A Chocoholic in Belgium

But I was. It was late in life for a first sniff. Decades ago,I had let the opportunities go past without even giving them a thought. But now,face to face with this brown substance,I could not resist. Well,I thought. Try everything once. It wouldn8217;t kill me. And addiction is not a risk for the already addicted.

But let me begin at the beginning. When despite my year-long resolve to abstain from all things sweet,especially chocolate,I decided to join a group that was going to Belgium. Others see the sparkle of diamonds at the word Belgium,I can literally smell the chocolate. As any chocoholic will tell you,Belgium is where they make chocolates the old-fashioned way. By hand. Small,fragrant,fresh batches at a time,in beguiling flavours and enticing shapes pralines,truffles

the sheer fantasy of it sends my serotonin levels soaring.

But once there,the agonies of self-denial assailed me. We passed shop after shop with their samples beckoning like sirens from the windows. And as we entered,sometimes to take photos,sometimes to leave with little boxes wrapped in thin gold thread holding precious booty,the agony would escalate.

Few of us can deny the dark magnetism of chocolate. The serotonin-inducing properties of chocolate,the fragrance of cocoa as it swirls through the brain,the rich creamy texture that promises instant melt-in the-mouth happiness have given even machine made,mass-produced chocolate cult status. Chocolate,along with champagne and caviar,remains one of the recognisable symbols of celebration and joy,and advertising has done its bit to layer the belief through generations.

And here I was in the Mecca of chocolate lovers; the country that had exported its art to Switzerland,which is now considered the choco capital. But Belgian chocolates hold their own. Like the Swiss handmade watches that held on fiercely to their turf despite digitisation and quartz mechanisms,the Belgian chocolatier would not,could not,succumb to the lure of mass production.

Even the giants,Godiva,Neuhaus and Leonidas,whose banners fluttered in every city we visited,kept as close to traditional means as possible. If that made the chocolate more expensive,it also placed the brands a notch above the more popular,but machine-made ones.

Belgian chocolates come in a variety of mindboggling flavours,ranging from rock salt and crushed pepper,chilli,marijuana,lavender,Earl Grey,fresh mint,wasabi,crispy bacon and Havana,to name a few. Prices vary according to the quality of the chocolate and the artistry involved. In many of the shops,there were demonstrations to be witnessed,and one could watch wide-eyed as the chocolatier mixed and blended the cocoa solid and cocoa butter with vanilla and milk and then shaped the mixture into sweet enticements.

I have visited the Cadbury chocolate factory in Thane,Maharashtra back home,where Five Star bars and such trinkets for less evolved tastes are created,and the cloying smell of caramel and chocolate had left even my ever-ready mind feeling satiated. Here,in these shops,the fragrance was sweet but subtle,wholly pure and unalloyed.

When someone mentioned the shop that sold chocolate baubles,my curiosity peaked. We were in Bruges,a Unesco Heritage city the size of a Mumbai suburb,but so amazing in its collection of wonderfully structured architectural edifices that it takes an entire day to just take them all in. The market square in Bruges is a huge open space where on weekends,stalls and carousels are set up. Tourists walk predetermined paths through the town,from one end to the other,crisscrossing through the narrow cobbled lanes to take in a hospital,a church that holds a precious Madonna crafted by Michelangelo,and other surprises. And in between the shops that sell handcrafted tapestries and souvenirs,tee shirts and sandwiches,the chocolate shops glisten like quiet gems.

The shop that sold chocolate baubles stood quietly in a side lane. Like most of the others,it had a sprinkling of tourists,peering over the glass counters like children in a

candy shop. On a side table,there were chocolate tablets,in a medicine like bottle. But I had seen those before,tasted their dark sweetness. There was a chocolate lipstick too,a total waste of money,I told myself. I would munch through it in seconds. Then I saw the tiny round tin,the object of my curiosity. I looked at it,wondering how its contents would taste.

A few years ago,the Rolling Stones had performed in Bruges. Dominique Persoone,the adventurous shock-o-later owner of The Chocolate Line,the shop I was in,had created this soft,fairy dusting powder for them to sniff. The serpent of temptation watched me turn the tin this way and that and whispered that this was one sure fire way to circumvent my self-imposed ban,and taste the delight of a true Belgian chocolate. So there I was,courtesy the willing shop assistant,ready to snort.

She opened a packet with some ceremony,and placed two small tins on the counter. Then a small glass contraption was produced. It was,as a quick examination proved,a mini catapult of sorts. I will place the powder in two tiny heaps in the spoons she said. Hold it close to your nose as I count three; at three,I will catapult the powder in and you breathe in deeply, she instructed.

Would I sneeze,I wondered,but the pull of chocolate was too strong for my fears. There were two flavours,ginger and raspberry,and I had opted for the raspberry. The assistant lifted the catapult to my nostrils,and in a matter of seconds I drew in the powder with unexpected ease. I could taste the chocolate in my senses. It was not in my mouth,not on the tongue,not even at the back of my throat. It sat somewhere in my nose,in the canal that led the sense of smell to the brain,and filled me with the feeling of having eaten a wonderfully fragrant piece of Belgian bliss.

I spent the evening in a haze of joy,happy to have actually got a taste of my favourite confection,without breaking my ban.

I bought a tiny,fiercely expensive box of some of the best chocolates for my family and picked up some chocolate bars too,as gifts for friends. My mood was expansive,and lasted the entire evening,much longer than a mere bite would have lasted. The fragrance of chocolate nestled in my olfactory nerves ensuring my happy mood. And,of course,deep in the recesses of my bag,the tiny tin of raspberry-flavoured chocolate powder promised me many more innocent moments of pure bliss.

Sathya Saran is the former editor of Femina