Veronica's Dad: Will someone tell me why I smoke these damn things?
Veronica Sawyer: Because you're an idiot.
Veronica's Dad: Oh yeah, that's it.
— Heathers, 1988
For about the last month, I've become fond (won't say addicted, can quit at any time) to this tasty offensive chocolate with chipotle, salt, and popping candy inside.
"Offensive" not as in violating sensibilites, offensive in that it once attacked me.
The other chocolates I've tried by Chuao Chocolatier have been so-so (no revenue for me if you click the link). Chuao Chocolatier is from - from the fancy name, did you guess Quebec or someplace in Europeland? Mais non! - San Diego, Cali-forn-i-a!
While chocolatier may be an apt phrase, to me, burgeoning curmudgeon, it connotes someone who takes him/herself a bit too seriously. Say, if it's a dude, someone who grew an ironic mustache then began to cherish it on its own, then began to conduct himself in an affected old-timey-time manner.
This dark chocolate is a tad bitter, the chiles give it a sassy meanness, but the popping candy gives it drama. The candy within is a little like Pop Rocks, but with its Fruity Pebbles DNA taken out. It pops. It crackles. It snaps. (Disordered the tag line from Rice Krispies to disconcert you. I am an agent of chaos.)
I'm pretty sure it releases gas inside the pouch.
Taking a sealed blue pouch from car to a room, or room to the car, the pouch poofs out. It also poofs if kept in a room for a while. While opening it in such a state, it doesn't sigh so much as gasp. Or maybe it's a wheeze.
Like with most good chocolate, it's meh if you eat it fast. This one really rewards a slow dissolve. A bit of sizzling as the fizzy kernels work their magic.
One time I opened a pouch and a little kernel cracked its way free and hit me on the face, bouncing off my right cheek then falling unconscious to the floor.
This candy's sentience makes it even more appealing. Entire tribes of creatures dissolving and sliding down into my gullet.
"Get into my belly, ye kernels, and despair!"