Work and Chocolate
Created | Updated Apr 4, 2002
In days of yore the quest for chocolate was relatively simple. The questor would fundamentally have two options.
Firstly, they could search for the Cacao plant, grind up some of the prized cacao seeds and roast them over their small
camp fire. Then, as the sun dipped lazily down behind the dusky horizon, gobble up handful after handful of the
delightful, caffeine-laden ambrosia.
Evenings spent like this would inevitably be... sublime. The nights that followed evenings like this would inevitably
be ones of bright eyes, very little sleep and many visitations from the strange creatures that dance in the camp fire.
The questor's second option, of course, was to wait at a high point in the lush mountains downwind of the Great Cocoa
Plains, nose thrust probingly into the heady evening air. When the distinctive smell of those roasting cacao seeds
passed over and through their olfactory system, the questor would begin to track it. Dragging behind them
a heavy and ergonomically sculpted branch. The local vultures - having grown quite accustomed to this quirk of
human behavior - would begin to circle overhead. And then to follow the lone figure dragging their roughly hewn club
into the Plains. Bloodshed of the most savage nature would follow on the ground. Both questor and vultures would be
sated on such nights and, as nature ordains, nothing would go to waste.
In contemporary times things have taken on a further dimension of complexity, however. And this is where work muscles
in on the equation. Our modern day questor need only expend a miniscule fraction of the energy contained within, say,
a Jupiter bar (tm)* in actually locating one. As even the most remote hamlet will provide the opportunity to purchase
such an item. The sticking point - and the downfall of many a traveller - is hard currency.
Money (read: delightfully happy, small, green pieces of paper) can be obtained in most locales by making an
agreement with somebody who has some to spare, and more things on their plate than they can handle / want to
handle.
Wonderful!
How much chocolate can the traveller expect to earn for a day's labour?
Well, your humble reporter receives the equivalent of 11.3 King-size (tm) Jupiter bar (tm)s, for each hour of sitting in a
small room with a computer dreaming about chocolate, camp fires and lazy sunsets (and occasionally clubs, vultures
and, for some reason, Ghenghis Khan).
Hopefully the uninitiated now feel suitably confident and informed in the matters of Work and Chocolate...
With that, I will respectfully retreat from your psyche.
*The Jupiter bar (tm) is a confection consisting of caramel covered nougat, encased in chocolate. The accepted
folklore is that it 'helps your TEETH to hurt, fester and decay' - the wary will refrain from mentioning this to personnel
of the increasingly litigious marketing division of the company.
Firstly, they could search for the Cacao plant, grind up some of the prized cacao seeds and roast them over their small
camp fire. Then, as the sun dipped lazily down behind the dusky horizon, gobble up handful after handful of the
delightful, caffeine-laden ambrosia.
Evenings spent like this would inevitably be... sublime. The nights that followed evenings like this would inevitably
be ones of bright eyes, very little sleep and many visitations from the strange creatures that dance in the camp fire.
The questor's second option, of course, was to wait at a high point in the lush mountains downwind of the Great Cocoa
Plains, nose thrust probingly into the heady evening air. When the distinctive smell of those roasting cacao seeds
passed over and through their olfactory system, the questor would begin to track it. Dragging behind them
a heavy and ergonomically sculpted branch. The local vultures - having grown quite accustomed to this quirk of
human behavior - would begin to circle overhead. And then to follow the lone figure dragging their roughly hewn club
into the Plains. Bloodshed of the most savage nature would follow on the ground. Both questor and vultures would be
sated on such nights and, as nature ordains, nothing would go to waste.
In contemporary times things have taken on a further dimension of complexity, however. And this is where work muscles
in on the equation. Our modern day questor need only expend a miniscule fraction of the energy contained within, say,
a Jupiter bar (tm)* in actually locating one. As even the most remote hamlet will provide the opportunity to purchase
such an item. The sticking point - and the downfall of many a traveller - is hard currency.
Money (read: delightfully happy, small, green pieces of paper) can be obtained in most locales by making an
agreement with somebody who has some to spare, and more things on their plate than they can handle / want to
handle.
Wonderful!
How much chocolate can the traveller expect to earn for a day's labour?
Well, your humble reporter receives the equivalent of 11.3 King-size (tm) Jupiter bar (tm)s, for each hour of sitting in a
small room with a computer dreaming about chocolate, camp fires and lazy sunsets (and occasionally clubs, vultures
and, for some reason, Ghenghis Khan).
Hopefully the uninitiated now feel suitably confident and informed in the matters of Work and Chocolate...
With that, I will respectfully retreat from your psyche.
*The Jupiter bar (tm) is a confection consisting of caramel covered nougat, encased in chocolate. The accepted
folklore is that it 'helps your TEETH to hurt, fester and decay' - the wary will refrain from mentioning this to personnel
of the increasingly litigious marketing division of the company.
