I was born eating a chocolate bar. Growing up, I remember having phases where I’d
obsess over a particular variety. In fact every childhood memory is time-stamped by what foil-wrapped goodness I clutched on pocket money day. My paper bag from Blee’s newsagents was always choc full;
quantity not quality was the game.
During the 80s a pound would buy four Mars bars or twenty fingers of fudge – because one was never ‘enough’. Nothing however would beat the simplicity of a Dairy Milk or Galaxy. Sometimes I threw caution to the wind and tried a newfangled bar (remember Spira’s?) or for a change a Milkybar; but I’d always return to the chunky creaminess of the two cocoa stalwarts.
Sunday nights were a notoriously chocolaty affair, but Mum never kept the ‘real’ stuff in the house – a wise move for sure. After an afternoon of stove-tending (nothing to do with the wine then?) our parents were infirm. Their only hope was a dose of Heartbeat and a share-size bag of Maltesers. “We’ll get you some Mum!” (and split the change from a fiver).
By my teens I was a hardened addict. My demands became unreasonable as I held out my hand for more dinner money. How else would I afford two bowls of Wellington Fudge pudding, or for that matter a vending machine treat? Oh the joy of morning recess! Breakfast was long gone, and the invention of flying cars was closer than lunch – my little chocolate break became the holy grail. One time I remember being chastised by a teacher for
fellating an Aero in front of my friends. In my defence,
I was only trying to make the bubbles melt. This way you get a good fifteen minutes out of it.
Then the freedom of university and vampire hours struck. With no parents around and free reign over my shiny new credit card things started to get out of hand. At first, it was just the odd Friday night king-size bar in bed. Soon enough though, I found myself in ASDA at 3am scourging for Choco Pop Tarts. Slutty perhaps, but when you’ve 1000 words to write by 9am you
need to stoop to such levels. So, chocolate became my little survival kit.
Physically, emotionally, I needed it. Boyfriends dumped me but I didn’t care. I had Ben and Jerry’s fudge brownie kisses to see me through the night. Even when funds dried up I marvelled at the versatility of the Coco Pops box. Breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, dessert, supper…it was always choc o’ clock.
Graduation brought about a classier me. Red wine and squares of 85% dark became the perfect escape after a day in the office. If anything I thought I was doing myself a favour - after all red wine and dark chocolate are filled with antioxidants, right? Still, I’d never look a Dairy Milk in the mouth.
But inevitably it had to come:
The Guilt.
It’s safe to say that recently I’ve become something of a health nerd. I’ve always been interested in it, but never had enough willpower to implement the geekery into my own lifestyle. When several things started to go wrong in my body and no doctor seemed to have an answer I decided to take matters into my own hands. I’ve chosen the holistic approach, and even though I can’t recommend it enough, it’s been one of the hardest things I have ever done.
I’m not growing my armpit hair, or drinking urine but my lifestyle (particularly my diet) is radically different. I can’t eat this and I certainly can’t eat that – I won’t bore you with the details but put simply, my life is just one big ball of fun right now. Sense the sarcasm.
Where does my beloved chocolate come in? You guessed it: it’s very,
VERY bad.
The bog standard stuff contains masses of unrefined sugar and pasteurised milk. I knew this anyway, but one mini-binge (a giant Aero and half a giant Galaxy) following a lengthy ban confirmed this indefinitely. I just can’t handle it anymore.
I went back to the dark stuff and things got a whole lot better. Then I decided to go sugar-free, and things got better still, but I still craved chocolate. I’d read about the wonders of raw cacao (chocolate, healthy?) so I purchased a giant pouch of the powder. It wasn’t cheap so I assumed it was the good stuff and began adding it to rice milk as a daily treat. Vanilla pod and a pinch of Xylotol sweetened it up, and for a moment I was almost fooled into thinking it was a Frijj. Perhaps not. Still, I wasn’t sleeping at night, even though I was taking evening hot baths with lavender and Epsom salts, drinking camomile tea and turning the lights out way before 11pm. Then I stum
bled upon
a very evil article (consequently leading to many more evil articles).
Apparently,
raw cacao is toxic - even more so than the sugar-infested dairy stuff. If you take enough
it can have hallucinogenic qualities similar to LSD (if that’s your bag). Oh and that insomnia? Probably cacao induced. Even Jeremy Saffaron one of the early pioneers of the raw cacoa movement has given up using the stuff.
So what’s my plan of attack? Do I ban chocolate completely and turn into a
crazy bitch every time someone unwraps that luscious foil in front of me? Do I diddles. I know that chocolate in any form is not as health giving as say a bowl of spinach. However, I do know that the super dark stuff (like Lindt) can be of some benefit. A study showed that sufferers of ME fed just two squares a day noticed a considerable improvement in their condition. Some, who had given up work, went back to their day jobs. Of course all studies need to be taken with a pinch of salt, as one minute scientists say something is good for us and the next it will give us cancer. This being said, dark chocolate can’t do much harm to the average Josephine if enjoyed in moderation.
What I do know is that my days of bingeing are over. I will continue to enjoy the odd couple of squares of Lindt and on occasion (like I just did for Easter with no ill effects) I may indulge in a small amount of the dirty cheap stuff.
As for that big bag of raw cacao, I have a few friends who would be very interested…
