Despite being a world-renowned chocoholic (and also, you might be thinking, a world-class exaggerator), I have somehow managed to avoid the evil stuff for all of 2017 so far. A round of applause here wouldn’t go amiss. No one knows how I have accomplished this, least of all me. But it is some kind of miracle in my little world, and so I am persevering. My mouth watered, and I felt giddy from the aroma, and my willpower wobbled around all over the place, but I stood fast and strong. Pious, even.
I distracted myself by joining the ‘motherland versus American chocolate’ debate with great energy. We were all convinced: there is no comparison. The Brits may no longer rule the waves, or much of anything else, but when it comes to the cocoa delight, we win every time. Of course, the Swiss and the Belgians would probably throw up their hands in horror and wade into this debate with gusto, but then there would be no contest, so let’s rule them out straight away. Pit British chocolate against the stars and stripes version, and I believe we come out on top. Every time.
Of course, it’s all a matter of taste. It always is. Unfortunately, in a family that loves vociferous debate, this is one point on which all are agreed, and so it was that everyone roared into the various packets and bars with their own gusto. There was much chewing and slurping, and pretty soon there were empty wrappers scattered across the coffee table, followed by a significant lull in the conversation as everyone dozed in a sugary haze.
Except me. Being the only one without the jitters, I was left to clear up the mess and ponder over the fact that #3 and the lovely boyfriend had managed to scoff a good half of the treats they had ostensibly brought for us.
While I was contemplating this turn of events – and remembering that a similar thing had occurred the previous summer when #4 had arrived bearing the remnants of Iced Gems packets and a guilty grin – I looked up to see that #3 had found a second wind and started on the duty-free rum she had also declared to be ‘a gift’. As soon as she stuck her head into the fridge to root around for Coke, lemon and ice, I took the opportunity to tiptoe to my bedroom and hide all the gifts she has given me over the years. Just to be safe.
Inspiration struck today at ... Tea &
Sympathy, Greenwich Avenue, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues
First of all, hands up, this place belongs to
my cousin, who more than twenty years ago hatched the genius idea of a shop and
restaurant full of all things English.
Pros: English chocolate! And tea! And scones
with jam and cream! And …
Cons: You can’t sit to sup unless all your
party are present, so be prepared. However, it’s great to sit on the bench
outside and people watch. With a cup of tea in hand, of course.
