Sigh…the problem with bringing your favourite type of chocolate all the way from Sri Lanka to this household is it never lasts long enough, especially when from the mater to the schizo schizu (pictured in all his innocence below) are all chocoholics. Admittedly this maybe a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, amongst my many addictions from Old Reserve, Gold Leaf and pretty Sri Lankan girls, superblende ranks pretty damn high, even higher than the gastronomic orgasm that is La Maison du Chocolat.
 

But this is the last of the wonderful chocolate milkiness of the superblende, at least this time I had most of my stash to myself. Last time I brought the stuff back I foolishly left my suitcase unzipped and the damn Schizu mauled around 78% of my supplies. I watched him avidly for a few hours in the sadistic hope that he would keel over from sugar shock or whatever it is that causes canines to decease from the consumption of chocolate, but to no avail. He is truly part of the family, a mutant mutt that can eat his own weight in chocolate and suffer no ill-effects. He can also, somewhat like me, both hear the opening of a chocolate wrapper from half a mile away and smell it, with a following wind, from about two or three miles. 

The chocolate is going to be sorely missed; I still remember how the twenty slabs that Chinky Pinky brought me in the summer of 2004 to London helped me keep my fortitude in writing up my M.Sc. thesis. I subsisted then on a daily diet of a prawn sandwich, two slabs of superblende and around 11 pints of beer. Needless to say after that summer I was hardly a picture of glowing health, but it was still entertaining at the time, despite suffering alternatively from sugar shock, alcoholic highs, nasty hangovers and headaches from staring at a computer screen all day.

Sigh….no more superblende…guess its time to hit the gym…