Blissful convergence

Sunday was a wide-open day with great plans, none of which actually were completed, but it managed to turn out to be a great day nonetheless. We did get the vacuuming done, but the other tasks were overshadowed as we took advantage of the mild weather (sorry, New York), and went for a long hike through an ancient forest overlooking the lake. Feeling virtuous, we had no problem curling up with books for the remainder of the afternoon. At least, that’s what I did, but my Dear Husband took the boys off, all hush-hush, something about the hardware store (quite suspect, since he’s not that kind of husband).

I skimmed an issue of Food & Wine magazine from this summer, where they compact pithy sound bites about eco-epicureanism into a six page spread—including pictures. All the names are there, Pollan, Lappé, McGee, Planck, and Chef Anthony Bourdain, who notes that though he supports the movement, “…my only real concern is ‘is it good?’” I also moved forward a few pages of Lappé’s Grub: it’s so rich that I can only consume a few pages in one sitting, needing time to digest things before nibbling more.

Anyhow, upon Dear Husband’s return, he laid out his cunning plan: He had wanted to surprise me with it Wednesday evening, Valentine’s Day, but I was slated to teach (thanks to snow days). Adaptable fellow that he was, he had confided with British Neighbor’s husband, who was in a similar bind, with in-laws arriving midweek. The men folk agreed that they would indulge their wives Sunday evening, with an after-the-kids-are-in-bed chocolate and wine tasting. However, the poor gent forgot he wasn’t twenty anymore, and a full day of skiing left him completely knackered. We were on our own, it seemed.

I was summoned to a candlelit spread of seven wine bottles and an obscene assortment of chocolate. I knew that even I couldn’t possibly manage that much, so we pared it down, opening two bottles, a 2004 Pine & Post Washington State Merlot and a 2004 Laforet Pinot Noir (from Burgundy, and near Beaune, one of the places we liked to stop for our breakfast on the road trips of our early years together. He is incurably romantic.) Then we got down to some serious chocolate tasting. The star of the evening was chocolate from Theo, a Fremont-based bean-to-bar operation that uses only organic and fair-trade cacao beans. I know their 3400 Phinney bars from the co-op, and have to admit, this is serious stuff.

I am reminded of Chef Bourdain above: not only was it local and organic, it was beyond good. The aftertaste of just one bite of the cardamom caramel with smoked almonds (they couldn’t fit the sprinkle of sea salt in the name) carried me through drafting the last two paragraphs.

Have you ever taken the leaf off a mint plant and put it in your mouth? That’s what their mint ganache was like. Intense, surprising, furtive, nothing like the cloying sweetness of a Campfire mint. The only downside was that it didn’t work well with the Merlot. The sweet Pinot Noir, however, fit the bill nicely. The fig, fennel and Merlot confection was complex, the Scotch smooth, the Earl Grey too subtle for our taste. The single-source bars reminded me of different bottles of wine, each reflecting the life of the vine, the weather, soil, and neighboring plant life. Venezuela’s 91% was almost powdery, its ingredient list the epitome of simplicity: cocoa beans (Venezuela) + sugar. We both agreed on the pleasing properties of the 75% from Ivory Coast.

When we first met, our courtship included many candlelit evenings that lasted into the wee hours of the morning. I remember one evening when we watched a candle extinguish itself, as spent as we were. And late last night, as I slid the last bite of cardamom caramel into my mouth, the candle went out on its own.

I also recall how decadent I found my new European love, who treated this straight-laced American to chocolate for breakfast, in the form of a croissant slathered with Nutella. And now, twenty Valentine’s Day later, he continues to fill the corners of my life with chocolate.