The Chocolate Orange
December 28, 2010 2 Comments
You know how some foods are so strongly associated with a place, a person, or a feeling that it just spreads from your tastebuds in your tongue to the rest of your heart and soul, transporting you in this magical way into the past? For me, it’s when I eat some really fantastic home-cooked food, like my mom’s sausage pasta or her delicious breakfast fried rice. Sometimes it can just be as simple as a fried egg with a drizzle of soy sauce at the school cafeteria to remind me of weekend mornings in San Diego. This chocolate orange is a unique, non-homemade goodie that captures my many fond memories of my grandmother. I’m usually not one to reminisce about personal things on KbK, but because these special treats are so interesting and delicious and I everyday I’ve come to realize how much I miss her, I needed to share.
The chocolate orange comes in a package like this. I got this at Trader Joe’s, but the one that my grandma always got can be found at popular grocery stores in a royal blue colored paper box similar to this one. I cannot recall the precise brand…
Once you open it, there are some directions. Follow them, but not too enthusiastically. One good, solid thump will do the trick.
Open up the foil, and you’ll soon see how cool it is in the inside!
They have a distinct dark chocolate depth to them; their flavor is smooth and slightly bitter with an unexpected twist of orange. I usually don’t like fruity chocolate (chocolates with fruity fillings of any kind usually make me feel like gagging) but these are perfect. I think it might be the lack of a gooey center (those can sometimes be too much for me) or the novelty of having these fruit slices of chocolate, but with one of these by my desk, all I feel is happiness. Good, satisfying chocolate happiness.
I know it’s impossible to bring back a deceased loved one. I know that perhaps eating more chocolate is just a juvenile way to deal with the sadness surrounding this first holiday without my grandma. But for that ephemeral moment when a sliver of the chocolate orange gently rests on my warm tongue, it’s like she still here, cracking that brittle chocolate sphere with a deft flick of her wrist, letting her granddaughter unwrap the orange foil, and smiling at me.
I miss her.