Bittersweet Tang

Posted on Posted in Food and Drink

sailing south pacific travel blog brianna randall

I was a gift from a husband to a wife. From the creator to the universe. From a woman to herself. From the crew to the captain. I was born as the bitter seeds of a sweet fruit harvested from a tropical tree. I traveled to Europe, where I matured alongside orange peel, sea salt, sugar, almonds.

Ripe and ready, dressed in shiny foil finery, I traveled back to my tropical roots. I was primed to be plucked from a stand where I enticed and cajoled and beckoned buyers. The husband bought me. So did the woman. I boarded a blue boat, floated out to sea, watched stars rotate and rise as we sailed west and south. I changed forms with the heat of the day and the cool of the night, melding to my foil dress.

Finally, finally, the woman undressed me. She peeled back the layers, lovingly stroked my oily sheen, longingly anticipated my bitter beginning and sweet additions. She broke me into pieces, shearing me into bite-size chunks. Naked. Dark. Ripe for the next transition.

I melted to coat teeth, tongue, throat. I flooded their senses with my age-old bittersweet tang. The captain and crew bade me many blessings of thanks for the gift of my chocolate.

 

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