on days (sometimes months…. years???) when I’d feel sorry for myself and tell myself that I DESERVED IT DAMMIT!
and there was nary an emotional upheaval a Coffee Crisp couldn’t sooth.
Chocolate was the treat of all treats. We rarely had chocolate as children. And when we did get a box of chocolate covered raisins from Grandma, or a noteworthy Halloween booty, we’d consume it as quickly as possible before the other sisters got their grubby little hands on it.
I could never understand those friends of mine who could break off a Kit Kat finger, eat it, wrap up the rest, and put it in a drawer for another day. That type of deviant behaviour often had me questioning the mental stability of said friends.
It’s an odd thing.
Years later when I have a plethora of milk or dark chocolate delights in front of me, I do salivate some. My memory has me momentarily convinced that I love what I’m about to eat.
But once it’s consumed I’m mightily disappointed.
So much so that today, Valentines Day of all days, I politely declined chocolates when they were offered
and was perplexed by my response.
When did this happen?
Have I reached an age where my taste buds are getting old and dull and require an exotic array of delectable delicacies?
Am I only ingesting chocolate for “old times sake”?
At the moment Kalamata olives and salmon sushi make me feel gastronomically complete.
It’s almost as if I’ve switched religions.
I do appreciate the pretty packaging that comes with chocolate. Sophisticated boxes with script writing. Gold leaf wrappers. Perfectly nested plastic layers gently cradling each candy individually. A “map” included in the box for reference in order to pick the perfect morsel for the moment.
I’ve changed. I’ve switched from sweet to savory.
I’m off to ponder all of this over a jar of gherkins.