I've been with a couple of friends to what is considered THE chocolate factory here in UK (close to brum; birm'ham according to the road signs, indeed). careless of the whole marketing thing behind an establishment like this, I've been trying to stay sober from their strategic persuasion. but still, the big violet letters were staring at us with supremacy and pledge.
I'll skip all that I've considered about the tricky purpose of the place but, after the whole day spent on this stuff, the only thing you don't want to do is finding yourself, night time, in the middle of a Christmas market. including all the kinds of fudge you could have imagined, obviously. pure nausea sense.
I think I'm over it. flashy colours and soft things. I think the only thing I could do now is to recover myself for a bit, opening what I call the clafoutis season, which actually will be coming in five months from now. but that doesn't matter if the only fruits you found are tough plums, the ones to play tennis with, so uneatable that you have to make a clafoutis from them. and since here it's not that easy to find crème fraîche I've used sour cream instead, which I believe is a valid substitute.
and afterall, UK is the place where you miss french food the most. the only thing I can have for tea tonight is fish and chips (which come with peas, as always), at a dirty local pub.
enjoy.
