Five Pound Chocolate Bar

My nephew Ashton recently won a 5 lb chocolate bar. My brother sent an email around, calling for applications to help them eat it. Applicants were asked to give reasons why they felt they were the best candidate for the job. The following is my contribution.

Greetings to you, oh grand posessors of the 5-lb chocolate bar,

I humbly put forward my application to be part of this magical eating process you speak of. As I understand it, others may have already sent in their applications, claiming they are best suited for the consumption of said delicacy of sweetness.

However, there can be no one better suited for this task than me.

When I was just a toddler, waddling precariously through the world, I saw fit to ignore my Christmas presents and give my sole attention to a plate of chocolate, thereby beginning my life-long dedication to chocolately goodness.

Years later I spent hours of awe wandering the hallowed halls of the chocolate museum in Köln, Germany, where I did sup from the giant, flowing fountain of chocolate. It was at the Schokoladenmuseum that I learned that the life of any chocolate bar begins with the cocoa bean, which grows on the low braches of the "Theobroma Cacoa," or cocoa tree. After growing in the humid, rainforest heat, the tiny cocoa pods (each pod can contain up to 40 beans!) are harvested and the beans ground before being mixed with those magical ingredients, sugar and milk.

The zenith of my chocolate experience occured in a small cafe on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh. It was at Plasir du Chocolate that I discovered the layered, beautiful monstrosity of the French chocolate gateaux. Three layers of sponge, weighed down by four hearty layers of chocolate ganache, so thick and gooey it was like cooled, chocolate lava. Combined with a generous smear of rasberry flesh, it was simply the best thing I have ever eaten in my life.

I understand that the distance of my application may be a hindrance to me. If it should be the case that my application is unsuccessful due to the girth of the Atlantic and the smudge of eight hours time difference, I humbly ask to be sent photos of others as they enjoy tearing into that block of teeth-rotting splendor.

Yours humbly,

Sophia von RitterSportAlpineMilch