Death by Chocolate
So yesterday we packed into the car and drove up to Napa through the steady, heavy rain for the annual Death by Chocolate tasting event. Originally, we were going to leave L at home with grandma but the scheduling didn't work out, so we brought her with - the timing was such that she basically took her nap during the drive up. When we arrived, I dropped C and L off to get our will-call tickets while I drove the car off to park somewhere in the rain; the lots were packed, so I had to trudge a ways from a distant overflow lot.
When I finally got to the lobby, L already had a smear of chocolate around her mouth and the bright, excited fires of a thousand delicious suns in her eyes. Clearly, she was about to have the best day of her entire life to date.
Typical comments from the next two hours:
- "May I have another chocolate?"
- "I want another chocolate. Can we have more chocolate?"
- "No, I want my own chocolate!"
- "More truffle please!"
It was about the time that we reached Galaxy Desserts and their little frozen sundaes that the real combustion began. We took turns eating little spoonfuls out of the tiny parfait cup, and each time I ate my own spoonful, L would spend the waiting time simply jumping up and down, waving her arms around.
It turns out that there is, in fact, a limit at which the human body simply cannot eat any more chocolate, and I actually saw C hit hers. Halfway into a tamarind confection, with only about ten minutes left in the hall, her face took on the expression of someone who has just stepped into deep, wet mud that they thought was solid ground. She put the other half of the piece down and looked at it. "I would never have guessed it was possible," she said. "I wonder if I'll want chocolate again some day, or if that was it... forever."
L didn't quite hit the same limit, but she definitely topped off. When offered a sample piece of a double-fudge brownie, she declined. No room for baked goods; must stay focused! But two more pieces of chocolate later, she didn't complain when I suggested we just sit down and drink some water thereafter. The three of us drank a couple bottles, feeling very much like we would experience hangover symptoms if we didn't hydrate.
And then the final rush exploded in L's blood chemistry. As the exhibit hall began packing up, our little toddler experienced several sustained minutes of what I can only describe as Pentecostal prayer-meetin' ecstasy, as the holy light of Cocoa Jesus descended upon her, set her to bouncing and vibrating in her chair, smacking her own forehead with her open palms alternately as streaming glossolalia poured out. All traces of her relatively decent command of toddler English and Hebrew disintegrated into primal Adamic tongue... if Adam had been mainlining crystal meth with the fiery angel that guarded the Tree of Knowledge.
Finally, she began to slow down, and a look of deep contentment settled over her.
"Have you had enough chocolate?" I asked her.
"... Yes," she replied calmly.
"All done with chocolate?"
"... Yes."
"Would you like another chocolate?"
A devilish little expression, just for a moment: "... Yes."
But not really. She was done, and she knew it. We all were. We wiped our sticky mouths and stickier hands clean and headed downstairs to go home. While I went back out into the rain to get the car, she ran around in circles in the lobby, and she sang in the back seat all the way home.
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For consideration: Baby's First Drug Experience
When I finally got to the lobby, L already had a smear of chocolate around her mouth and the bright, excited fires of a thousand delicious suns in her eyes. Clearly, she was about to have the best day of her entire life to date.
Typical comments from the next two hours:
- "May I have another chocolate?"
- "I want another chocolate. Can we have more chocolate?"
- "No, I want my own chocolate!"
- "More truffle please!"
It was about the time that we reached Galaxy Desserts and their little frozen sundaes that the real combustion began. We took turns eating little spoonfuls out of the tiny parfait cup, and each time I ate my own spoonful, L would spend the waiting time simply jumping up and down, waving her arms around.
It turns out that there is, in fact, a limit at which the human body simply cannot eat any more chocolate, and I actually saw C hit hers. Halfway into a tamarind confection, with only about ten minutes left in the hall, her face took on the expression of someone who has just stepped into deep, wet mud that they thought was solid ground. She put the other half of the piece down and looked at it. "I would never have guessed it was possible," she said. "I wonder if I'll want chocolate again some day, or if that was it... forever."
L didn't quite hit the same limit, but she definitely topped off. When offered a sample piece of a double-fudge brownie, she declined. No room for baked goods; must stay focused! But two more pieces of chocolate later, she didn't complain when I suggested we just sit down and drink some water thereafter. The three of us drank a couple bottles, feeling very much like we would experience hangover symptoms if we didn't hydrate.
And then the final rush exploded in L's blood chemistry. As the exhibit hall began packing up, our little toddler experienced several sustained minutes of what I can only describe as Pentecostal prayer-meetin' ecstasy, as the holy light of Cocoa Jesus descended upon her, set her to bouncing and vibrating in her chair, smacking her own forehead with her open palms alternately as streaming glossolalia poured out. All traces of her relatively decent command of toddler English and Hebrew disintegrated into primal Adamic tongue... if Adam had been mainlining crystal meth with the fiery angel that guarded the Tree of Knowledge.
Finally, she began to slow down, and a look of deep contentment settled over her.
"Have you had enough chocolate?" I asked her.
"... Yes," she replied calmly.
"All done with chocolate?"
"... Yes."
"Would you like another chocolate?"
A devilish little expression, just for a moment: "... Yes."
But not really. She was done, and she knew it. We all were. We wiped our sticky mouths and stickier hands clean and headed downstairs to go home. While I went back out into the rain to get the car, she ran around in circles in the lobby, and she sang in the back seat all the way home.
------
For consideration: Baby's First Drug Experience