So what are we talking here, like, four months till Valentine’s Day? Worst holiday of the year for pastry chefs. You’d think, “But aren’t all pastry chefs either sweet chicks or gay dudes who love Russell Stover’s cheap-ass grab-bags?” And man, would you be wrong. First of all, nice girls are almost always depressed on Valentine’s Day (take happy relationships in the U.S., subtract from population of women, voila, must-see-TV-night for one). And even the most tacky perpetuator-of-advertising-stereotypes gay guy has better taste than candy pastel hearts. So no, nobody in professional pastry likes Duane Reade’s apish attempt at our craft.
You’ve got all that, but also, V-day is one of the busiest nights of the year at fine restaurants. Not with the usual patrons, however, the regulars who come to the restaurant for want of good food, to try something new, something made with care. For those people I personally mix and match off-menu combinations, send out little amuse-bouches between courses, show them what I’m working on and weigh their input as though it was from Ruth Reichl herself. But those types know to stay away on the Valentine’s Day.
That night I get questions coming back with the waiters like, “If they have the tart without the pastry cream, is it half price?” Or, “Can you put ice cream on any item?” Or, “How many pounds are the stuffed dates?” Pounds? Listen, buddy, I know you didn’t want to come here in the first place. I’m sure you’d rather slug another Michelob in front of Season One of “Entourage,” instead of putting a shirt on and getting dragged by your girl to an overpriced frites house, but really, pounds? You one of those guys who leans over to the security guard in the MoMA and says, “So, how much you think that one goes for?”
If you took the first issue of X-men, crumpled it up, shoved into Wynton Marsalis’s trumpet, and then duct-taped that to the back of a Westminster poodle, it still wouldn’t weigh as much as a pair of muddy Doc Martens. “Name” by the Goo Goo Dolls is under four minutes long. It doesn’t take more than an afternoon to finish “Shadow of the Colossus.” The collected works of William Carlos Williams are way under any weight limits. Heck, it only took Kimbo Slice fourteen seconds to get cold cocked by a guy half his size, and that was a freaking masterpiece.
But hey, what the heck, I’d love to scoop ice cream onto my cheese platter, why the heck not? If you can gorge 72-ounces of my sweet potato flan, I’ll throw in a free stomach pump! You can tell your bros all about it while you’re tea-bagging noobs on Xbox Live.
However, if I may, since we’re so fearfully close to the actual day, I’d like to recommend a Valentine’s Day solution: the chocolate tasting. It’s unique, celebratory, cheaper than a wine tasting, and so thoughtful you’ll definitely come off as the best partner the next day at your loved one’s office. Trust me – professional chocolate tasting. This is how it goes:
You walk into a chocolatier (Michel Cluizel has fantastic offerings here in New York City). Usually, they’re closed, or they’ll take you to an intimate corner for your private tasting. At this point your girl or guy has given you the raised eyebrow, cause you know, you’re cool like that.
Your guide will present each of you with a row of individual chocolates from their house line, beginning with a white chocolate all the way up to a 99% dark. Ice cream isn’t available, but alcohol can be. It’s fairly straightforward after that. You pick up the white chocolate, your guide begins a casual lesson on how chocolate is made, you wink at your partner (whose pants have been charmed off), and you eat. By the time you get to the 72% percent Venezuelan, you’ll have so many endorphins running through your brain that you’ll consider a shotgun a wedding.
For about 45 minutes to an hour, you’ll hear stories about Aztec customs, modern plantations, and the many benefits of cocoa butter. You’ll learn how to taste chocolate properly, how to judge its sheen, its snap, and its melting point. You’ll appreciate and recognize the flavor notes. Your guide will say stuff like, “Cherries, are you getting cherries? Now let it slide, let the tannins slide down your tongue. Are you picking up the oak or the brandy-sea breeze, it’s a briney sea breeze.” Entertaining, if not illuminating.
You’ll get to the 99% wondering how you ever managed to live without knowing the difference between flavor profiles from Sao Thomé and the Antilles. The 99% is so bitter that you’d have blown out your palette if you ate it first, but by now, you’ve worked your way up, and you’re ready. The experience is like your first cup of coffee. If you don’t like it immediately, you will later. You look at your date. That bleary-eyed look of pleasure should keep you out of Hallmark till Thanksgiving. And the best part is, you can buy their chocolate by the pound.
