how to handle a chocolate tasting

Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? "How to handle a chocolate tasting." You enjoy it the heck out of it, that's how! Last weekend, before leaving for Brussels (a city famed by its own chocolatiers), I joined a small group of expats at a Parisian apartment for Discover Paris!'s event with Marie-Hélène Gantois of Mococha Chocolat. It was quite the tasting. I nearly out-chocolate-d myself, if you can believe it, and ended up going home with a bag of half-eaten bonbons. (Don't worry. Each piece has served me well this week.)

The cultivation and consommation of chocolate originated in the Americas (woot, woot) a couple thousand years ago. It was sacred to both the Mayans and Aztecs. As a result, the Latin name for the cacao tree--theobroma cacao--unsurprisingly means "food of the gods." Chocolate continued to be used for healing even after it was brought to Europe and sweetened. As Marie-Hélène told us, it was initially only available for purchase from pharmacies in France. Then, roughly 150 years ago, artisans got their hands on it.

After taking plenty of photos and notes, and brushing the hair out of my face (merci bien Tom for providing the evidence above), we went on to taste some of their chocolate creations. Marie-Hélène guided us as we first chose a pure chocolate square at room temperature, admired its sheen, listened to the sound as we broke it in half, inhaled the released aroma, and placed it in our mouths to melt. The slow process allowed me to pick up on various tastes and textures. I decided Ecuadorian chocolate is my favorite.

Preferences became wonderfully more complicated though as we finished with truffles accented by basil, wasabi, paprika, ginger. And yet, I so gladly kept my opinionated findings in mind as I browsed the selection at Pierre Marcolini the next day. Many thanks to Tom and Monique for inviting me, Habitat Parisien for offering a space, Tricia, John, Richard, Sandy, Eric, Diane, and Adrian for bringing extra lovely company, and, of course, Marie-Hélène Gantois of Mococha Chocolat for treating our tastebuds to such an exquisite experience. Without another chocolate tasting event on the agenda, this weekend is certainly going to dull by comparison.

charmed by ixelles

Early on Sunday morning, Lara and I hopped on a Compèigne-bound train to meet her French aunt and uncle. After a brief meet and greet, we hit the road for their home in Ixelles, a charming Brussels commune, where they so generously hosted us during our stay.

I fell in love with the treelined streets, townhouse architecture, and art nouveau accents. It's diverse, too, with a vibrant student population, buzzing African quarter, and expat families (case in point). Had there been better weather, I'd have many more photos.

Sunday brunch at Portrait de Famille: Ciney Brune beer, vegetable soup, quiches, assortment of salads, tarte tatin)

(Morning run through Bois de la Cambre)

(Les Brassins lunch: Bon Secours ambrée, shared Flemish meatballs, carbonnade, fries, stoemp (potato stew with seasonal veggies)

Waffles for dessert from a truck similar to this one

As you can see, we had many meals à la maison. Monday's dinner, for instance: a wine from Bourgogne, pumpkin purée on toast, cous cous, baked fish over leeks, green salad, gruyère cheese, and brownies. The following morning, Lara's aunt and uncle put out another thoughtful spread. My breakfast: a Belgian croissant and plain yogurt with baked apple; a strong Italian café alongside it. The lovely international feel continued throughout my stay in the EU capital (and in more than just that which we ate). More to come!

forget-me-not

I so appreciate everything about this chapter of my life, even the frustrating and challenging bits, and yet... it saddens me to think of how much of it I experience alone. Yes, I'm independent, and my Paris-based friends and French family are absolutely wonderful, but so are those of mine at home. And though living abroad with a significant other and/or meeting the love of my life in a foreign country sounds really nice, it's just not my reality. I wonder: am I missing out on sharing moments with those I have deepest roots?

When I left for South America, at 19, I'd feared I'd be forgotten about. My familiar life would go on without me. It did. Obviously. But I was able to strenuously find my place again when I returned. So now, (though I'm dreading the eventual bout of reverse culture shock), I'm not so much worried about them as I am about this--this European routine of mundane and extraordinary that's almost too much my own. It's as if I'm at a silence dance party, jamming out to music only I can hear. Memories seem fun yet fleeting.

Please excuse my emo thoughts :). I blame getting sick on my last night in Brussels and skimping on sleep to make it back to Paris in time for work this morning. Other possible causes: officially changing my flight itinerary so I'll be in New York from early-December to mid-February; renting Forget Me Not--a truly "moving, modern day love story"; reading this. In other news, the photo above is my one snapshot of the Parisian silent dance party I went to with Lara in September. It was even cooler than it "sounds."