What, No Chocolate?!?

chocolate

I’m addicted. Always have been, always will be: I think “chocolate” may have been the first word that passed through my lips.

To be fair, I was supported in my obsession at a young age: when I was growing up, my dad followed the vast majority of dinners with a hearty bowl of chocolate ice cream. It took me until college to realize that this wasn’t a universally followed routine. Bit disappointing, that.

But, backing up, my addiction first truly came to light when I was around five. We were visiting my grandparents, who lived in a tiny southern college town. This place was something out of a movie, complete with just one main street, two restaurants, and football players’ names scrawled on shop windows, prompting the boys to “win the big game!”

Needless to say, everyone knew everyone. When we went out to dinner (at the nicer of the two restaurants), my grandfather greeted the waiter by name and introduced me, his granddaughter. Shy as I was, I didn’t reply to the waiter’s greeting. He smiled anyway, took our orders, and gave my grandfather another handshake.

As I’ve already mentioned, we take our sweets fairly seriously in my family, so when the waiter came around with the dessert menus after dinner, there wasn’t any question of us ordering. At five years old, I was already a voracious reader, so it wasn’t hard to discern the offerings: something fruity, something vanilla, something involving coffee, and no chocolate. None.

How could that be? I looked at my grandfather, questioning. My young mind couldn’t comprehend the idea of dessert without chocolate; it simply wouldn’t do. Tears began welling up in my eyes as the adults explained that the restaurant only had a few dessert choices. Maybe I’d like the crème brûlée? No. Something with fresh-picked raspberries? Not happening.

Our attentive waiter noticed that something was wrong. Despite my unwillingness to talk to him earlier, I was more than willing to express my current conundrum: “There’s nothing chocolate!” I was blubbering at this point. So much for shyness.

Any other waiter would have smiled politely and given his condolences, but it took just the space of a moment for this one to become my new hero. “Wait one minute,” he told my grandfather, hurrying out the front door of the restaurant.

Within five minutes, he was back, carrying a plastic bag from the grocery store across the street. He disappeared into the kitchen for a second, then came back, bearing a small plate and my dessert: three chocolate Oreos, artfully arranged and purchased just for me.

My grandfather’s laugh carried through the whole restaurant and out onto the street as he patted our waiter on the back and thanked him profusely. As for me, I hope I said thank you; but to be honest, my mind was occupied with one thing, and one thing only. Chocolate.

(photo of chocolate courtesy of artur84/freedigitalphotos.net)

Danielle Restuccia About Danielle Restuccia

Danielle Restuccia is a freelance writer in several industries, including education, healthcare, and insurance. She previously taught middle and high school English, and in her free time, she’s an avid runner and triathlete. You can follow her on twitter @DMRestuccia and check out her blog at www.daniellerestuccia.com

Danielle Restuccia About Danielle Restuccia

Danielle Restuccia is a freelance writer in several industries, including education, healthcare, and insurance. She previously taught middle and high school English, and in her free time, she’s an avid runner and triathlete. You can follow her on twitter @DMRestuccia and check out her blog at www.daniellerestuccia.com

Smiles For All