When we moved to America, my mother didn’t change much about the way we’d been eating in Kenya. By this I mean she didn’t suddenly start taking us to McDonalds or feeding us frozen fish sticks. And dessert, which had never really been a thing in our house in Kenya, wasn’t really a thing in our house in America.
Except for chocolate. Grandmother didn’t have a rule about no dessert or no sweets or no cookies. She had a cookie jar that was filled every time we visited. Sometimes it would have the Oreo cookie knock off; Hydrox and sometimes, it would be filled with the awesome chocolate chip cookies she made. And sometimes there would be just be a little dish of chocolate chips on the counter free for taking.
Brother and I put the chocolate chips together with the awesome chocolate chip cookies and came to the conclusion that all chocolate was good.
Until the day we found Mom’s baking chocolate and learned all chocolate is not good chocolate.
We were latch key kids and there was no TV in the house so you can only imagine how excited we were to find a massive bar of Hershey’s in the drawer. We broke off a piece each and took a bite – and the world suddenly became sadder. I’m not sure who spit out there piece first, me or Brother but man, did we. A sad bitter, literal truth, it had no sugar in it.
There was a moment when we just looked at each other and then one of us, and I don’t remember whom, came up with the plan to add sugar to the chocolate. What followed was a plethora of material for an I Love Lucy sketch. Brother and I taking a bag with chocolate and sugar and a hammer into the garage and trying to pound the sugar into the chocolate. Brother and I trying to pick up the chocolate that was no longer in the bag due to the hammer sized hole. Brother and I trying powdered sugar. Powdered sugar all over the counter. And floor. And us. But still not ‘in’ the chocolate. Ants telling each other where the to find sugar Mecca. Mom’s face when she saw our attempts to clean up our secret thievery.
Today, we have a drawer in the fridge for our candy stash. I try to keep some that only Husband likes and some that only I like. I only like dark chocolate, unless it’s a Snickers bar or a Heath bar and Husband only likes my chocolate after he’s eaten all of his and told me how disgusting my chocolate is. And this always follows his speech about how I “shouldn’t bring temptations into the house.” And I should “stop buying him stuff that is making him fat.” So I only ONLY buy MY candy and then I get in his car with him to go to dinner and open the cup holder and find THIS:
And my bag of mini Heath Bars stashed in the fridge, the ones he said were disgusting, the ones he said he would never eat, was decimated.
Good thing I have a bag of chocolate chips and no oven to bake with or this post might be called Death by Chocolate and Husband would be the death.
Also, you can tell not giving up anything for New Years. Life is too short. Off to buy more Heath Bars. Live 100% .
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me