I’m putting off a difficult task and it’s getting in the way of the generally hilarious tomfoolery on this sinking ship of a semi-never-famous empire that I created back in high school when love was merely a hilarious anagram for evol and all my shirts were from woot.com. It isn’t the blog- that’s collateral damage in the larger scheme of pulling the trigger on the Rube Goldbergian stage of bureaucratic events that enable me to not go to France next year to study and cavort and live minimalistically while still maintaining a sense of style, escapism, happiness, and jeunesse that I struggle to find in Hartford. That would have made such a great novel. That novel would have pushed Eat, Pray, Love to the curb.
I would have had the best author photo. Or at least the best byline on my article at The Toast.
Yes, quite the problem to have, it’s funny in a stupid, hyperspecific way, like being catfished by a stock photo, but I still haven’t quite reached the point where I’m comfortable typing those words or pressing the button that pushes me another turn around the carousel before I have to hop off and enter the real world and get a job. In this world, the carousel is also not limited to children, keep that in mind, so I’m definitely not imaginary trespassing in this imaginary theme park allegory that I have created.So last week The Bedfellow and I drove to Toronto in search of relaxation, which we found to a rough extent, and work slash food slash clothing slash exercise, which I sniffed out like a truffle pig. And at a pharmacy, we found this. It’s the rough equivalent of finding Kinder eggs in the US- it’s an exotic delight heretofore found only overseas, and yet, on this expansive coast, I found it and spent money on it. Cadbury’s Marvellous Creations have not yet found American spellcheck, but they have found their niche in a rather well-crafted fashion. And if gummy and pop rock-filled chocolate can, damn it, I’m sure I will, too.While Jelly Popping Candy has its own charm, what roughly translates to bonbon explosion has far more aplomb. Oh, the French are superb. Needless to say, what I thought would be a pleasant trainwreck of a bar, not unlike the 1895 Gare Montparnasse wreck, was actually quite balanced and delicious. This gave me the strength and justification to eat half the bar. Then, the entire bar. Then, fall asleep watching my favorite episode of 30 Rock. It’s Spring Break and my weigh-in is next week, hashtag TWASTTD! (that was a shameful thing to do.)
Ingredient-wise, the situation was vague enough to intrigue. What was described as jelly candies was thankfully not jelly beans (my apologies to Reagan) but hard gummy ovals. These were fruity, but not too sour or flavorful that they clashed with the chocolate. The pop rocks were abundant and crackly, like Chuao’s own bars but with a more satisfying heft as Cadbury’s wares tend to run on the thicker side. The only aspect that felt and was redundant was the addition of Smarties, or as we know them stateside, M&M’s. Candy-coated chocolate inside chocolate is stupid, right, M&M’s bar? What are you, Inception? American Smarties may have been a boon here to push this physical realization of a five year old’s hopes and dreams into a perfect place. But as it stands, it’s the ideal chocolate bar for the weird, slightly depressed adult chocolate connoisseur. That’s enough for the world to handle.