Shell moulding with white chocolate
When asked about my philosophy on life, which, admittedly, isn’t all too often, I promptly reply that MY life, at least, has been a nice meaty series of happy accidents, sandwiched between slices of ill-formed plans and near disasters. It’s a politician’s answer, I know, but if you get me at the right time, I might admit that I feel I may have made two really good, well-thought-out decisions. They are:
1) Marrying Steve.
and 2) Ditching my rather broad “career” in food, and specializing in chocolate.
In regards to #2, it could have been anything, I suppose. Bagels, ice cream, fruit leather, frozen dinners. What I mean to say, is that I had no real attachment to chocolate. I just really needed to make a living with my rather limited battalion of skills. Thankfully, however, I was born with an overbearing streak of romantic sensibility (though that seems rather an oxymoron), and when everything was laid out in bare light on the table, chocolate was really the only option.
To make a really long story short (and to get to my belabored point), six years after making that decision, for better or for worse, that beautiful, dark, silky and sometimes incredibly frustrating substance defines me. And though I shudder with horror each time I am erroneously referred to as a “master chocolatier,” I must admit I have some knowledge of the subject and am thrilled that, of late, I have been asked to share it with the general public.
Beginning April 25th, I will be teaching a series of traveling spring workshops on artisan chocolate making. In the next four days, I will feature descriptions of the upcoming classes and their respective venues. Who knows, maybe you or someone you know will want to join us? I hope so!
Tomorrow: Artisan Chocolate Making at the Hartstone Inn in the heart of Camden, Maine.
