Discovering White Chocolate

Unbelievably, at sixteen I had yet to experience the joy of eating white chocolate. In fact, I wasn't really aware that it existed. My boyfriend, whose father was a pastry chef, inviting me over for a dinner that he cooked himself--Chicken Cordon Bleu--yum! Of course, being the eccentric teen that he was, he served a side of green pineapple tidbits and Sprite spiked with Country Time Lemonade.

After we ate, we lounged around in front of the television for a while. Then he asked me if I wanted dessert. Having tasted many of his father's wonderful creations--danishes, cookies, brownies, cheesecake, etc--I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity for more. My boyfriend disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a fist-sized lump of what looked like mozzarella cheese. I literally sagged with disappointment. No cakes or cookies? No brownies or pastries? All I rated was some cheese?

I said as much, and my boyfriend laughed. Not cheese, he told me, but white chocolate. No such thing, I insisted. Then he cut a piece off and handed it to me. It definitely didn't smell like cheese. I carefully placed it into my mouth--and discovered heaven. The chocolate melted on my tongue and slipped down my throat, the flavor lingering pleasantly in my mouth.

I begged for more, and my boyfriend happily cut me another, larger, chunk. We finished the block of chocolate (more accurately, I finished the block of chocolate). And I have been hooked ever since.