Dear World Market,
I currently have, in my possession, an exotic chocolate bar from your fine establishment, which I frequent with great regularity to purchase below-market wine, Indian-patterned table linens, thoughtful gift items, Asian-themed paper lanterns, distressed espresso-finished office furniture, and my Myers natural cleaning solution. I especially love the wide variety of sauces, spices, treats and teas you procure from around the globe. I will admit to being adventurous when it comes to culinary pursuits. I love chocolate and pretzels, chocolate and fruit, chocolate and — really, almost anything. I nearly developed a combo obsessive-compulsive/eating disorder from your spectacular dark chocolate and sea salt bar. One time I even ate a worm as part of a newspaper story on a guy who ate live worms for their enzymatic properties. (It was gross. It tasted like pine.)
I am writing today about your confection that involves dark chocolate and chipotle chiles. Perhaps it is my karma because it’s not exactly mine — I’d purchased it for someone else. But it was there, in my cabinet. I’d returned from a movie, hungry, and had been slightly off-kilter all day. So I thought I’d perhaps taste-test it.
Oh. My God.
Have you, yourself, tasted this? Or did you outsource it to a third-world country, using a Web-based translation program to discern the notes?
Imagine licking an ashtray from a cheap Reno motel.
Imagine inhaling the vapors of the underwear from Alaskan fishermen at sea for six weeks without showers.
Imagine whatever it is that makes you most prone to retching, concentrated, ground into a fine powder, and mixed into some perfectly innocent dark chocolate.
This was worse.
So, my dear friends at World Market, I beseech you to take this off your shelves. Or just rename it “Dark Chocolate and Ass.”
Thank you for your kind attention.
PS — to the friend whose chocolate I violated, you’re welcome.