09 October, 2008

Ode to Joy, the Symphony of Love and other bad titles

Not too cold and not too warm. There is a perfect temperature balance that must be achieved when consuming a Symphony bar.
I started off too melty, simply consuming right after purchase. I'd nab a bar and stuff it in my shirt pocket, snuggled warmly against my sweating breast. It seemed a logical place. Lately, with age, I stick lots of things in my shirt pocket. MP3 players go there now, a pen, sometimes a cell phone and more often than I'd like to admit, food crumbs. But what I've discovered is that sweaty male mammaries are no place for a decadent candy bar to reside; not if you plan on enjoying it.
So as I see it, you really have 2 options if you want it to be the right temperature. First, you can pop it in the fridge for about 2-4 minutes, checking periodically with a ginger touch of the back of the hand. DON'T PICK IT UP or you'll heat up the part you touch, throwing the temperature balance off wack. Your second option would be to place it near an air conditioning vent or in between some cold pops; can, cup or bottle will work fine. I find this method to be the best as you can't over do it. In the fridge you have a delicate duo of convection and conduction heat transfer going on. Without careful attention, you could over cool your bar, forcing you to leave it out to "warm" or "thaw" before you can actually eat it. This is bad news because an over cooled bar is highly susceptible to crumblies and melty spots. Crumblies are when the bar gets too cold and starts to flake or chip. The danger here is that you end up with choco stains on you shirt/blouse/blazer or mangled up in your chest hair without your knowledge. That can be an embarrassment. Just last week I got a generous shmear of melted crumbly on my shirt and I'll be darned if that shirt isn't in the wash as we speak.
So, when you decide to buy a Symphony bar, by jove pay attention to how you prepare it. This isn't an apple or a baggie of peeled and sliced baby carrots, this is a Symphony bar we are talking about and your attention is paramount. I had two today and I still have the chocolatl-y, almond-y, toffee...-y goodness coursing through my veins. Look at the time stamp on this post for the sake of Pete and Pete! It's 3am! I watched the top ten blunders on Clean House, a fully awkward and humorous hour of Dog the Bounty Hunter and the painfully automated and boring process of how pool ques are made. I then cuddled with my sleeping wife for a little while until the crotch of my knees and dimples of my ankles started sweating. At that point I couldn't think of anything better to do than hit the keys. I was trying to think of some advertisements that would knock the awkwardly hip Sketchers off my professors feet but the only thing that would come to my mind was chocolate, almonds and toffee; Symphony. Hershey, you make crap hole chocolate, but by golly the Symphony bar was your final opus. And yes, that is my final musical metaphor. THE END.