I kind of eluded to this in my first blog post… as the main reason why I decided to get serious about my weight loss. So I’m going to elaborate on that fateful day that was laden with chocolate and sugar. And coffee.
That morning, on February 14th, 2013, I decided to embark on a little adventure that I’d like to call “The Valentines Day Chocolate Massacre”. I don’t know why, it just felt right at the time.
As I opened my baking cabinet, I stared at the 2 bags of chocolate chips and tub of dipping chocolate. I got excited.
I started first with chocolate covered pretzel rods. My favourite! I melted the dipping chocolate – and I HAD to test it. Even at 9am. It was awesome. AWESOME. I dipped pretzels, and of course had to taste them, for quality assurance. They were ah-freaking-mazing.
I put those in the fridge to set, then went about making the chocolate mousse… yes, chocolate mouse. It was easy to make, like whipped cream with chocolate. And yet again, I played the role of quality inspector. So delish!
Satisfied with the mousse, I put it in a bowl in the fridge and set up to make the white chocolate bark for the garnish.
I melted the white chocolate, and again, tested it. I love me some white chocolate. But I started to feel sick. But, being the trooper I am, I trucked on. I made the bark, put that in the fridge to set up, next to the chocolate covered pretzels and the mousse.
My fridge started to resemble the Chocolate Factory. And I started to resemble one of the oompa loompahs.
Then came the cupcakes. Sadly, they had no chocolate. But still, I had to taste them so that they’d pass the quality inspection. I wasn’t happy with them, they tasted more like muffins. So I had to taste one from each of the 4 batches of 6 that I had made. Each one less appealing than the last.
At this point, my diet for that day had consisted of chocolate, pretzels, sub par cupcakes and more chocolate. Oh, and a cup or three of coffee. A diabetics dream.
Then it was frosting time. Butter, sugar and , yes, melted chocolate. Again, I tasted it. By this time, I think I was entering a sugar coma, as I wasn’t able to really taste it. So I shoved another spoonful in my mouth. I stared at the bowl, feeling the need to either vomit or sleep. Or both.
Then I looked at my son, sitting in his rock and play in the kitchen with me, watching me intently.
I cried, spoon of frosting in hand.
I had reached my chocolate rock bottom.
I felt sick, tired, and defeated.
It wasn’t til I was awoken at 3am on the 15th that it really hit me. Hypoglycemia. I had finally crashed. And it sucked.
I vowed right at that moment while I had my head resting on the toilet seat, that I would never ever ever do this again.
And that is the story of the The Valentines Day Chocolate Massacre.