I love me some s’mores. Actually, I should clarify. I love me some s’mores-flavored things. Actual s’mores squick me out on a sensory front tantamount to wrapping a germophobe in used Band-aids and throwing them into a Chuck E. Cheese. Usually, when someone talks about sticky, sweet-smelling debris with charred residue on it, they’re referring to evidence in a New Jersey criminal case. I cannot envision a more texturally unappealing snack. However, the flavor combination is a winner, so when something exciting and graham-infused comes along, I can’t help but check it out.
Bissinger’s gave me a box of these along with their new Porcini mushroom truffles, and I’m so jazzed with the results. Bissinger’s is one of the few older chocolate companies who, as I’ve mentioned before, does some really exciting things with chocolate and confection. These seasonal sweeties make a top-notch summer snack or post-barbecue dessert. The milk chocolate does an excellent job of keeping the nostalgic flavor front and center without making it too sweet. This is a really well-composed truffle. What I liked best was that they kept their smooth, rich caramel base while incorporating the iconic s’mores flavors and textures.
Holy hell, is this thing amazing. This might be the one of the best chocolates of the year. The sea salt on top is both mineral and intensely smoky, tempering the sweet marshmallow and caramel. It’s split somewhat like a Milky Way bar, but with a more delicate, fluffy marshmallow. There are actual pockets of soft graham cracker crumbs! This tastes like a less messy, compact s’more, and better yet, each one is perfect every time. No more mallows-on-fire or unmelted chocolate.
Today, on Fifty Shades of Single Origin Hell…
“I brought you your Cosmo magazines,” Porcini said, not looking at me as they thrust the mint copies of Cosmopolitan in my hands. They were still wrapped in their original magazine covers, and I could remember the day they bought them for me. Upon my graduation from Phoenix Online’s official food blogging and marriage officiant program, they gave them to me as a gift. Originally, I couldn’t accept such an extravagant, 12-month subscription with bonus summer slim-down tips, but as they pointed out the hidden implications in their choices (Sixteen Ways to Grow the Best Shrooms and Please Your Man!) I quickly began to love them and to know Porcini’s penchant for extravagance.
“I need to get my Macbook and champion racehorses out of your house, too,” I said, shifting anxiously. The racehorses had been another impromptu gift. I just wanted this to be over already…I wanted to abandon the Brown Room of Confection once and for all. But nevertheless, I knew I had to be polite, at least. Porcini looked over my modest apartment. “Would you like to sit down? I can pour you a glass of water or something. My cats broke all my glasses, so all I have are commemorative shot-glasses from Disney California.”
“That’s fine,” said Porcini, looking tortured and for a brief instant, I imagined them as a spore again, unable to ride the awesome, Southwestern-themed rides at Disney California because they were too small. Poor Porcini. Was that why they hated amusement parks? Was I being insensitive? They pulled a bottle out of their fluted wrapper. “I actually brought a bottle of pink champagne. It’s the 2009 Pink by P!NK. A spectacular vintage.” I poured us some champagne and we sat down on cat-hair covered office chairs. Sigh. This was awkward. I took a sip of the champagne. “Wow, memories, am I right?” Suddenly, I heard a creak behind me. “Who’s there?”
And then, she stepped out from the background. “Who…who are you?” She had long, flowing brown ringlets of caramel, and a smooth, marshmallow interior. Clad in brown leather with sea salt accents, she was gorgeous. “And…are those graham cracker crumb stripes?” She fingered the soft, buttery leather jacket. “Yeah, they’re hand-stitched.” Sticking out her hand, she introduced herself. “I’m S’mores, Porcini’s sister.” Omigod. My inner goddess bounces up and down like a small child post-ice cream, pre-Adderall. She is stunning! Porcini drained his shot glass and went into the living room to unload another box of magazines.
“So,” S’mores said, “Have you ever had a s’more before?” And suddenly, she was in my mouth, and I was peeling off the soft, sweet clothes, gently scraping my teeth over the buttery chocolate, running my tongue over the salt crystals. The graham flavor was so intense, so malty, that I nearly fell back on the couch in lust. I dabbed my finger on the caramel, feeling it pool in my hands, entwining my hands in those locks. I place my finger on her marshmallow, and swiftly, smoothly, she removed my hand, her eyes locking in mine. My tongue muscles clench in the most delicious fashion.
“Don’t.” I looked at her, shuddering. “I’m fifty flaves of fucked up, Jessica Bunny Rabbits Google von Cutenstein McMercedes. We’re…different. Special, you might even say.” Her expression shifted, and she smiled at me. “But come, enjoy me. Enjoy my smoked campfire seasalt. In choco veritas, Jessica. We can have it all…”
It was then that I knew that my adventures with the clumsy, heavy-handed aggression of single-origin chocolates were over. A new beginning had started, one with the feminine touch of Bissinger’s Campfire S’mores. My fifty shades of single origin hell…she’s mine once more. No one can take S’mores away from me. I realize in this moment of intoxicating flavor that I shall do everything in my power to keep her.
Keep her mine.
Thanks for reading Fifty Shades of Single Origin Hell, everyone! Regular reviews start back up tomorrow!
