I was here today morning. I had to take a friend with her mother along. I didnt want to go in, I hesistated, dilly-dallied, waited.. maybe it wont be as good, I thought. Maybe all I’ll get there are the bitter 90% ones that I can eat once – but have to have a dialogue in my head about how good it is for my health to actually keep eating it.

She opened the door. An old wooden frame with clean glass pane. From within came a warm, tempting zephyr of simmering coacoa. My frontal cortex shut itself down and in I went.

A tiny corridor, with chocolates on display, where ever I turned. Slabs, crumbles, tiny bricks, smooth balls, dusted with coacoa powder, glazed with sticky caramel; all in – nougat, amandes, caramel croquant, noir, vanille, blanc avec le fruits rouge and the eternal classic – lait.

No, I told myself. Ive spent a lot today. Maybe next time, maybe next weekend. I should deserve such things.

I was offered help – did I want to buy something? I mumbled an excuse, said I was waiting for my friend to finish.

The more I stood in that corner, the more overpowering the scent became. My head felt like a warzone. I had too many loud voices in my head, each vying for attention.

Thats it!

Excusez-moi? Si vous êtes libre, je aimerais bien prendre quelques petite morceaux…
  • White with red fruits
  • Classic milk
  • Crunchy caramel
  • Cayenne Pepper
  • Fleurs de Sel (Flowers of salt)

I grudgingly shared the white with the friends, consoling myself that white chocolate isnt chocolate at all. Folded everything else and stuffed the packet deep into my bag.

I ran back home, carefully opened the waxed paper packet, peeled the ‘Blondel’ sticker, stuck my nose in it and took a deep life-giving breath.

Gingerly I opened the individually packed tiny thin slabs and took a tiny bite and let it sit on my tongue…

Test number 1.

Normal chocolate -> melting -> liquefying ->… mmmm…. -> !! what the!! ->… chilli!!! .-> cayenne pepper… -> *loud moan* -> flopped back on my futon with my eyes closed….. -> let the rest make its way down my throat along with copious amounts of wetness..

Test number 2.

Normal chocolate.. -> slightly darker that I like it -> inching its way to the sides of my tongue -> *HOLY CRAP!* moment -> tiny granules of salt sitting on my tastebuds -> melting like firefly flickers only to meld with the normal dark chocolate -> Oh…. my….*breath escalating* -> Silently having an epicurian orgasm…




My red shoulder bag  – check

My trusty camera in the ‘other’ shoulder bag – check

Sunglasses – check

.. and off we go!

With my current ear worm on my ipod and my eyelids closing and opening in time to the drugged beat, and a warm-hot sun on my sundress clad back, saturdays cannot get better.

Walking down from the cathedral, as I wind my way into cobblestone streets – a wave of riotous colours hits my retina. Peaches, bananas, apples – brilliant reds and greens, basket of neatly arranged starwberries, the wet, verde of lettuce leaves – a dozen varieties of them; poky pink-tipped asparaguses tied up in bundles; tiny, yellow potatoes and fiery red tomatoes on a stalk; royal juicy purple onions and my favourite – broccoli so green and fresh that you can hear them call out to you – from across the street.

I try, I really do. I take my camera with me every saturday, with hopes of capturing some colour, an iota of life.

A smiling paysan with crinkly eyes, a laughing madame with flowers in her hair and stalks of violet irises in her hands, a tiny toddler seriously examining her own fingers – sticky with toffee..  red balloons bouyed by the slight gust of wind at the town square; a small crowd of families and cybershot-toting tourists waiting for the enormous house-sized cuckoo clock to strike the hour; kids selling home-made cakes and cookies to fund their summer trips; similing locals walking with pamphlets urging you to “Sauver Lavaux” or “Pensez aux enfants en Somalie” or even “Utilise le transport locale” !

Up and down the steep streets I walk, hoping for a quiet corner somewhere, where I can take my camera out and try to think about framing a shot – it proves close to impossible. I have clutched the camera body through my bag, many times, only to losen the grip and walk on, into the milling crowd – to simply soak in the summer milieu.

After going through the motions and armed with an overflowing bag of vegetables on one hand and a bouquet of lillies and chinese roses on the other, I fight the urge to take the metro back home and walk back uphill through the same winding streets.

Its during times like these that I feel truly lucky to be human.

There isnt a higher joy than earning your share of fresh vegetables every week 🙂