This Valentine’s Day I’m pondering the ways of romantic love as I stare at my would-be chocolate truffles that now lay somewhere within my oatmeal cake. Yes, there is a metaphor here, albeit a poor one. But I’ll just explain about the truffles and cake.
Yesterday I wanted to give homemade chocolate truffles to a dear friend. I was completely innocent in the ways of candy-making. This recipe tempted me with its combination of rich, dark chocolate, and sweet milk chocolate. Following the minimal instructions was uncharacteristically effortless. In no time, my bowl was filled to the brim with euphoria-inducing cocoa. I was about to put it in the ‘fridge to let it set over time into the sweet candied I’d imagined. But, as if from a dream, I awoke to what I’d actually done. I’d concocted something that could kill me.
The candy recipe is an old recipe. Unlike today’s health-wise recipes that remove any possibility of sickness, these chocolate truffles were a simple mix of chocolate, a bit of butter, and raw eggs. I haven’t eaten raw eggs since I was on a family farm and had met the chickens. Yesterday’s eggs had come from who knows where. Salmonella, like HIV, could be within. I certainly couldn’t give these truffles as a gift. Keep reading for the rest of the story and the recipes.