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?