I have been scanning the internet for ways to properly articulate the relationship I have with chocolate, and I realized that there isn't one. Here is a brief piece that I submitted in a writing community to explain that chocolate should never be categorized as "candy"
There is a big difference between
candy and chocolate; the only commonality is their sugar content. Candy – the
billion dollar industry – is meant for children. Brightly packaged, customized
for every holiday, and sold alongside beloved cartoon characters -- candy is
designed to delight the inner five year old. It is sweet, sour, gooey, crunchy,
and colorful all in one temporary bite. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ll steal a
peanut butter cup from a child’s Halloween stash without hesitation, but I
don’t BUY candy. I didn’t buy candy until I became a teacher anyways, when I
realized that the promise of a sugary reward was highly motivational for
teenagers. I have seen some of the best group work produced just to earn one
Jolley Rancher. When I upped the ante to HiChews? Amazing results.
Candy is bribery. It is sent in the
middle of teacher appreciation week, it is set in front of me in training
meetings, it is in a wicker basket on the counter of the local printer’s shop.
Suddenly the tables turn as I recognize the motivation factor to be better and
better, and I know that I have been caught. If someone gives me candy, it means
that they want something from me.
There is candy, and then there is
chocolate. Hold the sweet tarts, give me the good stuff.
“If chocolate could sing, it would
sound like Josh Groban.”
I could mention other clichés to
describe the unique relationship between a woman and her chocolate, but you
need look no further than a Cathy cartoon. A stressed out woman wearing a
bathrobe and exclamation points above her head with the unspoken caption: Hand over the chocolate and nobody gets hurt.
No one gives me chocolate, I buy
it. To me, chocolate is therapy. As a smooth piece of it melts away on my
tongue, so do my problems. I contemplate nothing of what needs to be done,
instead I push pause on it all until there is nothing left to dissolve in my
mouth. When I’ve had a day full of students asking for extra credit or a living
room full of my husband’s shoes, I choose to ignore it all. Just for five more
minutes. I open my chocolate in secret, pulling it out of my secret hiding
place, usually in my desk under the post it notes or away from my family behind
some girly-smelling lotion. Chocolate is my trusted confidant, it is not meant
to make me accept a new protocol or coerce me into any more favors than I
already do for other people. Any over packaging of is pointless; bright colors
do not belong nor do they entice the seeker. After a day of unknowns gone
unexpectedly awry, this is my moment knowing exactly what is going to happen
next. I open my soul, not to a therapist, but to myself as I open the small
foil package -- I have great hours and bill very reasonably.
This escapism requires a very
specific kind of chocolate; I prefer mine pure -- chocolate isn't
some cheap thrill mixed with coconut or any other nut. I don’t like the intensely dark model that is
rising in popularity; I like my chocolate like I like my superhero movies, dark
enough to be interesting but not so dark that I need extra time to recover. A
good sampling will have a clean break when bitten into, or a satisfying SNAP
when divided. Chocolate is complex, there is more to it than that one sweet
note of its sugary cousin; it is bitter and sweet and salty and smooth all at
the same time. The flavors should not conflict, no, they should build on one
another to create an altogether poetic experience in your mouth as the overall
impression of roasted cocoa beans remains on your tongue long after the bite is
over. The taste that lasts far longer than the fleeting initial contact is not
the sweetness, but a pleasant flowery bitterness reminding me it is okay to take a break. All of this describes one perfect moment, when
the world can take a back seat. There is a difference between candy and
chocolate.