Some twenty days ago a package arrived containing chocolate, and that would have been enough, but I'm home bound at the moment (a minor alpine tragedy, in several stunning acts, winding down to now to the restful comfort of my daybed and it's southeast facing window) and so I felt a smooth pulse of excitement when I read the label. "Chocolate, dark chocolate," I perhaps said out loud as I dug into the packing tape. All fell silent in my room, all but bridge, the Roosevelt bridge, technically in sight off my balcony (spring only, on tip toes, on the far right as you go out there), but it's noise is with me always, and now it's faint rumble came to the fore. We all stood still. Well, there was only me, but my kids, if they were allowed to share my chocolate treasures of this type, would have been silent too. Later I'll share kids, don't worry, I just need this moment for myself.
What? A surprise: in front of the true, deep prize (read on, dear reader), another, smaller token of esteem awaited me: a little chocolate sample, taped to a business card, and a tiny bottle of Fleur de Sel.
"Very good," I actually did say, in the manner of an English gentleman, which I'm not, but I like to take characters on, as they say. "Brilliant," I exclaimed, egging myself on, downing the espresso strewn chocolate sample and staring at the business card.
Yes, I enjoy chocolate, and I can say for certain that there is no finer chocolate experience on this or another coast than that of a dark chocolate bar with sunflower seeds and sea salt ("The Sun And The Sea," brought to you by Only Child Chocolates, Portland, OR), but I also like a surprise, one with a delicate, creative touch, simple, thoughtful, amusing.
The Meadow is like that, and this package brought all that back (the Mississippi St. shop, my mind and eye distracted by the two extremes on ready view there: a curious stack of pink sea salt blocks and a wall of chocolate bars of singular originality.
I'm ha...
