Amarga, in Spanish, means bitter. It’s one of García Lorca’s favorite words and ideas, and it’s also the designation for dark chocolate. In Barcelona last year, walking around with my sister, we ran across a bakery/confectionary that made its own chocolate. They also sold t-shirts to match the designs on their specialty bars: coffee, pistachio, milk, white, and yes, bittersweet. 66% amarga, the shirt said. It was royal blue with a great minimalistic sans-serif font on the front, and it came with hot chocolate mix and a bar of the specified chocolatey goodness. Too bad they only had extra large in stock. I would have been proud to say that I’m only 66% bitter, like the Valrhona bar. Alex said that was too generous of an estimate, and that I haven’t been 66% since sometime in the height of my secondary education, circa junior year of high school. Now, I’m not so sure, but I think I’m fast approaching the 66% mark.
I’ve always loved dark, bittersweet chocolate, and if I were a little cheesier, I would say that I fancied myself to resemble it: something not everyone wants to eat, but a little sweet…you know: really great in small bites, and fantastically delicious, but if consumed in mass quantities just kind of makes you sick. Never been one to gravitate towards large group settings, and it does take a certain quality to really appreciate the more uh, euphemistically “ecclectic” aspects of me. But I’m not cheesy, and have never been given to speaking allegorically, so just ignore all of that.
Tried to go out tonight, shouldn’t have. I hate what Haverford does to me. Oh well, at least I have all of Sunday to get work done.