In Which Chocolate Comes to a Tragic End
Don’t read this unless you want to have your day ruined.� See the title.
I’m going to make this short, like ripping off a bandage. In fact, one word might suffice:
It’s called the canicule.
You have probably heard of it, this current of air that brings a heat wave to France.
In French, if you hear canicule, you think hot.
Of course, if you grew up in Georgia and later lived in Tahiti, you snicker and think, “I could show you real heat, people. Oh, how little do you know!”
You have to drive back to Paris. It’s a ten hour drive. And the canicule hits.
That day. That same day.
And–this is France. The car has no air conditioner.
Alala guessed it. I’m sure now that the chocolate melted in the first half hour.
And not just Auer’s chocolate. There was a good two or three kilos of other chocolate, because–and I don’t know why this is–people kept giving me chocolate while I was on the Côte d’Azur.
My uncle-in-law had been to Switzerland on a business trip, and he saw chocolate and thought of me.
Someone went to the grocery store, saw chocolate and thought of me.
I went to the store, saw chocolate, and thought of me.
It just accumulated that way.
The worst, the very worst, was going sadly through the remnants of chocolate, all melted together, with Jean-Pierre the next day, trying to find any that was salvageable.
Most wasn’t. For most it was nearly impossible to find what was chocolate and what was its wrapper, and cooling again it had gone all powdery as chocolate tends to do. Of two or three kilos, all that could be saved:
Here are the orangettes (chocolate-dipped candied orange peel) from Auer, post-canicule.
Orangettes are supposed to be individual slivers of chocolate-dipped candied orange slices, not this:
I refused to toss them. I said SOMETHING could be done with them. And the other night I made a ganache laced with candied orange peel and we tried it on vanilla ice cream.
When life melts your chocolate, you’ve got to do something other than throw it away, right?
Although there’s another moral here. I think Amy got it right in the comments on the first part’s post.
See?� I warned you it was tragic!� Now I’m going to go see my therapist again.