Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Surrendering to the Chocolate Demon

A Cautionary Tale of Lust and Desire. And a really big Hammer.

Like many of you reading this, I'm doing the "It's the New Year, so I have to diet" thing. And so far so good. I love berries, which appear to be ripe, sweet and plentiful at the moment, and when topped with a squirt of canned whipped cream (a ridiculously low number of calories) covers the dessert issue nicely. All well and good. [I'm also nursing and rehabbing a flexor plate foot injury so don't bother sending me exercise information right now. I'll just sob a bit and delete it. But I appreciate the thought.]

In spite of the fresh foods, veggies, fruit, salads and healthy crap crowding my fridge, there is always room for a little indulgence. Special K vanilla snack bars, Skinny Cow white chocolate mint truffle popsicles, hard-as-concrete sourdough pretzels with globs of crunchy salt - any dieter understands the need for such treats. Celery, while green and crunchy, lacks a lot in the satisfying and decadent delight department.

Thus it was that the other night I found myself pacing my kitchen and struggling with the worst demon of all...the chocolate demon! I doubt introductions are necessary, since apparently most women with a pulse have met him at one time or another. He's the sneaky little urge that begins as a tickle somewhere deep in the hypothalamus/cerebral cortex/insert-brain-part-here. He grows, slowly but inexorably, until the desire to devour him is so freakin' overwhelming you'll run over your own grandmother without a qualm if she's standing in front of a bar of chocolate. I spent that evening with him, avoiding him, ignoring him - all in a futile effort to dodge the inevitable. I failed. I HAD TO HAVE CHOCOLATE OR DIE.

Now this was after I was comfortably in my jammies. I wasn't about to go out in the car and forage for relief. I knew, somewhere deep in the recesses of my cacao-obsessed mind, that I had a stash someplace. And sure enough, after ripping through four cabinets, a storage pantry, even checking under the sink just in case -- I found treasure at last. An opened bag of CHOCOLATE CHIPS! I held them close, cuddled them, stroked the shiny bag, and drooled.

And then I stilled. The bag in my arms wasn't malleable like something filled with those little dabs of paradise. It was, to put it bluntly, hard as a frickin' rock. With fingers that trembled I opened the bag to find - horror of horrors - it had been sitting in my cabinet over the under-counter halogen lights. The chocolate chips had morphed into one giant CHOCOLATE CHUNK.

So here I was, shaking with the craving, needing my fix, and instead of a tidy little bowl with delectable chiplets, I had a chunk the size of Houston. And I gotta say there is nothing quite as hard as a reanimated chunk of Hershey's best. I beat on that thing with a rolling pin (barely a dent); a hammer - nearly took my eye out; and finally a mallet. Not a rubber one, since that just bounced and could have been lethal if I hadn't used a certain amount of caution. Eventually I dislodged sufficient amounts of the brown stuff to satisfy Mr. Demon. And the crisis was over, sated by the smoothly delightful taste of chocolate shards licked up from the kitchen counter, the backsplash and the little pile under the toaster. (Why things gravitate to beneath a toaster I don't know, but they always do.)

Moral of the story, girls? Don't even try to fight the Chocolate Demon and keep a bag of chocolate chips somewhere cool for emergencies like this. The good news...I had to work so hard to GET the damn stuff I think it balanced out the calories I ingested. The bad news? There's still a couple of bits stuck on the ceiling fan. Today I haul out the ladder and get rid of 'em because...I could never explain it to a guy.


anny cook said...

Heh. I keep mine in the freezer so they don't melt together... Good job, Sahara. Good job!

Sahara Kelly said...

I'm a sadder and wiser woman. Heading out to get a fresh bag and do just that, Anny. Into the freezer with 'em. Better icy cold than rock solid. LOLLOL

Amanda McIntyre said...

Visions of Scrat, the Ice Age squirrel come to mind as I read this...