I am a purist when it comes to chocolate. Since my easter job at Haighs many centuries ago, I will only adhere to the highest quality, mostly dark, and savoured in prime conditions.
Yesterday I sat down to my well-deserved square of dark orange Lindt, which to my horror did not break away from the block. It bowed drunkenly, and proceeded to melt to a sticky brown river in my hands. As much fun as I had licking it up and trying to return the remainders to the packet, it dawned upon me that I would have to resort to the unthinkable: keeping chocolate in the fridge.
So there it is, my lone block of Lindt, next to the spinach and manchego cheese. Perhaps it's high time those swiss took a stroll away from their alpine comfort to see how real people suffer in hot places.