Two Bars of 85%

The rule is simple. I don’t eat chocolate.

Somebody has forgotten the rule. The Tupperware box in the fridge is overflowing with the usual contraband, and sitting on top of it are two bars of 85% cocoa dark chocolate, looking very reasonable and very much like they’re waiting for me.

It’s almost psychological warfare, and I’m not sure which side is winning.

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The strange thing is that I was never much of a chocolate person. I’d have happily gone without it for most of my life. And yet it’s a struggle now, which is more interesting than it should be.

I’ve noticed there are two quite different urges. One is a real craving: I’ve just had something spicy, and something sweet would be really nice. That’s a genuine contrast my mouth wants, and I can understand it.

The other is simply: there’s chocolate in the fridge. No hunger, no specific wish for chocolate, just the old reflex that says if it’s there, it gets eaten. That’s the bigger one, and it’s the one I’m trying to notice rather than obey.

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Eighty-five percent cocoa is a particularly sneaky opponent. It’s chocolate with a health halo, which makes it much easier to justify than a bar of something sensible would be. Nobody’s going to argue with 85%, are they? Nobody’s going to point out the context.

And I’ve already shown myself I can leave the stuff alone. The KitKats survived. The Tupperware survived. Two dark bars on the top shelf are a more repeated test than any single biscuit someone hands me at work.

So tonight I’m not eating the chocolate. I’m just noticing it’s there, and noticing that it’s still a rule I’m allowed to keep.

If it wasn’t the spicy food that set it off, it could easily have been the familiar sequence: full, comfortable, and then, oh, chocolate. That’s the bit to watch.

Two bars of 85%. Still in the fridge. Still not eaten.

I’m counting it as a win.