She bought 'em in Autumn

Time flies when you’re having fun. Predictably enough, it also flies when you’re not. Unemployment, who originally presented himself as a long-lost friend just staying for the weekend, has become the immovable lodger who has started eating my posh cereal and opening my post. I think I just found his hidden pile of scrunched up sweetie wrappers behind the back of the sofa.

                                                                            

Oops, wait, that’s mine.

The silver lining is that this is my favourite time of year, not least because it's the season for podge-covering jumpers... much needed when I’m left to my own devices all day every day in the House of Nosh. As if the kitchen didn't provide enough temptation, I also know all of mum's hiding places. Sometimes I think she's not even trying - I mean, the drawer under your bed? The piano stool? Come on mum, at least PRETEND that you don't want me to find that 500g bar of Fruit and Nut.

My autumnal white chocolate ration has certainly not been too shabby. After a day in town, the Halloween edition of Cadbury’s white chocolate fingers, complete with gory red biscuit inside, barely lasted the tube journey home. 

A weekend in Paris (the minibreak addict must feed her habit, even when jobless – lest we forget that addiction is an illness) also yielded a couple of treasures. My Milky Bar Kid was particularly excited by the biscuit filled and wonderfully named...

I didn't know that there was such thing as a “speculoos” but I’m awfully glad there is. 

Most excitingly, I brought home with me some white chocolate Twixes that I, ever eagle-eyed, spotted in a metro station vending machine.

While I am painting a truly luxurious picture of my foodcentric life, be assured that it’s not all a bed of roses. Or at least, you’re bound to find a clump of putrefied petals in amongst the good stuff.

As a birthday gift, my big sister bought my little sister some M&S white chocolate-covered strawberries. It seemed only fair that I sample the first one – after all, white chocolate is my thing. (Middle child much?) Anyhow… the berries are easy on the eye, invitingly shiny and plump like a newly fallen conker. 

I bit into it and my mouth was filled with evil. 

Apparently it was insensitive of me to tell my sister, as she herself was taking a bite: “It tastes of arse”. At least joblessness isn’t affecting my verbal skills.

Summer gluttony

Once again I have been lax in my blogging. I cannot and shall not go into the complexities and upsets of the past month, but what I can say is that I have taken great comfort in outlandish quantities of my favourite confectionery.

In my last post I sang the praises of malformed chocolate, PC and pro-diversity foodie that I am. So I was of course far from disappointed when my friend Kate brought me back a hefty box of assorted white chocolates from Belgium, most of which had fused together to form a warped block of solid godliness. 

The only snag came when I bit into an unidentified nut. In case you haven’t read previous posts or have simply forgotten my arbitrary ailment, I am allergic to macadamia nuts. In that split second I could not be sure that my friend had had the foresight to look up the Flemish word for "macadamia" before embarking on her thoughtful quest of picking every white chocolate that the establishment offered. I'm fairly sure she likes me enough to not intentionally nudge me into anaphylactic shock, and I'm equally sure it didn't feel like a macadamia nut anyway - however, wanting to avoid A&E at all costs, I think I did the right (if slightly unbecoming) thing by spitting the contents of my mouth into the kitchen sink. Fyi, I am yet to find an online Flemish dictionary containing the word, although I am inclined to guess that the translation would in fact be "macadamia".

The gorging did not stop there. Next in line for demolition were my slightly melted but still exquisite American white chocolate KitKats, which are almost identical to their European brethren. One difference: the fingers appear shorter, an illusion I believe to be brought about by novel packaging, whereby the bars are much more tightly wrapped. Having fairly dinky fingers myself, I do feel a particular affinity for these bars.

And so, having spent the past month feasting on Belgian blobs, foreign KitKats, leftover cubes of budget white chocolate from the Blondies that I baked, not to mention grandma’s white-chocolate-drizzled tiffin, I had planned to give my long-suffering arteries a bit of respite.

But then I was blindsided.

The Milky Bar Kid and I were enjoying a game of Countdown on his iPad – yes, we are that fun and interesting. As I mentioned in my very first post, I’m a language lover and I find nothing more relaxing than a word game. However, the Countdown Conundrum – the finale anagram - often eludes me. So imagine how thrilled I was to solve the Conundrum well within the 30-second time limit. I excitedly typed in “R.E.I.N.S.E.R.T.S”, only to be told…

EXCUSE ME????
Overcome with indignation and, yes, rage, there was only one solution:

Mickey Mouse, my saviour, my enabler.

All shapes and sizes

Well, I’m back. Two weeks ago I returned from the land of big dreams, big skies, and even bigger portions.

When I got home it rained for seven days.

As I fall ever deeper into the whirlpool of post-holiday despair, I am writing in the hope that tales of white chocolate will be the armbands that keep me afloat. 

Dramatic, moi?

Firstly I must admit that when surrounded by oozing Gushers, crunchy Flipz and tangy Babyback Rib-flavoured crisps, I found myself unable to prioritise white chocolate. It would have been illogical. However, I did make one discovery that blew my flipflops off (I wasn’t wearing socks in the tropical heat, you understand). Readers, I introduce…

As the image suggests, they’re the size and shape of Minstrels, but without the crispy shell - instead, they have an almost waxy seal. I fear my description is not doing the marvel justice, for when is “waxy” ever an appealing epithet? Take my word for it, the texture was wondrous, futuristic somehow. You know how unutterably satisfying it is when you bite into two chocolate buttons stuck together? It's kind of like that but, erm, waxy.

With a bag (or three) of goodies to get through, I am yet to open the 6-pack of white KitKats that stood solitary on a Walmart shelf, but I will of course let you know how they compare to Europe’s various versions.

Speaking of which, I have a final wafer-based yarn. 

Before embarking upon Expedition Glutton, we paid a brief visit to the Milky Bar Kid’s family oop north. I opened the bedroom door to discover on my pillow a White KitKat Chunky that was, well, mangled to hell. Beside it lay a hand-written note from MBK’s little sister apologising for the malformed treat, explaining that the flight back from Cyprus clearly was not an ideal environment for meltable goods. 

I can tell you now that apologies were entirely unnecessary. The varying thickness in chocolate was a revelation. Familiar intermingled with alien, corners where there once were no corners, this KitKat was the best I have ever eaten. Surely there’s a life lesson in there?

Short but not so sweet

I guess I asked for it. In fact, there’s no guessing about it. It’s there in my last post, completely unambiguous, for all to see: “Please send food”. 

But dear friend, Marie Marshall, had I known that this is what would be sent my way I would never have made such a supplication:

Who in their right mind wouldn't immediately be enticed, charmed, by this product’s budget packaging? Note the label selotaped over the original description. In her defence, Marie did forewarn me: “Belize doesn’t make chocolate”. 

No shit. 

This was by far the oddest tasting piece of confectionery I have ever come into contact with. It smells of brown chocolate and tastes of herbs and toothpaste. In retrospect I realise that the exclamation mark after its provenance “Made in Belize” was a secret clue from the packager. A question mark or even an ellipsis would have worked equally well.

Marie, in the past I have told you that you are the most kind-hearted person I have ever met. Today, I have no choice but to take it back.

Unemployment need not mean malnourishment

I have recently fallen victim to the arts cuts, and redundancy has meant that I have not bought myself a single item in weeks – including staples such as white chocolate. My appreciation is thus at an all-time high for the presents I continue to receive. 

This week I enjoyed my farthest-travelled blog-inspired gift: a white Tim Tam. I’ve never really understood why those who venture Down Under rave so vociferously about the biscuit. Before you get your knickers in a twist, yes I have tried one and still I ask you, is it really so different to a Penguin? Despite my cynicism, its white version certainly didn’t last long in my house – after all, I haven’t eaten in weeks. Hyperbolic assertions aside, the Tim Tam was surprisingly light, vanilla-y and ultrasweet – though admittedly not very chocolatey.

                              

Thanks to my just-returned-from-NYC big sister I also had the joy of experiencing, for the second time in my life, a transatlantic white Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, which was as outstanding as I remembered. In 41 days’ time I shall be making my own journey across the big blue, and for the sake of delayed gratification I had vowed to avoid American treats before then. But you know what they say about the best laid plans of white chocolate mice. One glance at the seductive packaging and I crumbled like an M&S white chocolate chip cookie (see previous entry). I’m fairly certain Freud would have done the same. Munching on this wonderful concoction, followed by a few pretzel M&Ms (I’d already broken my resolution so I thought I may as well go the whole hog, snout and all), I was reminded that I must make a more concerted effort to sample more sweet/salty combos. They are the future.

With the incessant praise I bestow upon the sweets of foreign shores, one could be forgiven for thinking me nothing but a xenophiliac, always craving that which is far away from our eccentric little island. In an effort to remain fair and unbiased, I will therefore reveal that another recent American gift left me decidedly underwhelmed.

Sadly, its branding serves as an omen, an answer to the question: “What can I offer you other than the bitter taste of unfulfillment?” 

On paper, this bar has everything: peanut and almond nougat, caramel and white chocolate (well, “white fudge”. Note to self: find out difference so as not to appear an uneducated buffoon). However, the proportions are all wrong and the main flavour crosses that thin but critical line between appetising almond and malicious marzipan. I do hate to sound ungrateful but then again Joe, what are you gona do, fire me?

And on that note I must return to the real world and find a job. Please send food.

The Holy Grail

You may remember that in a previous post I wrote about my white Mars bar reverie. Little sense as it makes, I think what renders it dream fodder is the fact that such a product does not exist. I have never considered it anything other than a fantasy, and I am comfortable with this.

There are, however, dreams that do have a place in reality. Dreams I haven’t dared speak of until now.

Last year I read that there is a Polish edition of a white Lion. There is nothing about a Lion that isn’t genius, except for its uncanny ability to disappear down my gullet within nanoseconds of tearing the wrapper. And so, since discovering that such a product does exist, I have visited polksi sklep after polksi sklep, searching for the Holy Grail.

Months passed and I started to lose hope. Was this some kind of hoax? Is this “Poland” even a real place?

But then I received a text message from my little sister, who was in Essex’s shopping Mecca, Lakeside: “Got a present for you”.

Yep.

What do you do when faced with everything you've ever wanted? I don't know what normal people do, but I froze. I waited weeks, petrified that if I opened it before my craving peaked it would disappoint, thus making me question my own reason for being.

Finally, yesterday, I was ready.

It was worth the wait.

Aside from the exquisite marriage of white chocolate and caramelly chewydom, it had something of a Ferrero Raffaello about it. Fascinated, I checked the ingredients to see if it contained coconut, but then I remembered that I do not speak Polish.

The bar is more petite than a regular Lion bar, containing a mere 204 calories. Health food, anyone?

For lack of an eggs-ellent pun

If I have been conspicuous by my absence, the reason is the season. As it is both Passover and Easter I have been feasting on a variety of confections, kosher and heathen.

I hope it is not a betrayal for me to confess that Passover chocolate is both lacking in variety and, vitally, flavour. 

Our Flake equivalent (left) is the best of the bunch but the rest is just not right. 

You’d have thought that forty years of wandering the desert would have provided ample time to perfect the recipe.

 Easter however has provided a cocoa cornucopia:

The bunny was a present to myself for good behaviour - and what a present! I fear an impending Kinder addiction. 

Top marks also for the MBK for finding a white Lindt bunny, of whose existence I have been completely unaware, and whose face I shall devour approximately three minutes from now.