Top 11 Everyday Chocolate Bars
According to yesterday's broadsheets, "experts" have named the Top 20 chocolate bars. For investment bankers maybe.
''There are so many different characteristics,'' said Luke Campbell, director of cellar management company Vinified. ''We are experiencing wine-like aromas, the beauty of tropical fruit to, sadly, the horror of burnt rubber.''
Not a single mention of a party pack, or even caramel sauce.
Below is the real list, friends and service station attendants. My credentials? That lead image is an actual Christmas present given to me by my immediate family. Last year. 2012. I am 63 today.
11. Milo Bar
The beleaguered Milo Bar limps into the list for one reason: what it used to be. What it used to stand for. Which was this: a bunch of milo dumped into a bar shape and covered in chocolate. Minimalism. Chocolate poetry. Je ne sais pas ce que cela signifie. Another thing going for it was that it tasted like Milo. Being that it was made of Milo. The current version of the Milo Bar however, is an abject disgrace to the name.
It's as if Nestle was issued with a writ against manufacturing Milo, and so having secretly phased out the actual Milo in the Milo Bar. We now get layers of wafer and bubbles and all sorts of airy rubbish that has nothing to do with Milo. It's like biting into an orange to find a stone wrapped in orange peel. "Where's my orange!" I just did a rage-Google — this outcry, posted on a forum thread called "Bring back the old Milo Bar!", sums it up: " i know! when i buy a milo bar i expect milo!! not some rice cracker half healthy shit." Amen.
If the Milo Bar was a place: a disused drive-in.
10. Mars Bar
The Mars Bar is the Volvo of chocolate bars - the Steve Buscemi. Reliable. Does the job. A bit ugly and old as the hills, but when you need to get from A to B, the Mars Bar will have its sleeves rolled. It seems to have always been there, unchanged, for time immemorial. Scientists (probably) have managed to instill a great weight into the shape's small package. It's heavy in your pocket - a mini-meal. It's black, severe. You could probably clock someone with it if you had to - the kid who won't shut up on the trail-hike. A bird. Your mouth, in the rain. Crying.
If the Mars Bar was a place: the platform of the train station, heading to work just like everyone else.
9. Violet Crumble
You confuse me Violet Crumble. Sometimes I crave your fuller frame, luring me in with the promise of six or seven shots at you, momentarily disguising that you're largely made of honeyed air. Your crunch is satisfying, your chocolate just a hint of that weird white powder stuff that blooms on the discount bars in the bins on the shop's floor. You have a weird bad graffiti font. But your girth evokes celebration. "There is so much of me," it says. "You will not tire of my catacombs. I will not betray you." I pause. "I have so much love to give." It is an act, but I applaud.
If Violet Crumble was a place: theatre restaurant (private room).
I had Snickers at Number 6 for a while, but this bar is actually hindered by its main feature. Nuts. Sometimes, no one can handle that many peanuts. An elephant would knock back a Snickers in the morning. "Melon?" it says, stupidly. Could also be a Satay Bar and probably shift as many units. Unattractive brown wrapper. Leaves a powdered sugar aftertaste, which—while not unpleasant—reminds you of the gamble with your internal organs. Snickers is a sober bar. When you want peanuts—a gilded universe awaits. When you don't, it bobs in the rubbish trap on the brown river of uncertainty.
If Snickers was a place: a silo of peanuts - the silo also being made out of peanuts. Towering in the clear peanut air.
The Picnic is everything at once, unfinished. Bracken fallen in on a dam of nougat. "Did anyone survive?" you call through the darkness, hacking away at the nutty rubble and chocolatey fronds that conceal the glowing treasure within. The Picnic is a shameful bar. Imagine the number one most attractive person on your bucket list eating a Picnic bar in public. They are now number seven. You need a strong neck for a Picnic. It's treasure spills, but we can't all enter.
If the Picnic was a place: a collapsed room in the first home you knew.
6. Kit Kat Chunky - Caramel
The Kit Kat is OK. It's officious. Wears a pressed shirt. But slip in a layer of caramel along its bosom and a glint of Happy Socks appears below its trousers. Something about its resistance to your bite is extremely satisfactory. It's strong, but it will let you win. "Oh no, don't!" *giggle*. It flexes. It rewards you for a job well done. It parties with the lights on. Your fax is stamped.
If Kit Kat Caramel was a place: the head office of Officeworks.
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