The empty tin

We usually have an overabundance of chocolate in our house - one of the advantages to being married to an expat is that his thoughtful mother, my wonderful mother-in-law, loves to send him (and me, by extension) enormous packages full of cleanly folded new pajamas (for both of us), lotions and nail files, and, of course, chocolate. Chocolate bars, chocolate Easter eggs, chocolate for making hot chocolate, chocolates to have with coffee, chocolates to spread on bread first thing in the morning, chocolates to savor before you go to bed. And these are good, quality, European chocolates wrapped in foil and smooth as good china. The last package was no exception. She included, in this batch, tiny coffee bean shaped chocolates, the perfect amount of luscious, smooth dark chocolate that melts into a the richness of coffee just at the right moment. They were delicious.

I have a terrible, terrible sweet tooth, and I had been grabbing two or three beans to eat before work every morning as I head out the door, a morning treat I've enjoyed since the package arrived a couple of weeks ago, and that has now became a dangerous if temporary habit. But I woke up today and went to our chocolate box to find it entirely empty. H had cleaned it out, packed it all off to work for his coworkers to enjoy, and left me with an empty tin and an unhealthy craving. He didn't realize I was eating them at all...but the joy of those tiny treats is to savor them a little at a time, I think. I hope his office mates savored them properly, and I suppose, in the end, I should thank him for the calories he saved me. Then again, I've just replaced them with the much less pure but still chocolatey enough Mr. Goodbars they've had in the back office at work. It's a sugar fix and does the trick, but I have to say, it does make me think about the differences in quality. One chocolate certainly isn't the same as another.