I’m telling ya right now, this post may not be for you. Indeed, it targets a very specific audience with a very specific palate. My dear friend, the talented proprietress at No Shoe Left Behind, is one person in particular who, I trust, will appreciate its contents. How can you tell whether or not you are part of the required demographic? Take the handy quiz I’ve provided below, and then scroll down for my assessment. You are welcome to read on whether or not you fail the quiz, but you do so at your own risk.
In a blind taste test, could I differentiate between Nestle and Hershey chocolate?
DUH! That’s like asking a wine connoisseur if he could distinguish between two-buck chuck and a $259 bottle of Chateau Frenchy McFrencherstein
Scoring: You’re among the target audience for this blog post if you answered Question 1 with Duh; Question 2 with A multi-color bite of heaven (also acceptable: A multi-color bite of heaven AND Toxic); and then ignored Question 3.
This morning, a close, warm, personal Facebook friend alerted me to what may be the most breathtaking piece of junk food ever created. EVER. We’re talking Seven Wonders of the Processed World. We’re talking Grand Canyon of baked goods. It is truly, in the words of Dave, a foodgasm. Ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere, I present to you this masterpiece by Zoey Cakes (image from Craftzine.com): the Cadbury Creme Egg-filled chocolate cupcake. There are simply no words to describe a masterpiece of this scale.
As you probably know from previous posts, I love and respect all god’s chocolate. I do not discriminate based on color (milk v. dark), nationality (Swiss v. American), name (Russell Stover v. Godiva) or point of origin (CVS/Walgreen’s v. Vosges/Maison du Chocolat).
But there is one place I draw the line: at the spice rack. I think I understand “Lost” better than I understand the concept of pairing chocolate with “seasonings” like chili pepper, saffron, cardamom, and rosemary. There’s chocolate, and then there’s crap you buy at open-air bazaars on the streets of Morocco. And ya don’t mix ‘em. This is a policy to which I should have stuck earlier this week.
My coworker (let’s call him “Kyle”) came up to my desk and began unwrapping a very thin chocolate bar covered in delicate foil. He broke off three squares and handed them to me, which would have been a lovely gesture were it not for one teensy detail: this was no ordinary chocolate. This was marmite chocolate. I’d seen “Kyle” post about a gift of marmite chocolate on Facebook, but I’d assumed he was kidding. He wasn’t.
Now, marmite is something that I had previously never tried but somehow just knew was vile. Perhaps it was the word’s resemblance to both “varmint” (and subsequently “vomit”) as well as “termite.” Perhaps I’d been turned against it by Cousin Vegemite, made famous in New Jersey by Men at Work and “The Land Down Under.” But I’d once been foie gras-averse too. Maybe marmite was worth trying?
I took the tiniest possible bite of the first square. What followed reminded me of Willy Wonka’s meal replacement gum – the one responsible for Violet Beauregarde’s demise-by-three-course meal. Course One of this freakish chocolate was a strong, bitter taste reminiscent of espresso. That quickly morphed into a yeasty, raw bread dough sensation. Finally, I felt like I was eating a piece of very dark chocolate at the same time as a tablespoon of onion powder and a clove of minced garlic. And long after I’d swallowed, I continued to feel that way. I assure you: it is not a good feeling.
The marmite chocolate packaging told us we would find a “hint of marmite indulgence” inside. I am lead to believe that the manufacturer and I have different definitions of “indulgence.”
I think the British chef quoted in this article from the Daily Mail sums it up best when he describes the taste: “…deeply nauseating.”