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.

Ova excitement at Easter

With only a week till Easter, I still haven’t bought my Milkybar Kid an egg. I haven’t even started to shop around, let alone made a shortlist. For me, Easter is not a time for extravagance but I do like to pick something slightly more exciting than your half-price Tesco treat. One year my interpretation of such a theme was simply to buy him two eggs instead of one.

                       

On reflection, I vaguely recall eating one of them.

However I don’t want to repeat last year’s mistake of just having a look in Hotel Chocolat. Only that hypnotic aroma of cocoa could have tricked me into thinking buy-five-get-one-free was a good deal.

Equally importantly, I haven’t even started to drop hints for what has tickled my fancy this year.

Poor MBK does have it tough, I’m the first to admit it. Over the five years I must have given him five sets of conflicting advice: "All I want is a simple Cadbury’s egg" … "You're not seriously contemplating getting me a plain Cadbury’s egg" … "I definitely don’t like the taste of Nestle" … "I wouldn’t say no to a Kit Kat egg".

I think the most impressive egg I've received was this white wonder, again, courtesy of my dad:

One blunder I made recently was explaining to MBK that my favourite characteristic of an Easter egg is the thinness of the chocolate. I shall tell you for why…

Last week, I spotted the mother of all Easter goodies:

The photo doesn’t do justice to its 2-foot stature. Can you imagine biting into those ears?! Upon beholding such magnificence, I had barely uttered a word when MBK quickly interjected: due to the size and scale of the rabbit, the chocolate wouldn’t be thin.

I wish he didn’t listen to me so much.

All this talk of Easter eggs has provoked in me a soupcon of guilt. Confession time. 

I have already eaten an Easter egg this year. In March. I beseech you, listen before you judge.

Kinder eggs. Who doesn’t love kinder eggs? A heartless wretch, that’s who. White and milk chocolate rolled together, flawlessly smooth and evocative of childhood passed.

Now imagine one the size of your face.

Would you have been able to wait till Easter?

Acts of kindness

One of the many great things about white chocolate is that – unlike milk chocolate – it doesn’t need to be expensive to be good. I would go as far as saying the cheaper the better. Think less Lindt, more Lidl.

As a birthday treat for the MBK last year I baked a “blondie” – a white chocolate brownie. My ingredient of choice was Tesco Value white chocolate, at a mere 27p for 100g (which, unforgivably, Tesco has stopped stocking). I'm not ashamed to admit that much of it didn’t make it into the mixing bowl. The absence of photographic evidence signals the speed at which the blondie too was consumed.

Another attribute of white chocolate, that has only become clear in the past few weeks, is that it inspires people. Since writing this blog I have been inundated not only with excited tales of recent white chocolate purchases, but also with acts of enormous generosity.

I was impressed enough when a colleague brought in some M&S white chocolate chip cookies after reading my first post.

This was then trumped by my friend’s husband, who brought me back a gift all the way from the US of A:

Americans may not have mastered milk chocolate but their white chocolate offering is admirable. As Milkybars demonstrate, a thinner configuration works brilliantly with white chocolate. 

Perhaps most impressive is the amount of cookie embedded in the bar: a truly American portion.

Compare it to the amount of biscuit in the Milkybar Raisin & Biscuit, and you’ll see what I mean.

 

However arguably the most exciting present so far was from my dad:

 A white chocolate fudge apple, covered in chocolate raisins for good measure. Phenomenal. 

This time it was the MBK who remained unimpressed. Refusing to even take a bite, he decreed: “It smells too apple-y”.

Oh well, more for me.

Parla cioccolata?

Last spring, upon the recommendation of my Italian-Aussie (Itozzy? Ozzalian?) friend Luisa, I flew all the way to Florence to sample the legendary white hot chocolate at Chiaroscuro on Via del Corso.

Ok, I was in Florence anyway.

Due cioccolata calda bianca, per favore, and make it snappy.

Upon receipt, all the signs were good: thick, smooth, piping hot.

 

There is something deliciously elegant about a hot drink in a glass.

However it pains me to say that the contents of the glass fell short.

Let me make something very clear. I can handle a lot of sugar. Certainly more than the average person. When people casually mention that they simply don’t have a sweet tooth, my brain cannot compute what it has just heard.

Recently a colleague complained of a vending machine beverage: “It’s too sweet!”

I squinted, inwardly cursed her weak moral fibre, and put her on my blacklist.

It therefore pains me to reveal that this white hot chocolate was too sweet.

Luckily my Milky Bar Kid didn’t agree, and polished off his and mine in quick succession.

The epi-tome of a conundrum

One of my favourite eateries in America is the Cheesecake Factory – arguably not the most upmarket of joints, but completely irresistible.

Brits: I’m going to give you enough credit to work out this restaurant’s particular area of expertise.

                 

However, this is the USA we’re talking about, and they don’t do things by halves.

As well as presenting a savoury menu whose length rivals the OED, the Cheesecake Factory offers more than 30 varieties of cheesecake, from peppermint to pumpkin, Kahlua to key lime.

I sit in my booth, scan the list, and one particular flavour catches my eye every single time.

 If only life were that simple.

One fateful night in November 2008, I discovered – the hard way – that I am allergic to macadamia nuts.

So, when faced with this menu item, I have to weigh up:

Elation of white chocolate vs anaphylactic shock.

Worryingly, it is never an easy decision.