Did you get enough chocolate for Valentines? Of course you didn’t. One can never have too much chocolate.
I got an e-mail the other day that asked the question, “Why is there no such organization as Chocoholic Anonymous?” My answer was, “Because no one wants to quit.”
I say that pretty well sums it up, don’t you?
Now, as I have written before, I do have somewhat of a sweet tooth. Back when I was a kid, any extra money I had (which was not a lot) either went to keep the BB industry alive or to keep chocolate flowing into this country from whatever country it comes from.
Speaking of that, can you imagine what sort of war we would have if some third world tyrant decided to cut off the flow of chocolate to the U.S?
Man, it would make the Afghanistan war look like a game of marbles. I bet we wouldn’t hold back on the nukes either.
Anyway, back to wherever I was.
Chocoholics run in my family. My grandmother Momma Dodd was one. My mom is one. My sister is one. And well, you know about me.
Don’t get me wrong. I had to eat all that so called good stuff, like vegetables and junk like that when I was growin’ up, but you could always count on something delicious for dessert.
Now, Mom made the best desserts in the world. We had stuff like chocolate biscuits, chocolate fried pies, and of course good ol’ chocolate pie. I’ve had some good chocolate pies during my life, but I have never had any as good as my Momma makes.
When Momma makes a chocolate pie, you don’t get one of those anemic looking ones. You know the ones I’m talkin’ about. The chocolate looks more like chocolate milk or something. Mom’s chocolate was dark, and she piled on the calf slobber, too. For you ignorant folks out there, calf slobber is what some floosie people call meringue.
There’s two ways I like my chocolate pie. One’s warm, and the other’s ice box cold. Either way, I’ve got to have a great big glass of sweet milk. None of that Blue John milk either. You don’t know what Blue John is? I swear. Where were y’all raised?
Blue John is what they call that low fat stuff. I don’t know why they call it that unless it’s because it has kind of a blue translucent color to it. Oh, I know it’s supposed to be better for you, but if you’re eatin’ a chocolate pie, you are probably not really concerned with your health anyway.
Now, makin’ chocolate pies is not an easy process. I know. My son, Rayburn and I attempted to make a chocolate pie once.
I won’t go into the details, but I will tell you that when my wife got home and saw the mess we made, she had the kitchen remodeled. She said it was cheaper than tryin’ to clean it up.
And to top it off, the pie wasn’t any good. We didn’t do something right. The filling was runny, and we didn’t know you had to attach the edge of the calf slobber to the pie crust. After we baked it the calf slobber had shrunk to the center of the pie. It looked like a mountainous island on the Black Sea.
I’m pretty sure it would have tasted OK, but we were too chicken to try it.
Anywho, now you know how I feel about chocolate. In fact, I feel the same about any sweets.
The following is a poem I wrote about my weakness.
I saw my Granny standin’ there,
An iron skillet in her hand.
She was makin’ somethin’
You know that I can’t stand.
I don’t think anyone
Should make a child like me,
Eat Brussels sprouts or liver,
They make me sick, you see.
I’d rather have some candy,
Some cookies or some cake.
If she really loved me,
She’d ask me what to make.
First I’d have a sammich,
Not an ordinary one.
I’d have two slices of cake,
And between them bubble gum.
And I’d cover it up with gravy
Made with chocolate syrup.
And I’d wash it down with a big ol’ Coke
And let out a great big burp.
But when I grow up, I’ll eat what’s right,
I’ll be healthy, and I’ll be thin.
Cause this sweet tooth that I have right now
Should be rotted out by then.