The Chocolate of Doom

Cleverly switching religions, we sit poised on the edge of Easter. That, as the joke goes, is the day Christ was risen, saw his shadow and we had six more weeks of winter.

I'd like to apologize to my Christian readers for the previous remark.

But I'd be lying if I said there were not 21 plastic Easter eggs hidden all around the living room, or that I wasn't eagerly anticipating the four-pack of Cadbury caramel eggs S. Bullock got me for Easter.

Today, as I casually tossed two chocolate Hershey eggs into my mouth, I tricked myself for the thousandth time into thinking that the present situation -- having bowls of chocolate items in the house -- was temporary, due only to the season. Of course, if you back up, you can easily draw a direct line from Easter back to Valentine's Day, then to Christmas, Thanksgiving and Halloween. Fill in various birthdays and anniversaries and what you have is one middle-aged Jew in chocolate denial.

Chocolate recognizes no diveristy in Faiths. It does not consider cholesterol levels, weight gain or the very real possiblity that there exists an addiction to chocolate quite similar in nature to those of alcohol or drugs. More than once I've chastised Sandra Bullock as she empties yet another bag of special pastel-colored M&Ms into the candy dish: "If I were an alcoholic, would you keep beer in the house?" Of course not.

She is still amazed when she buys chocolate and then finds it gone within 48 hours. This, I find very irritating. She knows who I am, after all. I suppose this is comparable to my continuing amazement each weekend when I wake up to find that she's re-organized the basement (that was this morning) or completing an addition to the house. S. Bullock is very fortunate in that her neurosis are all expressed in outwardly positive and productive ways.

I once had a discussion with my father. I said, "Dad, when you sit down and eat ice cream or chocolate, do you ever stop eating for any reason other than social embarassment?"

"Of course not."

I can't speak for Dad, but I have never eaten enough ice cream or chocolate to make myself sick. I have no time for those wimps who eat a half a piece of cake and then start whining about how, "Oh, it's too rich!" No. You stop because it'd be embarassing not to stop.

So any long-time readers who have been wondering about my obsession with chewing gum, the picture should be getting more clear: if you are chewing gum, you cannot continue to eat chocolate. Or ice cream.

We are lucky that chocolate and ice cream can be purchased at reasonable prices. I would hate to have to turn to a life of crime to support my habit.

And as long as I'm on this topic, I'd like to re-state a position I debated with Bake while we were roommates at Santa Clara: The trend of adding caramel and/or peanut butter to existing, perfectly good candy bars is a reflection of the inability of people's taste buds to mature to the point where they can handle the pure taste of chocolate.

Yes, I still do the occasional Milky Way (dark), Three Musketeers, and even enjoy, in my grown-up moments, the sublime flavors of Fran's truffles. But I am still hoping to someday be sophisticated enough to handle the hard stuff.