When we left, being of northern European extraction-and also slightly weight-conscious,-I traded my left-over empanada for bratwursts which I love, but not one of the following amazing desserts which were offered:
1. Cheesecake drizzled with chocolate-hazelnut sauce
2. A rich chocolate bundt cake with mocha whipped cream
3. Chocolate mousse
4. Tiny chocolate cookies to be dipped in cinnamon cream.
These were truly fantastic desserts, and today I kick myself for not accepting a plate full of them as we left. Damn, what's the matter with me. I could run it off, I could. I am totally craving that cheesecake right now, also the bundt cake and mousse. Honestly, it was all divine.
What is the matter with me, chocolate-wise? It goes back to my childhood (of course, doesn't everything?) How many times did I hear my father tell me about being nurtured by an amazing black nanny/cook in New Orleans, who fed him chocolate every day? Every day: chocolate pie! By the time he was an adult, he was sick of it. Sick. Of. It.
So my mother, a fantastic cook, never made chocolate and often repeated the reason why ("your father"). That meant, though, that I was treated to a multitude of berry/fruit-related desserts, a mountain of butter-related treats, a plethora of pies and cookies. No chocolate, but tons of butter and berries, an even trade. I think so.
I also really love bratwurst, and that's what I'm eating right now: courtesy of the chocolate party.