Mr. Blue Skies

It's gorgeous here in Northern Virginia, blue skies with puffs of clouds and temperatures in the 60s. There were a ton of people on the trail at 9:30 when I set out on my run, and then I remembered it's a holiday. Usually, runners on the trail ignore each other (including me), but today, maybe because of the weather or the holiday, everyone was smiling and nodding. I haven't been running with my iPod recently, but I figured it would be a treat to listen to music on such a pretty day.

My iPod is the really old kind with the four buttons across the top, so sometimes it acts a little squirrelly. Sure enough, about two-thirds of the way into my run, my playlist skipped about a half hour ahead and all of a sudden ELO's Mr. Blue Skies came on. The song has a really fast tempo (DUN dun dun dun DUN dun dun dun) and I have a little deal with myself that whenever it comes on, I pace my footfalls to each beat, which means I run much faster than usual. It's not quite a sprint, but it's definitely a "pick-up" interval. I purposely put this song near the end because often I can't make it all the way through at that pace-- even when you think the song is over, there's this kind of finale bridge thing (I no speaka da music) that seems to draw on forever and it gets really long, especially with the hills on my route.

But today I kept up all the way through. It felt great! What would once have been a hard run for me was easy and exhilarating. Part of me wishes I had brought my stop watch so I could have timed myself. But I think it was better just to be running fast in such spring-like weather.

I even said "hi" to people as I passed by.

Hey, there, you with the pretty face, welcome to the human race...

Funk Dat

Remember that old song that was like "Why is it they play the same five songs fifteen times a day for three months? Funk dat!" Even if you didn't hear it, you might have caught Beavis and Butthead making fun of it circa 1994.

I went to the bakery this morning, normally a really good bakery, at 10:30-- not even that late-- and ALL the croissants were sold out! Not just the chocolate crossaints were gone (the ones I want and admittedly the first to go), but all of them-- almond, plain, you name it. Poof. They were so sold out that the trays had been removed, leaving an expanse of cold, empty shelving in the display case.

My question is who made half the normal amount of croissants on a Sunday when everybody and their dog wants a freakin' chocolate croissant? I had to get an apple pastry. Funk dat!

In Defense of the "Uncool" Chocolate

o, I admit it-- I'm a snob about many food items, including premium ice cream, the best pizza, and sushi. But there's one area where I can't agree with the supposed connoisseurs: chocolate.

Today's chocolate elite favors pure dark chocolate with a minimum of 70% cocoa (see Bill Buford's "Extreme Chocolate" in the 10/29/07 New Yorker for starters). Even in less sophisticated publications, when the subject of chocolate arises, dark chocolate is favored over milk, nuts and chews over soft centers. It's like some inside agreement on the part of the entire media that dark chocolate is for the worldy and cosmopolitan, while the fans of milk chocolate are tasteless gluttons, i.e. fat losers.

What's wrong with these people?

It's time to make a stand for the gourmand's chocolate, the chocolate of the masses: the milk chocolate soft center truffle, specifically as concocted by See's. My all-time favorite See's candy is the Milk Chocolate Bordeaux, followed closely by the Milk Buttercream. This chocolate is smooth on the tongue and quickly melts into a delicious creamy blur of wonder. It's sugary and rich like hot cocoa made with full-fat milk, a delight in a contemporary food world that favors sharp, acidic flavors that, should you not like them, seem to taunt you for being a pussy.

I grew up on See's Candies, and to this day my grandparents send me a pound of custom mix milk chocolate soft centers approximately four times a year (Valentine's, my birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas). Finding the rectangular box in the mail is like receiving a big fat love letter, except one that is perfectly sweet every time and won't make you blush should you share it with other people. My college roommates grew extra chummy whenever a box arrived (back then, it was two pounds-- after graduation, I had to ask my grandparents to scale it back). Natives of Florida, they were unaware of See's until they met me, and I am proud to have shown them the light. . . chocolate.

No matter what the epicures deem trendy, I plan to stay true to my "impure" love. If preferring old-fashioned creamy goodness to the industry's whip-cracking purebreds makes me some kind of chocolate-redneck, so be it.

I know exactly where to turn for consolation.