She doesn't bat an eye at my schemes. I'm lucky that most of my friends are happy-go-lucky enough to just go with my bulldozing methods and harebrained schemes.
I had just driven 130 miles from DC to South Philly to be reunited with a culinary school classmate, whose professional career path has been similar to mine: haphazard goat trail leading to some end, but who knows exactly what, where and how. I had a random address to a chocolate factory in New Jersey. It's funny how random details stick out in my mind, but those have always led to the most interesting travel adventures (i.e. sunrise on Monserrat, after spending the night in a hermitage lean-to, a lifetime ago).
Michel Cluziel USA was located in West Berlin, New Jersey. The latter part of that sentence is enough for anyone normal person to go blank, if they got past the former to begin with. Michel Cluziel was a high end chocolate maker I remember seeing during my time in Paris, but as my small au pair stipend was usually blown on the more important part of the meal (wine, cheese, baguette, charcuterie, mousse de pate), dessert was usually secondary.
While not at the size or reputation of Valhrona, they are big enough to have a presence here in the states, and, to my luck, they were a mere thirty minutes outside of Philly. And when your friend is also a trained pastry fiend, there was no doubt in my mind that we would be crossing my fourth state line in as many hours to visit the Chocolatrium.
Many hesitant turns onto random back roads of New Jersey led to a small singular building, hidden on a driveway, unnoticeable to the casual driver. A short picnic on the grassy flood barrier at the hood of my car later, we marched in, with no plan whatsoever, other than to be cute, and perhaps charm our way onto a tour.
Tours were only for groups of 10 or more, and to be booked in advanced, but as I learned from my sister, the master trespasser with zero arrests or forcible removals to her name, it never hurts to ask, and look slightly pitiful when you do.
We were denied the tour, but shown the store, where my Chatty Kathy personality came out. The line "I'm a pastry chef" tends to be a great conversation starter, and as our luck would have it, it was the starter and stopper.
We were told of an immediate job opening and would we like to apply?
Seriously??? All I wanted was chocolate, but if you want to tell me about the opportunity to be a professional oompa loompa... (somehow the stars keep pointing me in this direction)
We met with the president, exchanged info, still reeling that sometimes job offers fall from the sky.
Other customers came in and occupied the attention of our tour guide, Alan, but our patience was well rewarded. An abridged tour of the facilities showed me treasures; antique chocolate molds.
Absolutely stunning. I want. So badly. Must. Not. Spend. Money....
Sadly, we only conned our way got to try was the Mokaya, a single origin dark chocolate from southern Mexico near Guatemala. Full bodied, strong chocolate taste, slight red fruit sweetness.
Is it ridiculous to drive across four states to get chocolate? Only if you are not me. If you are me, it's just another Monday.
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