Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE: REMEMBRANCES OF CHOCOLATE PAST
I'm addicted to chocolate; I used to snort cocoa.
--Marilyn
Scientists say that chocolate affects your brain the same way sex does. Which means that after they eat a Snickers, guys roll over and go to sleep. And women ask the wrapper, "What are you thinking?"
--Jim Wyatt
Everyone love Hershey's Kisses and Hugs. I'm waiting for Hershey's Gropes.
--Myq Kaplan

Jake and Clarissa were outside, sitting on a bench and enjoying lunch. In their part of the world, the end of August meant temperatures consistently in the nineties with a heat index in the triple digits. At noon, it still would be much too hot to spend much time outside. Summer faded reluctantly, very reluctantly into the fall and summer made its presence known.
The summer was like an enraged anti-WTO protester kicking and screaming while being dragged off by the Seattle police. Those who pay attention to international trade would know how apt this analogy was. Free trade, for some reason, got people angry and sometimes, the more politically active protesters (think black-clad anarchists intent on causing property damage) needed some encouragement (please read ahead to discover what is defined as encouragement) to leave the premises. At the 1999 WTO meetings in Seattle dubbed the Millennium Rounds by the WTO, it was absolute mayhem.
Well, the phrase "absolute mayhem" might be a misnomer. This was just a small sampling of what occurred in Seattle. Choking clouds of tear gas. Liberal amounts of pepper spray. Riot police clad in body armor and armed with extendible batons. Rioters throwing rocks and other melee weapons commonly found on the streets. Property damage caused by Molotov cocktails and people being shoved through plate glass windows. The sea of humanity screaming and protesting on the streets. Camcorders and cameras covering these events. Now imagine a season acting that fiercely before being replaced by another in nature's natural progression. You'll get an idea of what the seasons are like in this part of the world.
But today, in one of those rare occasions, summer was subdued and temporarily knocked out by a liberal dose of chloroform. The forecasted high was 78 degrees, a temperature that was warm, but not hot. After a week of temperatures near the triple digits, this was a refreshing and welcome change. With the sun shining and with a slight breeze blowing, it was perfect weather to have lunch outside. One cannot let such perfect weather opportunities go to waste, especially in law school. And hence, having a relatively leisurely lunch outdoors. Kind of like a quasi-picnic.
A picnic that would have been inside, had it not been for the fine weather. Being in a good mood, Jake had decided to make lunch.

"You know, this bread is great. What kind of bread was this again?" This was Clarissa.
"Honey multi-grain." This was Jake.
"So where did you get this?"
"Get this? What do you mean by that?"
Jake was confused by this question. He did not buy this bread as one could not buy this kind of bread from a store. Bread was one of those things that he was picky about. The prepackaged Wonder bread commonly found in stores did not constitute bread in his personal opinion. Everything in life, from physical objects to physical actions had to be done in a certain way or look in a certain manner or it just wasn't right in Jake's mind. This system was extremely rigid, extremely crystalline, and for the most part, set in stone. He did allow for some exceptions.
For instance, stouts like Guinness, had to be served cool, but not icy cold. In addtion to being served at the right temperature, this drink should be served with a head of foam. Not more than a half-inch, but a quarter-inch of foam was ideal in Jake's mind. The ideal Guinness came straight from a tap, but that was not possible in many cases. Jake had tried the bottled version and he found that to be an excellent substitute, though not the same as the version from the tap. This was as much leeway he would give.
He tried to describe this mental schema to people and they would look at him funny. Clarissa was used to his, as she put it, "unusual quirks," but at times, these quirks managed to confuse her. One person, quite possibly the only person who did not consider it unusual or confusing was a philosophy major who dabbled in the classics, particularly the ancient Greek works. As he put it, Jake's mental schema "was similar to Plato's Idea of the Forms, but with a much higher emphasis on personal aesthetic standards that the satisfaction of which led to personal enjoyment." Whatever the hell that meant.
"I mean, what store did you buy this bread from?"
From the look in his face, Clarissa correctly determined that Jake took time from his life to make and bake it. She had a knack for nonverbal communication. That or Jake was lousy in hiding nonverbal cues. Both possibilities were likely.
She continued by saying, "Don't tell me you baked it. When do you even find time to do stuff like this?"
"I baked it and I found time this weekend. The recipe was relatively simple. No kneading required. Just leave it alone overnight and bake it the next morning."
"Oh God. This is just crazy." She looked exasperated. "Do you make everything you eat?"
He tried to grow a garden once when he was a kid, but that experience turned out bad. Apparently, Jake didn't have a green thumb and he didn't have much patience either. One of these days, he would try again. But not now.
"Not really. That would be crazy. I buy some packaged food, but it's mainly frozen vegetables. Maybe cereal like Cheerios because I don't like the sugary stuff. That's pretty much it."
"OK...that's nice to know." Clarissa figured that Jake's need for the ideal loaf of bread and the associated eccentricities involving food were one of his quirks. They were harmless and they weren't that strange. These quirks resulted in excellent food, which was a good thing. "I guess it must be part of your mental schema."
"Pretty much."
"It seems obsessive, at least for a loaf of bread."
"Yes, but for a loaf of bread this good, it was well worth it."
"Um...I guess." She thought it was a bit too much. "You really must be a foodie or something."
"Well, you could say that." He wasn't going to win her over to his viewpoint. "If you thought the bread was great, get ready for dessert."

Jake wasn't sure if he was a foodie. He did take a certain amount of pride in his cooking skills. There was an amount of obsessive-compulsive tendencies when it came to cooking, at least in Jake's mind. He took a perverse level of pleasure in making perfectly shaped cubes. It was an art to know when there was enough seasoning or that a steak was medium-rare just be looking at it. Taking time to find the freshest produce out of an entire aisle. Maybe this applied when it came to food preparation, but Jake thought it was mandatory and that it came naturally.
In order to cook food of the best quality, one needs to find the best quality ingredients. No matter how one tries, one cannot create an excellent meal from poor ingredients. For example, if one wants a salad, one does not pick out wilted lettuce. One does not use a hard tomato. One does not use rancid olive oil for dressing, let alone use moldy bread for croutons (if one likes croutons and Jake was not one of those people). One would not eat that salad, let alone serve it to friends or family. On the other hand, if one has the freshest products, one had to prepare them in the correct manner. Using the salad example, it makes no sense to use gritty, dirty lettuce. The same applies to the other vegetables. One can turn great ingredients into slop if they were not prepared correctly. If that meant being a foodie, then he was a foodie.
Then again, Jake wasn't overly obsessive with cooking and food. He didn't take his obsession with food to illogical extremes. Jake knew some people who would go to great lengths just to find a certain kind of sea salt gathered only at the break of dawn. In his opinion, that was too obsessive and insane. Food was a source of nourishment and enjoyment, not some object of extreme mystification. As much as Jake wanted to find the best of everything, he wasn't going to consider finding a ripe melon like it was a quest for the Holy Grail. There were certain celebrity chefs who thought this was the case. One chef went so far as to think that one should not pick ripe fruit unless they truly understood the concept of ripeness was. Jake had read many ridiculous statements in his life, but this was beyond his levels of tolerance. If that was being a foodie, he definitely was not one of these types of people.

Clarissa said, "Let's see what you prepared for dessert today. From the scent, I can tell it involves chocolate."
"Absolutely correct."
"Is it what I think it is?" She dug deeper into the lunch bag. "Yes it is. Brownies."
"Not just any brownies, but the special recipe brownies."
Jake's special recipe contained a hefty dose of chocolate, enough to make an ardent chocoholic float several feet in the air. High quality cocoa powder, a good dose of melted bittersweet chocolate, and lots of milk chocolate chunks. Lots of chocolate.
"Have you ever thought about being a cook?'
"Actually, I have...many times."
Jake wanted to change the subject as he hated venturing into this topic. It reminded him that he could have been happier doing something different with his life instead of law.
"So why not cooking?"
"I'm not sure. I guess that I have talent in so many subjects that it was hard to focus on just one topic or two. Everyone has told me I should do this or that. English professors. History professors. Math teachers. Some art teachers. I guess that I chose law for some reason. I wonder what it would be like if I chose something else. I think my life would be different, a lot different." Jake paused for a moment. "Who knows? It's likely that I wouldn't have met you. So I guess that law school was good for something."
"I don't know about that. It's possible we could have met."
"No, I don't think so. Trust me on this. Definitely trust me on this." He looked at his brownie. "Better eat your brownie."

Jake watched Clarissa eat her brownie. For some reason, he had no appetite for his. Getting overly philosophical over law school and whether he was living his life right did wonders. Jake was not a person who ate when he got depressed.
Clarissa had a self-described chocolate eating ritual that never failed to amuse Jake. Eating chocolate in any form, according to Clarissa, wasn't an ordinary event but a ritual that approached religious significance. It was strange to Jake that Clarissa considered his quirks unusual. Jake certainly didn't have a chocolate eating ritual. He didn't have rituals for eating anything. As strange as he found her chocolate eating ritual to be, he found it endearing in an odd sort of way. It added a certain level of quirkiness that Jake liked in people. This probably explained why Jake liked his women to be "strange" and that a lot of his friends (both female and male, generally female) were a little on the unusual side. They were like an unusual brew, a strong cup of tea that might not appeal at first taste, but took a while to get used to. Quirky was a good thing in his book.
But back to Clarissa's chocolate eating ritual. She would examine the chocolate object and carefully look over it. The visual examination was important as it allowed her to judge if it was worth eating. Then she would smell it, inhaling the heady fragrance. And then, only then, once her nostrils were filled with the scent of chocolate, would Clarissa begin eating the chocolate.
Depending on what form the chocolate came in, Clarissa would eat it in a certain way. If it was a piece of pure chocolate, she would nibble at it, letting the nibs melt in her mouth, savoring every bite. If it was Jake's flourless chocolate torte, it was small bites again, but consumed in a different manner. No matter what the form, Clarissa maximized the experience. A little chocolate ecstasy in every bite.
Ah, the esctasy induced by chocolate. This was a phenomena that mainly struck women. Men, for some reason, were generally immune from the chocolate induced esctasy. Maybe you might hear a few words like "This is good," but women were more vocal as well as more physical in showing their pleasure. A whole lot more vocal and physical in their reaction.
There were many physical reactions that were the symptoms of chocolate induced euphoria. It was an amazing sight for Jake. Truly, it was a visual feast for those that watched a woman in chocolate induced euphoria. There were the closed eyes, that, if they were open, would look slightly glazed, but focused on a distant point. There was the grin (like a cat enjoying a bowl of cream) that only those who ate chocolate got after savoring a bite. There was the look of intense pleasure that spread across the face, one that could be interpreted as a kind of religious rapture. For those who enjoyed chocolate, eating this substance was a religious experience, a Communion invovling cocoa.
There was something about the chocolate-induced state of bliss that bothered Jake. Every single female Jake has known, especially those who tried the flourless chocolate torte, went into this state. When Jake first saw Clarissa enter this state, he thought she was going to collapse and fall onto her knees. There was something vaguely, no, there was something sensual about it. Watching a person (always female as men
rarely entered this state) enter that state, in his opinion, felt oddly voyeuristic. And yet, he never got tired of watching this reaction. Maybe it was just him and his mind was wired differently.
"Hey, you didn't eat your brownie. Mind if I have it?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
"Oh, today is my lucky day. You know, I think I might skip exercising today."
Jake handed Clarissa his brownier. If she wanted it, he was going to give it to her. He wasn't going to deny her a brownie. One does not keep a woman away from her chocolate.
Clarissa happily ate another brownie. Jake had never seen a happier person in his entire life. He felt a little better right now. At least one person was happy in his world.

Once Clarissa finished her second brownie, Jessica happened to walk by. Jake, being social, decided to have a conversation with her.
"Hi, Jessica? How are you?"
"Oh, hi Jake! Hi Clarissa! Doing fabulous. And how are you doing?"
Jake said, "Doing fine."
Clarissa said, "Great. I just had two brownies. They were excellent."
"Lucky you. And you didn't save any?"
"Nope. As much as I love you, I ate them all."
Jake asked, "I had fun at your birthday party. By the way, did you enjoy the flourless chocolate torte I brought?"
Jake already knew the answer. Jessica definitely enjoyed it. No doubt about it. He had never seen a person enter the state of euphoria brought about by chocolate consumption so quickly and so euphorically. Jake was assuming that "euphorically" was an actual English word and not made up. Maybe Professor Hearne would know, but he wasn't here at the moment. Given her reaction, a Nobel laureate in Literature would have had problems in describing her reaction in one word. Maybe a tautly-written and descriptive chapter or two, but not in one word.
"Enjoy it? I loved it. Whatever you call it, it was good." There was that look of chocolate euphoria on her face again. Getting the high off the memory. "It was so good, I had to stop myself from eating the rest. And I failed miserably."
"I aim to please."
"Well, I have to go to class. It's getting close to 1:30. Gotta go. Bye!"
"I've gotta go, Jake."
"Have fun in Criminal Practice."
"I certainly won't."

He sat out in the sun until Bankruptcy. Might as well use the sun up to its potential. That was an afternoon in the life of Jake.