The allure of Easter chocolate

My inner filing system automatically categorises my thoughts and actions into either ‘probably Buddhist’ or ‘not-so Buddhist’, for reasons I'm not entirely sure of. For instance, washing up my flatmate’s bowl would be ‘probably Buddhist’, listening to her utterly perplexing daily habit of nose-blowing-into-the-bathroom-sink while fantasising about what level I could sink to to drive her to move out: ‘not-so Buddhist'.

This post is so ‘not-so Buddhist’ that I can almost see the little Buddha on my desk shaking his tiny head at me. But even the Dalai Lama has admitted to having the odd sneaky afternoon biscuit and this is my very tenuous justification.

Today I want to write about something that consumes me every year from February to April. Or, should I say, I consume it. I consume it with such voraciousness, and in quantities large enough, to make any dentist question his purpose on earth.

Easter chocolate. There is something about Easter chocolate that completely hypnotises me. Is it the bright colours, perhaps the promise of Spring, or just its impossible-to-ignore omnipresence that leaves me with no other choice? The more I question it the more I realise it’s simply my own gluttony.

Last weekend I was diving into a Crème egg when I had a profound thought. The crème-to-chocolate ratio tasted like the only thing on earth that could be accurately defined as ‘perfect’.

In that moment I felt so alive with ineffable pleasure that I couldn’t accept the fact that anyone could derive the same level of happiness from a Crème Egg that I was. It wasn't humanly possible. But the geniuses behind this godly ratio must have tasted the same thing I was tasting. Their eyes must have almost welled up a little, and they, too, must have seen a darkness descend as the last mouthful regretfully dropped down their throats.

I lost all theory of mind and felt like the only person in the world who could love a Crème Egg that much. Such levels of joy feel too intense to fathom any other sentient being feeling the same. Insanity by chocolate, in other words. This is when I realised that understanding the effects of Easter chocolate is just one of those things we have to accept as being beyond our level of intelligence. 

But it’s not just Crème Eggs. It’s Mini Eggs, and Malteaster Bunnies, and all the different but equally inviting sizes and shapes they come in. Chocolate is just better at this time of year. I’ve tried to tell myself it must be something about the rebirth of Christ (or whatever it was that happened around Easter time) and I’m just more spiritual than I realise. But if I’m nose-deep in a bag of Mini Eggs I wouldn’t even be able to recognise the word ‘God’.

Humans' love of chocolate takes us back to basics. Forget everything we've learnt in our lives and how far we've progressed since childhood. Easter chocolate calls out to our primitive instincts, and I respond on the simplest level - I get it and eat it. It serves as a humble reminder of our short journey from monkeys. Except I'm almost certain I can open a Crème Egg faster than they open a banana.