The Decadent Great Debate

The Decadent Great Debate

          In the shop windows I stroll by, I see that I'm enveloped with a healthy glow the warm spring day has graciously wrapped around me. The sheen of sweat combined with my grumbling stomach inspires a visit to the plaza gelato store. The door sings "bing-bong" as I step into La Scala Creamery. There's a swing to my ponytail and pep in my stride as my dollar-store flip flops squawk across the tiled floor. I bound up to the counter and squint into the glass. Beautiful, deep colors glitter. Mango's color emulates itself: profound yellow-orange, juicy and tropical. I think it's one of the most garrulous flavors; all zing. Next to Mango, Raspberry's luscious red looks refined and mature. It's a flavor of double nature. Fruity and slightly exotic like the Mango, but more tame; it's the uppish older sister with a secret, whimsical side. In the carton below Raspberry, the chunky texture of the Cookies and Cream flavor coaxes me. Much like a Dalmation puppy playfully inspiring images of fire hydrants and red trucks, Cookies and Cream rouses youthful memories of snack time after school.

         Finally, my gaze rests on the most incredible gem in the treasure trove: Vanilla! Peppered with sprinkles of vanilla bean, it is by far the most exquisite of all. Heavenly, chewy sugar cookies; rich, moist cakes; and velvety pudding surge into mind. My palette tingles.

         To my dismay, Vanilla is placed right next to chocolate. My mouth twists into a "hmph". At least the Vanilla carton looks slightly more empty than chocolate. With unnecessary snobbish pride, I ask the scooper, "A good serving of Vanilla, please".

         Vanilla trumps chocolate in the decadent great debate. Being a Vanilla devotee is much like being a fan of IKEA. IKEA is world-renowned for its elegant, simple furniture. Each piece is carefully designed by ergonomic masters. One can purchase a piece of furniture, like the KARLSTAD couch, on its own, or buy an entire collection that will synthesize attractively into a room. Vanilla, in the same sense, is elegant and simple. Paradoxically it is also rich. Carefully crafted vanilla pastries are sumptuous and distinctive. Yet paired with other flavors, vanilla offers balance: either lightening its complement or embellishing it. Like IKEA'S LACK coffee table, the vanilla flavor stands splendidly on its own, but complements many other pieces as well.

         Chocolate, on the other hand, is much like the archaic leather furniture sold by those nearly empty shops with their eternal sales. Though there might be some gems, exceptional "chocolate" decor is hard to come by. Even when found, the piece is more than likely over-priced. Of course, there are people that prefer the heavy, thick look of this traditional furniture. There is nothing wrong with that. But in comparison to IKEA, a fresh, vivid store teeming with people every day, that antique shop lags behind. Chocolate is a "sitting flavor" with little flexibility. The aged brown-leather couch looks more appropriate with other dark-colored, usually melancholy furniture. Chocolate, in similar fashion, is too overbearing to accompany other flavors; it just throws off the balance.

         Among my friends, I've been christened "The Cake Boss". Every birthday for two years, I was determined to gift each friend a birthday cake. Practice didn't make perfect, but by consensus of my peers, it was "pretty damn close". I always stuck with a vanilla based cake because it was the most versatile to customize. I always crafted my cakes from scratch and understood the basic chemistry. Adding egg whites to the mixture made the crumb more fluffy, while adding yolks created density. I could also add buttermilk (or milk mixed with white vinegar) to the batter for a more tender and sour crumb.

         I always worked off one recipe, but tempered with ingredient ratios: add a little this, more that, and less of those. Whenever I ventured into creating different flavored cakes (strawberry or chocolate), I found that every recipe would require the essence of vanilla. Vanilla extract is a vital ingredient to any cake, regardless of flavor. It contributes depth and warmth, much like salt brings out the natural flavor of savory foods.

         Chocolate cakes are finicky. Cocoa powder is slightly acidic, so it requires other ingredients to balance it. Merely adding nearly a cup of cocoa to the batter will turn the cake bitter. The cocoa competes with butter, sugar, flour, and eggs to be noticed on the palette. However, adding vanilla not only boosts the delicacy of the chocolate flavor, but also gently encourages the other elements to harmonize.

         Chocolate fanatics may argue that chocolate is dark and divine, more provocative than vanilla. However, the price of such "provocation" is that it doesn't mingle well with anything else. Chocolate advocates may also say that cacao beans consist of anti-oxidants and caffeine. But again, with a price-- a fatty price at that. Vanilla beans consists of zero fat. In addition, vanilla has less than half the amount of calories cacao may contain.

         I adore the versatility of vanilla. It's a simple and unadorned aroma, yet inviting and sincere. I would love nothing more than to whisk open the front door on a brisk winter night and be hugged by the swirling scent of vanilla. I would eagerly tromp inside, shedding my belongings in a breadcrumb-like fashion from the door to my kitchen. I would roll up the sleeves of my oversized cashmere sweater and prepare myself a hot beverage. I can see myself pouring it into my favorite blue thermos, then in my fuzzy socks, "ice-skating" into the living room. I would sink into my cream-white KARLSTAD, cross my ankles up on the LACK, and swathe myself in a fleecy HERMINE throw. From my thermos, I'd take a careful sip of my beverage: luxuriant hot chocolate brewed with several droplets of vanilla. Chocolate overwhelms all other flavors, save one: vanilla.