How fascinating! I recently discovered an old Spanish missionary’s journal in a Madrid bookstore and found a number of references to chocolate among his writings. According to him, ancient Aztec legend has it that the cacao tree was brought to Earth by their god Quetzalcoatl, who descended from heaven on the beam of a morning star after stealing the precious plant from paradise. No wonder that the spicy beverage made from its beans was called the Drink of the Emperor. It is said that this xocoatl or chocolatl was so revered that it was served in golden goblets that were thrown away after one use. . . .
⅔ cup heavy cream
8 ounces 60% dark chocolate
2½ tablespoons dark rum
¼ teaspoon fresh lime juice
3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1. Heat cream in saucepan on medium heat until steaming. Remove from heat and add dark chocolate, stirring until melted. When mixture cools to room temperature, add rum and lime juice. Refrigerate until firmly chilled.
2. Form 1-inch balls from the chilled mixture using a melon baller, teaspoon, or your hands. Roll in unsweetened cocoa powder.
3. Store in airtight container between layers of waxed paper.
The scent of burnt sugar swirled in the air, its sweetness melting with the darker spice of cacao and cinnamon. Candles flickered, the tiny tongues of flame licking out as the footman set the plate on the dining table.
“Ahhhh.” The gentleman leaned down and inhaled deeply, his fleshy face wreathing in a sybaritic smile. “Why, my dear Catherine, it smells . . . good enough to eat.”
Laughter greeted the bon mot.
“Oh, indeed it is, poppet. I’ve had my chef create it specially for you.” The heavily rouged lady by his side parted her lips, just enough to show a peek of teeth. “And only you.”
“How delicious.” Plumes of pale smoke floated up toward the painted ceiling and slowly dissolved in the shadows. His lazy, lidded gaze slid past the glittering silver candelabra and took in the empty place settings of the other half dozen guests. “And what, may I ask, is it?”
“Chocolate.”
“Chocolate,” he echoed, sounding a little puzzled. “But—”
“ Edible chocolate,” explained Catherine. “A new innovation, fresh from Paris. Where, as you know, the French have refined sumptuous indulgence to an art form in itself.” She lowered her voice to a sultry murmur. “Aren’t you tempted to try it?”
All eyes fixed hungrily on the unusual confection. Soft mounds of Chantilly cream ringed the porcelain plate, accentuating the dark, decadent richness of the thick wafers arranged at its center. Ranging in hue from café au lait to burnished ebony, they rose up from a pool of port-soaked cherries.
“I must warn you, though,” she teased. “Chocolate is said to stimulate the appetite for other pleasures.” Her lashes fluttered. “But perhaps you are already sated after such a rich meal.”
“One can never have enough pleasure,” replied the gentleman as he plucked the top piece from its buttery perch and popped it into his mouth.
A collective sigh sounded from the others as he gave a blissful little moan, squeezed his eyes shut . . .
And promptly pitched face-first into sticky sweetness.
There was a moment of dead silence, followed by a slow, slurping shudder that sent a spray of ruby-red drops and pink-tinged cream over the pristine tablecloth.
“Good God, send for a physician!” screamed one of the guests. “The Prince Regent has been poisoned!”