My Book is Out

And can now be purchased here.

Words I Hope To Never Ever Have To Use Again

Chocolatier and chocolate maker can take a break from my vocabulary.

I am going to retire the word ‘delicious’ and any of its derivatives. I hope never to have to describe something as delightful, scrumptious, heavenly, to-die-for, sinful, delectable, mouth-watering, appetizing, lovely, wonderful, enjoyable, appealing, gorgeous or enchanting ever again.

Also done with: chocolate-lover, aficionado, devotee, pursuer, fan, admirer, enthusiast, buff, addict and MOST DEFINITELY, most especially: chocoholic

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Alcohol Saved the Day!

CRISIS AVERTED
So, for all my whining and complaining yesterday, I still managed to pound out 2300 words.
Current word count: 39,336
Current words left remaining: 5634

See? Now there's number I can deal with: No 8s anywhere to be seen. I think once I get over that 40,000 word hump (which will be today), I'll be flyin'. It'll mean a light at the end of a very long tunnel.

I decided I needed to talk to one of the other writers at the same publication yesterday; i was in despair and I needed help. I got it. She was awesome and explained some stuff to me that was helpful. I sucked it up and got on with it. She also gave me some really great advice, not the least of which was that I am not a journalist: Authors don't need to remain non-partisan and can totally push their agenda if they see fit. It's my book; I can write about whatever the hell I want. You see, I have been careful not to make the Big Chocolate companies sound too mean and awful and taken care to write as many positive things about them as negative. I have been hesitant to talk about Fair Trade, lest I be too biased. Uh, except that's what books are for. Duh. So I have 2000 words that kick ass about the difference between organic, fair trade farming practices and large mass-produced plantation cocoa. And I'm puttin' 'er in! And totally feeling liberated about it!

Also, one thing I haven't written about yet? Chocolate anuses. Just kidding. No, I haven't talked about chocolate liqueur, so I scraped together 1500 words yesterday on chocolate liqueurs, creme de cacao and schnapps--the difference between, different brands, etc. So yes, alcohol did indeed save the day! I have a few other ideas and enough now I think to get me through to the end. Hurrah.

Other good stuff that happened to pull me from my foul mood yesterday:
I got a random cheque in the mail from the Herald. They must have printed once of the things I wrote, but I have no idea which one. Condo Board maybe? I'm usually on top of this stuff, but not this time.

I got a call from a guy looking for writers for a new online Calgary website he is setting up. I meet with him on Monday, so cool.

Well. Back atter. As you were, friends.

BRICK WALL

I am done my book. I finished writing everything that I started more than six weeks ago. I have covered the ENTIRE history of chocolate from the Meso-Americans in 1000 BC all the way to present-day; I have talked about sex & chocolate, chocolate and health, I have unearthed every quirky, nutty, crazy, bizarre, weird story, and did-you-know factoid known to man; I have circumvented the globe in my “Around the World in 80 Chocolates’ chapter. I have covered traditions and tales from many different countries. How many you ask? Eighty. I have talked about the World’s Chocolatiers, the history of Italian chocolate makers, Ghiradelli, Hershey, Callebaut, Lindt, Mars, Cadbury, Fry and Rowntree...I have talked about M&Ms, Baker’s chocolate, Nestle, the Ganongs, Whitmans, Russell Stover, Ferrero, Tobler and Suchard…

I have written about all the unusual things people pair with chocolate, chocolate bacon, chocolate insects, sauerkraut and chocolate, chocolate beer, frozen beer on a stick, clothes made of chocolate, bizarre American food holidays, trivia and facts, chocolate butterflies, plants…chocolate cartels…the cocoa slave trade, cocoa boycotts, cocoa tree diseases.

I have chocolate jokes and chocolate quotes.

I have chocolate definitions and classification, chocolate tasting, what to drink with chocolate, different types of chocolate and the steps of cocoa harvest and production. Then I have a section called “A year in the pursuit of chocolate”. All the different things you can do—museums, chocolate festivals, factories, chocolate train rides. I have readers gallivanting from Canada and New York to Grenada, Belize, Switzerland, Italy, Belgium and Australia.

And then. I have twelve motherfucking chocolate recipes.

I. am. done. The only problem with that is that I am only at 37 076 words. My contract is for 45,000. So I have to come up with another eight THOUSAND words. I spent most of the day on the Internet yesterday and I. got. nothin’. I am completely tapped out. I scraped together about 500 words or so, but everything I’ve come across, I’ve already talked about. Eight thousand words seems like an insurmountable amount right now. What the fuck am I going to talk about for eight thousand words?! And worse, I’ve only got three days to finish it all up. I was enrolled in a weekend fitness course as a reward to myself for finishing the book. Going to have to give it up. I am bitter about it.

C, I may have to take you up on your suggestion: Maybe for the next 8,000 words, I can talk about how people really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really like chocolate…

Conversely, some people really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really DON’T like chocolate.

I am freaking out. I am exhausted, angry and bitter. I want to be done. I know I am close, but it feels like I am sooooooo, soooooo FAR AWAY. What I’m going to write about is beyond me, but I am open to suggestions.

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That'll Chicha!

It's Stories Like This That Keep Me Going:

The Bolivian capital of La Paz (meaning 'peace' in Spanish) is the highest capital city in the world at 11,811ft above sea level. The city is also known as The Shanghai of the Americas due to its unique markets, traditional customs and high location. The best golf course in the world is situated here, so crowned because the thin air helps the ball travel several feet further.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid died here; so did Che Guevera. More importantly to chocolate fans though, is its alleged story that around 1870 a British ambassador was publicly humiliated by General Melgarejo, who stripped him naked, strapped him to a donkey, force-fed a barrell-ful of chocolate and paraded him and the mule around the City. All because the poor ambassador declined an offer to drink the local fermented beverage called CHICHA. An infuriated Queen Victoria declared that Bolivia didn’t exist and literally crossed it off all British-made maps.

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Whatever You Do, Don't Google Maya Gold

So, I am doing some research on the Toledo Cacao Growers' Association in Belize, an association very near and dear to my heart. I’m not sure why I have left it until last, mostly because it really matters to me that I get it right and maybe I’m afraid of fucking the story up or something.

I am a huge fan of cooperatives and their story, as in Guatemala, totally pulls at my heart strings. Any story where poor people are self-sufficient and making successful lives in the face of adversity turns me into a soppy mess. I'm by no means any great social activist, but I am inspired and touched by the stories.

Anyhow, I’ll give you a brief run-down. Basically, Belizean chocolate has recently been enjoying some modest recognition. It is sold under Green & Black’s Maya Gold label under a fair trade agreement negotiated between the british candy company and the Maya cacao-growers of southern Belize. The best thing about this bar, other than how good it tastes, is that I can actually buy it at my local Community Foods for $3.99.

There is quite a bit more to the story—the Mayans were screwed over by Hershey in the 80s and so, I am doing a little bit more research. Onto my friendly neighbourhood Google, I type in Maya Gold and like a slap in the face, I am shocked and completely unprepared when hundreds of naked images start popping up on my screen. Basking as I was in the glow of my warm, fuzzy feelings for the plight of the Maya, the pictures felt like artillery fire, bringing it all to a screeching halt. I mean, I haven't seen that much poon since I used to sneak peeks at Superchannel previews when I was a teenager.

Maya Gold, it turns out, is also the name of a Hungarian Porn Star.

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WORST TRADITION EVER

RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!

Any thoughts who came up with *this* Tradition?

SLOVAKIA:
Red Monday

Easter is a very important celebration both in the Czech Republic and Slovakia, called Velikonoce, or Great Nights. In Slovakia, there is a rather curious tradition on Easter Monday wherein the men go around whipping the ladies and pouring water over them.

Throughout the day, groups of men visit their female relatives and friends demanding “treats” which can range from eggs, liquor, chocolate, or a peck on the cheek and then spank them with special whips. Made from willow rods, these braided branches have ribbons at the end. In the past, it was common for women to add their own ribbons so the whip would say how many women the particular man has already visited.

If the women decide to make it interesting or play along, they will allow the men to chase them around. Otherwise, they just stand motionless and the male visitors spank their bottoms. Willow branches are used because they are a symbol of Spring. According to folk tradition, the fertility and vitality from the branches are thought to have transferred to the women during this act.

In addition to whipping, Easter Monday also involves dousing. Water is the symbol of life and the pouring of water is a gesture meant to encourage vigour and health in the year ahead. Being watered can range from having a teaspoon of warm tap water dribbled over the head to a bucket of frigid well water thrown at the body.

Isn’t that nice? The women get watered and whipped while the men get fed and given drinks, and the little boys are given money or chocolate.

Understandably, this tradition is enjoyed considerably more by the men than the women. But this wasn’t always the case. Traditionally, in each village, the watering and whipping would be done by a group of single young men, who would decide amongst themselves which single young women they would visit. If the group left out a particular girl, it was a sign that none of the boys in the group had an interest in her. Therefore, some people say that girls actually wanted to get watered and whipped.

~~~
Boy, this tradition just keeps getting better and better. And uh, how did the traditional celebration of Easter change to “Hey, Jesus has risen, let’s whip some butt”??

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There Is Always A Way

I have a deadline looming. I just submitted 20,000 words and have 8 days to finish the rest of my manuscript. 25,000 more words. I am averaging about 10,000 per week. I’m not good at Math, but I’m pretty sure that means that I am running out of time.

I called my editor to renegotiate a later deadline today. Can I have another two weeks? No? One Week? Uh…hello? How about an extra couple of days? No go. This sucker has got to be pounded out in time for Valentine’s Day. Which means October 1st is firm and final.

What does that mean? That for the first time in as long as I can remember, I may have to finish something on time. I haven’t been so good at it lately. I tend to self-sabotage and am not so good at the positive self-talk. I am realizing that I have been living inside my comfort zone for a really long time. Simply put, if something is really hard, I just won’t do it. Mostly because I seem to have spent my twenties working MY ASS off with no pay-off. So I just stopped working my ass off. Except that I’m not 20 anymore. And this is something that I really, really want. And. There *is* a huge pay-off. AND. The hard work will be worth it. Truth be told, I’m also afraid of failing. So basically, in the past, I stopped trying. Because then if something didn’t get done, it was because ‘I didn’t feel like it’ and not because I can’t set goals and see them trough. Took the pressure off.

So, head down, ass up. I am going to finish this. To prove it to myself. And it is going to be good. And I am just going to keep telling myself that over and over and over again.

Twenty-five thousand words in 8 days. Seem impossible? The new loop running through my head is this: There is always a way.

One of my friends wrote an entire manuscript (50,000 words) in a month. Because she felt like it. She has a husband and two kids. No editor breathing down *her* neck. Nope. Just wrote a book for the heck of it.

If she can do it, then so can I.

I'm out of commish for a while.

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Oh Yes They Did!

Oh sweet, sweet Tomacco

Esther Walker, a 48-year-old woman from Cheltenham, Gloucester, England, was just cutting open a tomato from her garden, minding her own business, when she discovered an unplanned pregnancy. A tomato womb carrying a strawberry. Behold, the strawmato. “We’re keeping it in the fridge in case an expert wants to look at it,” she told authorities.

This triggers daydreams of other improbable fruit and vegetable hybrids. What would you want? Simpsons fans are clearly rooting for the tomacco, a cross between tobacco and a tomato, Homer's fertilization project when he "planted a little bit of everything."

Chocolate-Fueled Car

Think that chocolate makes the world go round? Well soon it could make your car go round. It turns out that chocolate waste can be made into fuel. All those deformed, discarded Easter eggs and expired chocolate bars that Cadbury throws out could finally have a home other than the landfill! There are several ways which this could be done. One way is to have bacteria convert the chocolate into burnable hydrogen gas; the other is to turn it into bio-diesel.

Feeding chocolate to E. Coli bacteria would ferment the chocolate waste and produce hydrogen gas. Still in its initial stages, the research shows great promise. A cheap alternative to fossil fuels, this method reduce waste organically and economically. In laboratory tests, chocolate produced enough hydrogen to power a fuel cell that ran a small fan. The only waste it created was water.

In December 2007, Andy Pag and John Grimshaw journeyed 4500 miles in a chocolate-powered vehicle. Made from 8,818 pounds of chocolate misshapes--the equivalent of 80,000 chocolate bars--the chocolate biodiesel powered them from England to Timbuktu. The chocolate-derived ethanol was blended with vegetable oil and the Britons used 396 gallons (2000 litres) to complete their journey. Not only was the expedition carbon neutral, it was carbon negative. Ultimately, they used less carbon on their voyage than they would have if they’d stayed at home.

The fuel is made from cocoa butter but sadly, does not look or smell like chocolate.

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This May Very Well Be My Favourite Find Yet!

BORN TO BE WILD

In April 2007, Latvia gifted the small Estonian island of Ruhnu with an 88-pound chocolate bear. This symbolic gift was offered to commemorate the Latvia-to-Estonia voyage made by a live bear the previous year. The seventy residents of Ruhnu were mighty surprised by the visiting bear when it floated into town on a chunk of ice.

The renegade bear eluded capture and lived as a fugitive in the roughly 8 kilometres of forest that cover the island. A summer celebrity, the bear is thought to have voluntarily ended his vacation and gone back to Latvia.

Fortunately, the live bear didn't sample any of the residents of Ruhnu, though the same can’t be said for his chocolate counterpart. The chocolate was viewed as a commemoration of the odd event that boosted Ruhnu tourism, then divided up equally amongst all seventy residents and eaten.

Marquis Marq & the Funky Bunch

That Marquis de Sade was a dirty bird.

A notorious French rogue and writer who had no qualms about penning his exploits to paper, these days, he's what we'd call a Playa.' Sade was known to have done all sorts of salacious things, not the least of which was combine chocolate with Spanish Fly, a well-known aphrodisiac. In the following tale, the Marquis de Sade describes a typical evening out:

“Into the dessert he slipped chocolate pastilles so good that a number of people devoured them...but he had mixed in some Spanish fly...those who ate the pastilles began to burn with unchaste ardour...Even the most respectable of women were unable to resist the uterine rage that stirred within them. And so it was that M. de Sade enjoyed the flavours of his sister-in-law.”

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Milestone

I just passed the 10,000 word mark. I am at 10 204 words, every single one of them representing a bead of sweat, a drop of blood, an ounce of crazy.

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Oh Dear

I don't know why I continue to be surprised by the ridiculous things I find on the Internet:

http://obamaschocolatenuts.com/

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East Coulee Musings

A few thoughts penned during my time away:


THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2008

4:04 pm

It smells like Lloydminster here. It’s like a moldy, rusty, farm smell. It never smelled like this at *my* house, of course but I remember going out to my friend’s farm house when I was in elementary school and being *really* surprised to discover for the first time that not everybody lived like we did. This girl who had been my best friend was POOR. And worse, she was a poor farmer. Her dad was crass and belchy and dirty and well, he scared the crap out of me. This didn’t diminish my fondness for my friend; I was just shocked and scared and spent the whole night wanting to go home. I cried myself to sleep that night and don’t remember ever going back to her house again. That was the end of my farmhouse sleepover days.

In any case, that’s what it smells like here--Julie’s house.

That being said, this feels more like me than anything I’ve ever done. Yes, I’m out in the middle of nowhere…in the badlands…in a town of 300 people where I really don‘t belong; yet strangely, I belong here more than I ever did in the classroom. Without ever realizing it, I have spent the last six years of my life feeling like a fraud.

I am stepping into my own and feeling deep in my bones that yes! this is what it is I’m meant to be doing. I’ve never felt more complete, more like myself or more centred, calm and focused. And mostly I am grateful for having discovered this truth about myself relatively early on in my life. Thank God I didn’t waste 20 more years of my life decaying in a classroom. I’m sure your children are thanking me.

There is a portable CD player here which the owners have left behind and some speakers, for which I am ridiculously grateful! My ipod, which was freshly loaded with a bundle of new songs isn’t working! I have some CDs in the car, so I am so glad for some musack. And have one of my favourite Craig compilations on the go. Unfortunately, I have forgotten the mouse for the laptop, which isn’t the end of the world, but you know, just would have made things a little easier. Anyhow, there are worse things I could have forgotten, like water. I remembered just at the last minute that the water--though potable--is orange-coloured from the iron, and not that tasty. Stopped to pick up a 10L jug on my way out of Drumheller. I also caved in and stopped at the liquor store. I have a 6-pack of Corona and a beautiful bottle of Shiraz. You know, in case of emergency.

Otherwise, it’s very quiet out here. And peaceful. It’s going to take some getting used to. I might be a convert to the small-town yet.

6:08 pm

Um. So the one thing about being out here: there really is no getting away from the writing. Feel like distracting myself? uh. Yeah. There’s nothing. So I wander around the house or yard until I get bored enough that I give in and figure, ‘well, may as well get back to it.’

I really wish I had remembered the mouse.

Did I mention? No cell phone reception out here either. And uh, oh yeah. No running water.

Saturday, Septmeber 6
1:32 pm We have water! And it smells like rotten eggs.

Sunday, September I-have-no-idea-what-the-date-is.

2:51 pm

I just wrote: By the latte-half of the 18th Century…

Can you guess where my brain is?

Incidentally, I started at 1000BC. So the fact that I am now up to the 1800s is a couple thousand years’ worth of progress in just a few short days.

*sigh*

Back atter.

10:48 pm. I am writing my chapter on chocolate and sex and I don’t think it’s fair that I am having neither.

Monday, Setember whatever it is.
10: 15--It’s amazing how far 4 beers can go in soothing one wicked case of cabin fever. That and the decision to get the eff out of Dodge. I have typed so much over the last 6 days that I actually have sore knuckles. I have carpel knuckle.

So, how much of an idiot am I? I just realized that I could have been playing my CDs FROM MY LAPTOP. This whole time. Picture me holding up a giant ‘L’ on my forehead. Right now. Listening to music through shitty speakers that make the sound all tinny and distorted. Instead of listening to it through my *brand new*, state of the art laptop. Nice. Winner.

10:31-- And yeah, I just reread all that bullshit that I wrote on the first day about me being a convert to the small town yet. Yeah. That was crazy talk. Crazy bullshit talk. Who’s a big talker THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES into her trip? Well, lemme tell you--from the six-day veteran’s point of view, I am going fucking batty out here. What the fuck do people do?!?! I mean, I’m writing a BOOK and I’m bored. I am working my ass off out here--still bored. You can’t write 24 hours a day, for God’s sake. And who the eff lives without cell phone reception and bloody HIGH SPEED INTERNET?! Like seriously, where am I? Guatemala? Oh no, wait. If I was in Guatemala, I would have high-speed Internet. I don’t even understand how it’s possible to be in Alberta and be completely cut off from the ENTIRE REST OF THE WORLD. Ya. Small towns? Not for me. Which of course, I already knew since I grew up in one. I guess I just need the reminder every--oh 15 years or so.

That being said, the writing has been going awesome. Got a lot accomplished. Because there’s nothing else to do.

Last night, I was so desperate for some human contact, that I got in my car and drove 5 kms up the road to a place where there was cell phone reception to ‘reach out and touch someone.’ Seriously. I needed to talk to somebody. I’m staring to act like a crazy person. Sayin’ things out loud to myself, talking, swearing, readin’ passages of my book to the empty room…You do what ya gotta.

Would it have killed me to bring a DVD out here with me? Now that I figured out the whole cee-dee thing, I realized that I probably could have watched a movie on this thing as well. Huh. If my ipod was working, I could probably plug that in too.

I just saw these two quotes and they made me laugh:

**If you want breakfast in bed, sleep in the kitchen.
**I’m looking for a kind, understanding man. Is that too much to ask for in a millionaire?

11:36. I’m on my fifth beer. Should I be concerned? Aw, this place aint so bad. I can’t believe I even *considered* coming here without alcoholic reinforcements. What was I thinking? So, I just wrote my dedication and acknowledgements for the book, so technically, I am still working. Mental note* Don’t do this when drunk. It’s wordy and overly-sentimental. I practically thanked everyone right down to my First Grade teacher and the guys who pick up my garbage.

I am excited because when I get up, I CAN LEAVE.

11:51 I think Arthur Ganong is scary lookin’

12:08 am. I feel sick.

Forrest Mars--aka,the man who built the Mars empire--grew up in NORTH BATTLEFORD, SASKATCHEWAN!! And he graduated from LETHBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL!!

Crazy. What is it about North Battleford fostering so many success stories?! First Joni Mitchell, now Forrest Mars.

Huh. It's no 'Evil Denizens' story, but still...

You Just Can't Make This Shit Up

THIS STORY HAS MADE MY DAY:

The Izapan were a people closely associated with the Olmec and likely passed the secrets of chocolate to the Maya. They treated cocoa as a divine product awarded to human beings from the mythical Mountain of Sustenance. (Really? The mythical Mountain of Sustenance?) In an ancient manuscript, there is a story in which one of the so-called hero twins--the children of the man and woman who created the universe--is decapitated. His head is then posted on a cocoa tree, where it manages to impregnate the ruler's daughter, who gives birth to other hero twins. These offspring subsequently save humankind from the evil denizens of the Underworld.

So the next time someone tells you that chocolate isn't good for you, you can tell them that it can help save human kind from the evil denizens of the Underworld...but to take heed, 'cause it might subsequently knock them up.

HA!

The Blair Witch Project

SO... I'm leaving town. To go write. I have finagled myself a free hut in the woods, a hideout. There is no cable or internet. All I will have will be my book information, my laptop and...my thoughts?

Lord.

Which could either be the best idea I’ve ever had...or...positively crazy-making.

There are just a few too many sidetractions here in Calgary. Like mindless Internet surfing. And blog updating.

There is no address, so the owners have sent me a picture. You know, so I can find it. I have kindly included it here for you, so if I don’t come back, someone will know to come looking for me.







I don’t know much about it, except
a) there are only two streets
b) 300 people live there
c) There is a tavern

I’ve got my hand-drawn map and an email from the owners of the cabin today which read:

“The neighbor on the other side (white and blue house with a big satellite dish) – his name is Cliff and his wife drives the yellow school bus out front. We mentioned that you would be there for the week, that your name was Karen, and he said if you need anything he’s retired and next door (he even said that if you needed someone to have coffee with because you were getting sick of your own company that you could just pop over). He and his wife are super nice and a great resource is something weird happens”

So, they have satellite, eh?
In case something weird happens?!? Well that's reassuring.
Should I bring my shot-gun?!

Me and Cliff’ll be sittin around, talking about the Harvest and then maybe I can convince him to ditch the coffee and come to the Tavern with me, or save me from the lumberjack hiding in the wood shed.

This could really go either way. I could love it and find it restorative and productive out there…

OR

I could drive back early.

Either way, I’m going down the rabbit hole, so wish me luck.

Song of the day: Goin' Up The Country-Canned Heat

A Few Things I Can’t Live Without

So, although I am writing a book about chocolate, I don’t actually want to LOOK like I am.

And sitting in front of a computer for 12-14 hours a day is not helping matters.

In my cupboards and my belly are:

NAKED GREEN JUICE—

One of my friends introduced me to this when we were in Las Vegas. And not only did it get me through the rest of the debaucherous Vegas trip, but through all the rough times since—countless hangovers, Stampede partying, early and long flights to Central America and now this. Basically, whenever you are treating your body like shit, slam back one of these babies and you will feel…well, better.

It has apples, kiwis, bananas, mangoes, pineapple, spirulina, chlorella, blue green algae, garlic, barley grass, ginger and parsley. But that’s not why I like it.

I like it because it tastes delicious. It has all those healthy things in it, but it does not *taste* like spinach or blue green algae. I think that's important in a yucky-looking juice.



OIL OF OREGANO

The only good thing that one of my ex-boyfriends ever did for me was introduce me to this magic wonder--A literal medicine chest in a bottle. It is good against bacterial, fungal, viral and parasitic infections. I have used it from everything to stave off colds, heal mosquito bites, deal with toe fungus and keep mosquitoes away...you name it.

Five drops under the tongue every morning and you will feel like a Superhero. It's kind of like wearing a Superman suit under your real-person clothes.



SPOONFED SOUP

First, you have to admit your powerlessness over soup. Then you can join the Spoon Federation. And why wouldn’t you want to?! These ridiculously *delicious* soups are organic, home-made, locally-sourced AND DELIVERED RIGHT TO YOUR DOOR.

That’s right. TO YOUR DOOR.

And they come in the most delightful and unusual flavour combinations. Even more endearing, each soup has been named and has a story behind it. You get ‘introduced’ to each of the soups in a weekly email. Each one litre jar lasts about two hearty meals. So for about twenty bucks, I have my lunches for an entire week.

Throw in some heavenly home-made crackers, the fact that they recycle your previous weeks' jars and some *cute* delivery boys and you have yourself the marketing *genius* of Spoonfed Soup.

And of course, because one can’t leave on Spirulina alone, there is:

THE BETTER-THAN-BRAD-PITT BROWNIE:



To get you through the lonely nights.