White Chocolate Bark

White chocolate is a thing of beauty--although you wouldn't know it from so much of the stuff that's out there. First off, there's all that imitation junk, pretending to be white chocolate: basically sweetened Crisco with vanilla. Or more accurately, hydrogenated shortening and some flavorings. Really, what's the point?

White chocolate should be cocoa butter, the fat from the cacao pod--pure and simple. Except it's often not. Even the stuff that's sold as pure cocoa butter is often chemically deodorized. Why? Because it's a fat. And fat's go rancid. So the cocoa butter is chemically cleaned up. And thus loses most of its taste.

That said, there are non-deodorized, pure versions of white chocolate. And let me tell you: taken as a whole they're a revelation with deep hints of the original cacao; as well as nutty, even bitter overtone; all combined with velvety, buttery cocoa butter, sweetened of course, and very creamy. A pure delight. If you want to know more, check out El Rey Chocolates here. Their white chocolate is simply fantastic--and about as much real food as you can get.

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Chocolate Bark

Ours is a mixed marriage. In so many ways. For one thing, I get one of these:

And he gets this:

It's what's known in our house as a deconstructed menorah. Every year, we put up eight smaller candles and one large candle, all to celebrate Hanukkah. Basically, it means I've worked my life out to get presents almost every day in December. And people say writers can't figure out how to live in the real world!

But Bruce and I are mixed in other ways. Some fairly simple. I balance the check book. He tends to go by feel. And others more shameful. He loves chocolate--and I don't care if I ever eat it again.

OK, don't judge me. I should have said that I used to be indifferent to chocolate. When I met Bruce, I thought chocolate was a big "meh." Then he took me to Maison du Chocolat in New York City. I had one of the earl grey truffles. Holy cow. What did I know, a Texas boy who thought Cadbury eggs were haute cuisine?

Anyway, now I'm into chocolate. Isn't it funny how a relationship can morph you? I mean: chocolate, me, happy. It was once impossible math. Now it makes sense. I'm sure it's one step on the road to looking like Bruce. You know, those old couples who look alike. They buy matching running suits just to emphasize the obvious. Are we there yet? (Now if I can only grow another half a foot.)

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