Sync

Love, according to spiritual texts so often quoted in the process of uniting in holy matrimony, is both patient and kind. According to modern commercialism, it’s also coated in chocolate. Whether piled on top of fruits or just some other kind of chocolate, these days a candy coating is the ideal way to say “I love you.” At least, so Nestle and others would have us believe.

But chocolate, like love, is prone to all sorts of adaptations. Conventional wisdom and modern tradition limit its potential. Why settle for cherries, strawberries or what have you when anything can be coated in chocolate to celebrate a day devoted entirely to love? Why put limitations on the potential of the human heart?

And so I find myself at the Golden Corral, home not only to a wide array of foods thanks to its massive every day lunch buffet, but also home to a chocolate fountain. Being the consummate romantic, I see in its nonstop flow of sugary sweetness the potential to smother anything in amorous devotion. Discover the "wonderfall” says a poster in the entrance foyer. You’re damn right I will.

Joining me on this adventure is a coworker, whom I am legally and ethically obligated to report is not a romantic partner. Ours is not the warm and fuzzy infatuation of a newly lovesick couple, but the dedicated research of two professionals seeking to defy the norm and break new ground. We will not settle for the expected.

The quest begins for me with a sampling of meat-centric dishes coated in the dark warmth of chocolatey goodness. This decision is by mutual agreement with my totally platonic partner in this endeavor, as she is a vegetarian. On the agenda we have spicy jalapeno chicken, a piece of Mongolian beef, honey chicken, spring rolls, Bourbon Street chicken, fried catfish, some pot roast, and a garlic-cheddar biscuit. Also, a mini-hamburger.

While still a believer in the possibility of success for even the most star-crossed of lovers, it is with some regret that I admit most of these combinations simply did not work. Perhaps the jalapeno chicken also slept with chocolate’s sister. Maybe the spring rolls just weren’t communicative enough of their needs. The pot roast must have been a lousy kisser. For these reasons and more — mostly because they were gross when paired with the slightly bitter dark chocolate of the fountain — all these foods were, in so many words, complete failures. Some relationships just don’t work out.

However, I report with some surprise that the Eastern wiles of the Asian-inspired honey chicken were enough to tantalize the fickle chocolate into playing along. The sweetness of the honey managed to pair marginally well. It may not be a union of choice — as real relationships sometimes aren’t — but perhaps it’s enough. Also surprising, the fried catfish bore the dark drizzle. Its salty breading and mild taste were enough for chocolate to remake it into something new and, I’ll go ahead and say it, pretty good once you get past how odd it is. Tell me you’ve never met a couple like that, and I’ll call you a liar.

On the vegetable front, my partner (whom I am in no way objectifying by using that word, lest it be seen as a violation of the workplace harassment policy) reports that nearly anything battered and deep fried is only improved by a chocolate coating. No. 1 on the chocolate-covered vegetable (though some items can hardly be called that) list is America’s most beloved and versatile side item — the french fry. But the onion ring takes a close second place, and the fried okra rounds out the top three. As to be expected, the combination of salty and sweet is irresistible. It’s the savory yet sweet science behind a slice of state fair chocolate-dipped bacon. While fruit of any type hungers for a chocolate bath, vegetables are a little less eager for a soak. A chocolate, cooked jalapeno, though delicious in spicy-sweet theory, is utterly cringe-inducing, and a cube of cheese may sound like chocolate fondue heaven, but this writer couldn’t stomach the pungent pairing. Raw vegetables, especially broccoli, in general paired decently with chocolate, but only when doused beyond belief.

So, in the end, it seems fruit and sweets were perhaps better made for a chocolate pairing. We found little that worked quite as well.

Yet, when I think about, I have to say that perhaps the chocolate-coated whatevers we tried were a better metaphor for love than candies or fruit. Love isn’t always sweet. Sometimes it’s ugly. Sometimes it’s nasty. Yet it never fails to surprise.

And that seems to hold especially true for those so-called perfect romances where everything looks so wonderful on the surface, not unlike a pristine candy shell. What’s inside doesn’t always follow the same story. It might be marshmallow or it might be roast beef.