When they said "take a powder", I took that literally. And within days I had my hands on some real Annamese cinnamon. Which, along with Ceylon bark, is considered the best.
As a Dutch-American I suppose I should favour the latter. After all, we raped and pillaged so ferociously on that island after kicking the Portuguese out that the desperate natives welcomed the British in as liberators when at last our illustrious reign was ended. So you might think that I would have a soft spot for the former product of empire.
But no. Annamese cinnamon is superior.
Always has been.
It's a question of fragrance.
Ethereality.
I have no strong thoughts about chocolate. It's a part of life, in multiple guises. The Aztecs were onto an exceedingly good thing. And like the modern Mexican, I prefer my hot cacao with a ghost of added spice.
Extra bitter. Sweet is much more so when it contrasts.
To contradict the famous American philosopher Forrest Gump, life is NOT like a box of chocolates. The phlegmatic Southerner didn't know what the divvil he was talking about. Probably an idiot.
Life IS like a tall glass of hot chocolate.
It's muddy, and stains your clothes.
No, nothing more significant.
Stains. Mud. Bitter.
In some ways it's rather like relationships. You might think that this means that love and friendship are better with whipped cream, but that's just too much icing on the cake. It hides the tempting darkness, and disguises the tongue-exciting bitter zest. Whipped cream belongs in degenerate sex, NOT in chocolate, NOT in companionship.
Kittens, disgusting orgiasts, and the decadent miss Patel with breasts like ripe mangoes may over-indulge in whipped cream, normal people should partake sparingly.
Although, if you are a vibrant female person, whatever you do with your whipped cream will not find me complaining, quite irrespective of whether your breasts resemble ripe mangoes or not. While I am rather fond of mangoes, I actually prefer them green. Admittedly not as juicy, but firmer and far more flavourful.
Mangoes do not benefit from whipped cream either.
Feel free to prove me wrong.
I'll be sitting here waiting, with my hot chocolate, my cinnamon, my bitterness, and my extra spicy smirk.
If necessary, I'll bring the cream.
Erp.
I seem to have gotten side-tracked. I meant to write something pithy and meaningful about hot chocolate, but I got distracted by ripe mangoes.
In actual fact I have almost nothing to say about chocolate.
I like it, that's all.
I always thought miss Patel's bosom a bit vulgar.
Sorry.
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THE COMMON HERD
Good lord it's cold outside. I went out after fixing myself a late lunch -- meat scraps, veggies, thin rice noodles, with stinky shrimp ...
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