21 March 2008

21Mar-on pickled okra & chocolate covered sunflower seeds.

I take some degree of pride in having few true weaknesses, among which I suppose I should count pride. Even in the things I love I tend to be moderate, such as wine and chocolate. I’m usually able to walk right by a bottle of wine or a bar of dark chocolate and simply nod acknowledgment at it without feeling like I have to descend upon it with the gusto normally reserved for the freshly rescued castaway. Recently, however, I have discovered two consumables that challenge my resolve.

Pickled okra and chocolate covered sunflower seeds.
These seemingly disparate words thrown together in a pattern that made no sense to me a mere 6 months ago now paint the canvas that is my frailty.

One might think that a jar of pickled anything would last longer than three days but it seems that, once opened, these okras languishing in peppery, garlicky nectar call to me and I must answer. To eat them seems almost an ethical necessity and the slightly spicy, oh so sour crunch of each pod is thoroughly enjoyed as though its consumption were key to not only my happiness but that of the world.
And then there are the chocolate covered sunflower seeds. My first perception was how pointless to cover something so miniscule with but a wisp of chocolate but, like a swarm of bees, it is not the individual that subdues but the sum total. And the texture that a multitude of these teardrop shaped delectations imparts is almost caviar-like in its scope. A mouth full of smooth little potentials suddenly fragmenting into a nigh entheogenic flavor experience. The most economical way to purchase these are in a two-foot tall sleeve (from Cloud Nine on Gervais, where I also tend to get my pickled okra) which looks not unlike a giant version of those little plastic containers for eyeglass repair kits. This shape also facilitates the hedonistic chocolate covered sunflower seed delivery method of tipping them into the mouth, thereby sending a cascade that also creates a calming sound like little rocks tumbling over each other in a mountain stream. I do not recommend this method while driving as the motion combines the awkwardness of drinking a yard of beer with the distracting, eye-closing pleasure of a lover running their fingers through your hair and trailing their fingertips down the nape of your neck.
So should you ever, in your travels or daily life, run across either of these extraordinary items I would wholeheartedly suggest you do yourself a favor and buy them for me.

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