Dark Chocolate

Dark chocolate – the con artist of the confectionery world. A substance so bitter, so devoid of joy, that only the truly self-flagellating would willingly consume it without drowning it in orange or some other flavour strong enough to mask its inherent nastiness. And yet, there exists a cult – a deluded band of masochists – who insist not only on eating it but on looking down their noses at those of us who prefer our chocolate to actually taste nice.

“Ah, but it’s sophisticated,” they say, swirling their 85% cocoa misery in their mouths like a wine snob gargling vinegar. “It’s healthier, full of antioxidants.” Yes, well, so is tree bark, but you don’t see people shaving that into their coffee or rhapsodising over its nuanced flavour profile, do you?

The health argument is always the last refuge of the joyless. They can’t bring themselves to admit they don’t actually enjoy the taste – no, they’ve convinced themselves that suffering through the bitterness is an intellectual pursuit, a refined pleasure. Meanwhile, the rest of us – the rational, the sane – are content to enjoy chocolate that actually behaves like chocolate: smooth, creamy, and not reminiscent of chewing on a burnt coffee bean.

And let’s talk about those percentages. What exactly are they meant to signify? 70%, 85%, 99% – a sliding scale of smugness? At what point does it cease being chocolate and simply become edible tar? There’s a point of no return where the cocoa content is so high that the entire point of chocolate – pleasure – is completely obliterated. But no, the dark chocolate brigade will still be there, gnawing away at their cocoa bricks, pretending to enjoy themselves while their taste buds wither in protest.

Of course, the only time dark chocolate is even remotely palatable is when it’s drowned in orange, mint, or some other assertive flavour that can slap it into submission. At that point, it ceases to be dark chocolate and becomes a mere vessel for something actually pleasant. The same people who turn their noses up at a humble bar of Dairy Milk will suddenly wax lyrical about a chocolate orange as if the presence of a citrus note suddenly justifies the horror beneath.

It’s time to stop pretending. Dark chocolate is a fraud. A bitter, pretentious fraud. If you like it, fine – but don’t try to convince the rest of us that we’re missing out on anything other than a mouthful of disappointment.