The 9 Other Everyday Chocolate Bars
If last week's inarguably accurate countdown of the Top 11 Everyday Chocolate Bars taught me one thing it's this: I am really tired. But also that office workers across the nation are violently passionate about wafer and/or its absence, as if a million souls cried out in torment and were silenced at once, as someone once said directly referring to the original article.
Sure. Chocolate bars are the tools of our church, us their pathetic disciples. But mailbag, here are some thing's that are not chocolate bars:
A wheel (Wagon).
An egg (Cadbury Creme).
A block (Toblerone, other).
An infant's treat (Milky Way).
A grandpa's bedtime snack (Moro, Whip, zzzz).
Disgusting (Turkish Delight).
A Curly Wurly. It's caramel with chocolate drizzled on it. Yes it's delicious, but could you throw it? No, it would wrap around your hand like lace. Leave it in the beanies of buskers where it belongs.So let's follow this to its logical conclusion, what we're all thinking — the "other" bars that round out our Top 20 deathmatch. From here on in we have to have our wits, be plainspoken. I am the doctor, you my picket-toothed patient. Let's get unprofessional.
20. Polly Waffle
A damp cardboard toilet roll filled with cobwebs. Ugh, I shouldn't have done this list at all, no wonder you're turning up here now. Could we ever take you seriously Polly Waffle? Your '70s pimp clothes. Your chemical aroma. Your marsh. You are unknowable, you have no story and nothing to say. We went to the same gigs but stood on other sides of the room, clapping for different songs. I raise one finger on the steering wheel as we pass, but I will never stop. When I see you in the street I pretend to text.
19. Peppermint Crisp
The reason I didn't put Peppermint Crisp in the original Top 11 list was because she is stuffed with mint. And mint is on the Best Of list of no thing. You eat a minty piece for cleansing gas, a whole bar like lighting a menthol cigarette with a Fisherman's Friend. And yet, she is attractively crisp and tantalising, perched there on the edge of the infinity pool. Something's clinking in the background. Crystal chimes or slippers being toed-off on the rim of a glass diving board. I look up — you arcing past the full moon, your trajectory matched by a snow leopard padding across the silvery surface of the water. Mint, you are unknowable and aloof. An enormous toothbrush snoozes on the banana lounge, her boyfriend.
18. Aero Bar
I've never had more discussions about Aero Bars in my life than during this past week. Maybe only after someone broke into Baxter tennis club one night and took off with all the smokes and chocolates in a ute. We huddled in the early morning mist by the en tout cas that Saturday, silk tracksuits swishing as we excitedly reenacted their route through the paperbark trees. Wondering if they missed any. The following theory was put to me since and I can't shake it: the Aero is not a bar. It's a chocolate mould with holes in it. This attacks the fundamentals of what a bar is. A "bar" is an engineered cocktail - not a spirit or mixer. But then is an Aero any different from the Violet Crumble or the Crunchie? Each has only two elements. A: honeycomb is the papier-mâché of the gods.
Chokito is distressing. Heavy, dark and featureless. Like it's already been chewed up by the security guard at the IGA, spat out, rolled between wet fingers into a long tube shape and carefully inserted back into the wrapper. Next time you're browsing, see if there's some chewing gum holding the seal closed. Describe its flavour — impossible. There are only 500 Chokito's in the world, each cycled through suburban supermarket shelves until eventually they are laid to rest in a warehouse of forgotten showbags. Also, if we're real for a moment: marketshare:
We're nearly back to where we started. There are two doors left, let's enter the one marked 16 & 15:
(Continued next page)