Wednesday, April 19, 2006

My One-Month Plan to Seduce the Chocolate Man

Paul A. Young is his name. I want him, and I want to destroy him.

Winner of three World Chocolate Awards (yeah, as if all the world's chocolate was really represented), Paul A. Young has just opened his own chocolaterie but five minutes from my apartment.

As he humbly explains on his site, upon entering his store “the rich chocolate aromas and opulent decor will immerse you in a world of indulgence. You will be surrounded by Paul's amazing and exciting chocolates.”

To be honest, they are pretty amazing and exciting. He has elevated the dark chocolate truffle to—dare I suggest this?—a level that not even Maison du Chocolat has reached. No joke. The Maison is still master when it comes to most everything else, but damn, Paul's truffle is amazing.

This would all be fine if Paul A. Young were 50 or so. But he’s not. He’s like 30. And is doing what I should be doing. It’s totally unfair. My parents did not sell the Benz and our summer home in St. Barth's so that I could go to Stanford and be jealous of Paul A. Young. No, he should be jealous of me!

In other words, I've finally found my London nemesis. I try to find one in every city in which I live. Because you see, it’s really a very empowering feeling that you get when you have an enemy. It gives the day purpose. I now spend my minutes alternately plotting his downfall and trying to figure out how I can become his apprentice. Case in point: yesterday's Jekyll and Hyde act.

So I made my first trip into Paul's store yesterday, and while waiting behind two other women tried to figure out to what degree I could flirt with a chocolatier without really flirting with him. (I do have a boyfriend, after all, and there are certain rules about flirting with Chocolate Men that you must respect when you have a boyfriend.)

Finally, it was my turn. I have a horrible time making eye contact with people, but I knew I was only going to get one shot at making an excellent first impression. I slowly and elegantly lifted my head, and lay the question out like a velvet caress:

“I heard…that you might...be doing chocolate classes...here? If so…”

[I learned this technique from romance novels. Beautiful, vulnerable women speak with as many ellipses as possible.]

“Yes, we’ll be doing demonstrations,” Paul said, totally oblivious to my ellipses and seductress eyes.

That made me mad. So I turned mean.

“Oh, de-mon-stra-tions…Like, what the Maison du Chocolat does.” (Meaning: trying to copy the big boys, eh?)

Paul got defensive.

“No, totally different. My demonstrations are hands-on. I like people to get messy.”

Now, did he mean messy as in, “sometimes our nails get a bit of cocoa powder stuck under them,” or was he trying to send me a different message. You know, messsssy.

I’m thinking not.

Strike 1.

So now the next step: I destroy his reputation.

Starting with his website. Full of lies. Like this:

“On Monday 10th April Paul A Young's fantastic comtemporary boutique chocolaterie opened its doors to a queue of waiting customers keen to sample his award winning hand made chocolates and high quality patisserie selection.”

I saw no line outside his store. Also, I’d like to point out that, while I make plenty of grammar mistakes myself on this blog, if I were going to create a professional website I would probably make sure that I had a Hyphen Girl on hand to ensure that my hyphens were properly placed. And a Comma Girl, too. That man needs some commas.


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3 comments:

Anonymous said...

moko, do you have a job?

Anonymous said...

I took a good, long look at Mr. Nemesis' buxomy assistant...she appears not to be lacking any commas! The scribbler

Moko said...

hmm...you think those babangas look like commas? i'd say more like a fatty horizontal colon, or perhaps an ellipse whose third dot got lost somewhere between those double D's...