Long ago, in a Los Angeles far far away, the fanciest chocolate I could find was Hersheys. Not that I could afford it on my allowance, but I could dream and see who was willing to share. (It wasn't until we went to Liberia that I learned of the dear wonders of Toblerone.)
But in the young years, Easter and Christmas were the chocolate times. My sister was terrified of her (foil covered) chocolate Santa. More for the rest of us.
Sometimes chocolate appeared in the ice cream--generally Neapolitan. Vanilla I could understand, but why put that red stuff in there? Make it pure. Make it chocolate.
2 comments:
Homer Simpson would scoop the chocolate out of the middle of the Neapolitan ice cream and then complain "Marge! We're out of Neapolitan again!"
To be fair, Mom insisted that my sister's Santa not be shared--she doled out unrecognizable portions which my sister happily ate.
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