I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS SHIT IS LEGAL!
How Did Chocolate Get Past The Fundies?
They must have their vices, too. And, if hostile aliens ever invade Earth, it will be for chocolate. And only chocolate will save us. Only free, happy, willing humans can grow and process chocolate, and only on Earth. That's what we'll tell them. They'd never risk chocolate by calling our bluff.
Chocolate is the one, universal thing that binds us all: Old, young, rich, poor, black, white, Muslim, Hindu, Frenchman, Japanese, academic, ignoramus, diva, quarterback, phlegmatic, peripathetic, scaly, albino, gandy-dancer, Orangeman, ectomorph, soup-nazi... everybody.
You get the picture. If you don't like chocolate, you are simply not human. Turn yourself in to Homeland Security. NOW!
The best chocolate I ever had was at a chocolatiers, of course, in Paris, where else. Chocolatiers only make chocolate, fresh, every day. They have little shops that ANYONE can go in, and observe the chocolate. If you have money, you can buy some. And EAT it!
They don't sell pastries. That's a patisserie, or a salon de the, if you want to sit down and eat your dessert, with coffee, tea or hot chocolate. They don't sell hard candies. That's a confiserie, a candy store; or an epicerie, more like a small grocery store. They don't sell bread, that's a boulangerie. They don't sell milk, eggs or cheese. That's a laiterie, cremerie or fromagerie.
They don't have supermarkets, on the Butte, or didn't, back then. You had to go from shop to shop, for each and every little thing. Fruit from the fruiterie. Wine from the marchand de vin. Deli from the charcuteries. Meat from the boucherie. Fish from the poissonnerie. It's wonderful.
Everything's fresh. The people in the shop make the stuff they sell, or buy it themselves in a big wholesale marche, like the old Les Halles, fresh every day. They wouldn't think of selling, or eating packaged, processed, preserved foods. Back then.
But the chocolatiers are the best. I was really poor when I was in Paris. I depended on the warm morning pain et cafe au lait at my little pension in wintery Montmartre. I'd go all day on that, and bring a few things to my little room to eat at night.
Once in a while, I'd have a cheap cous-cous in a tiny Tunisian restaurant, all tiles and mint tea. Usually, though, my entire day's food budget went to the chocolatier. One piece of that incredible fresh chocolate was so rich, so delicious, so fulfilling, I could go all day on it.
At Christmas time, they make this thing they call a buche de Noel. A yule log. It's chocolate whipped up with butter, on a sort of cookie or cracker, in the shape of a log. You automatically go to hell for eating it.
But it's worth it. Sweet, bitter, buttery, chocolately, creamy, about ten million calories: Enough to getyou all the way through December, in one bite. I can still taste it. Hell's not that bad. Compared to Philadelphia.
"In Paris, Boutiques and Cafes Where Chocolatiers Raise the Bar"
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