An Ode to Chocolate Cream Pie
Many moons ago, whilst working as a host at Coco's Bakery Restaurant, I developed my first of many addictions: chocolate cream pie. Times change, Congress changes hands, but Coco's chocolate cream pie remains on the menu, just as it remains my all-time favorite restaurant dessert.
Chocolate cream pie (CCP) is simple, like disarming Hezbollah is complicated. All it takes is a graham-cracker crust, chocolate pudding filler and whipped cream on top and, bam!—you've disarmed Hezbollah. Wait, no, you just have a pie. But it's not just a pie; it's a sublime gestalt of flavors, textures and kilocalories: the buttery graham granules; the rich, dense pudding; the aerated wholesome cream. It doesn't just melt in your mouth, it deconstructs and reintegrates itself into something new, something better, something somehow made greater than the sum of its parts by the addition of nothing more than mastication and saliva. The flakes of chocolate meld with the roof of your mouth, slowly dissolving as a bolus of soft chocolate cream slides down your esophagus. It's not quite pudding and it's not quite pie; call it the bastard offspring of cheesecake and mousse. It even goes so far as to integrate itself into your organism, as most of the pie will eventually attach itself to your arterial walls. You can wax gastronomic all you want trying to nail down the exact characteristics of chocolate cream pie, but all you need to know is this: at $10.49, a Coco's CCP is a pretty cheap fix, and if they catch you eating one they won't make you go to meetings.
Coco's Bakery Restaurant is located in any city with a working-class population.
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