The Bittersweetness of War
The bombs began dropping as they have countless times before and somehow resonated differently. As I opened Twitter in line at the French bakery, my eyes widened. War. The last thing this world needed.
My gaze meandered across the precarious towers of chocolate, the uninterrupted surface of the smooth chocolate bombs. The mirrored surface of tiny cakes like building bravely await a stainless steel missile to crack their gilded roofs.
I grabbed my phone and tapped out a thirty second poem.
It was worth sharing even if unrefined. And yet it was unfinished.
“A pantry becomes morsels", “tempered buildings”, “ooze a Molten Victory” … there was too much chocolate involved to not write this out. I’ve never tempered chocolate nor combined my written and visual words before. But I was antsy and needed an outlet for the breaking news. I marched home clutching bags of 72% cacao and silently prayed for steady hands.
In the four days of tempered tests and failures, I learned chocolate is delicate, much like peace between nations. Resilient under pressure, rolling with temperature swings. Molten chocolate retains every drip and swoosh, freezing at the height of a wave. It will aways find a way.
The styles vary wildly from smooth and refined to aggressive and frantic, mimicking war’s interruption on everyday life. The text style doggedly returns to refinement by the poem’s end, but it is not the same. This is the paradox of war: that life must go on and yet cannot return to normal.
Tempered chocolate is the standard in the chocolate world. Glossy and dark, snaps crisply in hand or mouth, this method makes a handsome garnish.
Untempered chocolate is a half-victory, dull, brittle, and mottled with sugar or cocoa butter streaks. By contrast it is unfit for decoration. The mouthfeel is second-rate. The only untempered stanza is “ooze a Molten Victory.” War makes losers of us all, any win is tainted by sorrow.
This poem didn’t change the world, but it changes how I think about storytelling through everyday things. Sometimes we’ll accept bitter notions with a little honey on the tongue.
This poem was auctioned to raise money for Black Ukrainians/ African refugees on KnownOrigin.