I made truffles on one of the many busy late nights before Christmas, a tradition we’ve carried here. They aren’t quite the same with Thai chocolate–or perhaps a poor chocolatier that blames Thai chocolate? 🤷♀️–but oh, well. It’s a tradition, and it’s delicious.
Well, this poor chocolatier left some chunks of chunky, perhaps burnt, cheap Thai chocolate in the bottom of the pan. I poured hot water in that evening, and just planned to sort it in the morning. The morning bought bread baking and cinnamon rolls at 5:30am, so it took the backseat. The pan sat in the sink while we washed bread bowls and hands, fruit was cleaned for The Breakfast Club, and somewhere in the chaos I twice poured more hot water in, hoping to slowly melt it away.
In comes Thida, and she begins to help with dishes. She sees the remains, “Oh! Did you make chocolate?!”
“Yeah, kind of. It’s one of Stephen’s favorite Christmas foods.”
“Oh, he loves chocolate.” (She nodded toward her six-year-old. If I knew how to say Who doesn’t? in Burmese, I would have.)
“Yeah, Stephen, too…” I was focused on the fourteen bowls of dough to be kneaded. It wasn’t until I was walking one of these bowls to rise that I saw her son, Jor Lay, eating a piece of chocolate on the front porch.
Yep. She certainly had pulled that chocolate (and water and dish soap and bread remnants?) out of the pan in the sink and fed it to her six-year-old. 😳🤢😝😂