When Tamar and I were walking around NYC last week, we made a stop at an amazing gelato place (um, Tamar will have to post where it is)… and as we’re standing in there, she’s taste testing all of these wonderfully exotic flavors… you know, things with fruit flavors and strange concoctions that fall into the category of NOT CHOCOLATE. So the clerk/woman turns to me and asks what I’d like to try, and I don’t even need to try anything, I tell her. Just give me the chocolaty-ist chocolate she had and then she asked, “Do you want dark chocolate? Or *really* dark chocolate?” And my head exploded. I went for the dark chocolate because the dark-dark chocolate would’ve probably been like crack and the headlines would read, “New Orleans Woman Takes Gelato Store Hostage, Demands All The Dark Dark Chocolate In The Whole World.” 

Then she asked me if I wanted to put something ON the chocolate or mix something else IN the chocolate, and I was all, YOU DON’T TOUCH THE CHOCOLATE WITH OTHER STUFF. Except chocolate sprinkles or syrup, which she did not have.

And I think I’m being perfectly normal, and I look over at Tamar’s amused expression and realized I may have been showing my Southern a little too much.

I’m going to try to start posting and cross-posting over here several times a week, so hold onto your hats, this may turn out to be a real blog.

Meanwhile, here’s one shot of our walkabout:

Early-morning-read-in-the-park-for-web