my easter egg
One thing that Iceland does well this time of year is create giant Easter eggs out of milk chocolate. They come in a series of numbered sizes, the biggest being well over a foot tall. Inside the chocolate shell is an assortment of bags of candy: gummy bears, licorice balls, things in little plastic bags. On the back of the egg is a little resealable trap door by which the inner candy sanctum can be accessed.
Something that has bothered me since I moved here in 2004, though, is that although grownups routinely purchase/demolish these eggs for themselves, the eggs themselves are very kid-focused. Milk chocolate, for one. Gummy bears, for another. I longed for an adults-only version, packed with adult chocolates and with an outer shell crafted from that dark smoky Icelandic chocolate that all the New Yorkers are raving about. Then, on a frozen night in the depths of blackness that can only be found in an Icelandic December, came the chance of a lifetime. I found myself at a dinner downtown, seated next to none other than Iceland's own Willy Wonka, the production manager of Nói Síríus chocolates.
So I turned to this Villi Vonkarson [not his real name] and said, "Hey what's the deal? How come no adult Easter eggs? You know, dark chocolate?"
"Hmmmm, I hadn't thought of that," he said. "Excuse me just a moment, I need to use the restroom." And he stepped around the corner and I could hear him mumbling excitedly into his chocolate cell phone: hushed whispers that ended with, "Just get it done!"
He came back and seated himself, saying not a word more as he munched away on what had been his keypad. And I forgot about the whole thing, myself. But then, in the supermarkets last month, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but... the dark chocolate "not for kids" Nói Síríus Easter egg! In a very respectable #4 size, too.
So we cracked it open just now and my man Villi did not disappoint. The shell is solid dark chocolate, a quarter inch thick. And inside are nothing but the finest confections, wrapped in shiny papers. And some dark chocolate caramel-bombs along for the ride. It's a thing of chocolatey beauty that no kid would want to go near. It's stupendous.
Gleðilega páska!
Something that has bothered me since I moved here in 2004, though, is that although grownups routinely purchase/demolish these eggs for themselves, the eggs themselves are very kid-focused. Milk chocolate, for one. Gummy bears, for another. I longed for an adults-only version, packed with adult chocolates and with an outer shell crafted from that dark smoky Icelandic chocolate that all the New Yorkers are raving about. Then, on a frozen night in the depths of blackness that can only be found in an Icelandic December, came the chance of a lifetime. I found myself at a dinner downtown, seated next to none other than Iceland's own Willy Wonka, the production manager of Nói Síríus chocolates.
So I turned to this Villi Vonkarson [not his real name] and said, "Hey what's the deal? How come no adult Easter eggs? You know, dark chocolate?"
"Hmmmm, I hadn't thought of that," he said. "Excuse me just a moment, I need to use the restroom." And he stepped around the corner and I could hear him mumbling excitedly into his chocolate cell phone: hushed whispers that ended with, "Just get it done!"
He came back and seated himself, saying not a word more as he munched away on what had been his keypad. And I forgot about the whole thing, myself. But then, in the supermarkets last month, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but... the dark chocolate "not for kids" Nói Síríus Easter egg! In a very respectable #4 size, too.
So we cracked it open just now and my man Villi did not disappoint. The shell is solid dark chocolate, a quarter inch thick. And inside are nothing but the finest confections, wrapped in shiny papers. And some dark chocolate caramel-bombs along for the ride. It's a thing of chocolatey beauty that no kid would want to go near. It's stupendous.
Gleðilega páska!
posted by JB at 12.4.09
2 Comments:
Back in the days of living with an Íslendingur in the UK, I wondered what the fuss was when she insisted on having easter eggs delivered from Iceland.
Then they arrived.
Goodness me, the Icelanders do eggs well. But what's the provenance of this tradition?
MB says that this surely beats the stringy plastic grass lining the faux wicker with the jelly beans from Red Lake #2. Are you homesick yet?
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