Chocolate with a hint of Stumptown

My in-laws are in town. It's 142° outside. We barely have air conditioning. It's hot. Did I say it's hot? Okay, well it's hot, and instead of going to the beach to cool off like normal people we decided to spend our afternoon in a hot, noisy kitchen watching chocolate being tempered. It was worth it. Let me back up a few steps.

As a belated mother's day/father's day gift Bryan got his parents tickets a tour of a chocolate factory. But not just any chocolate factory, the Mast Brothers chocolate factory in Williamsburg. We pulled up a block away and despite the searing heat and absolute lack of a breeze you could smell the roasting cocoa nibs as if covering your face in a fluffy down quilt of warm chocolate.

We filled the adorably rustic space and began our tour, learning all sorts of things about chocolate being a fruit (who knew?), where it comes from, how to roast it, how to temper it, blah blah blah. Not that it wasn't interesting, but I'm sorry when you're as much of a chocoholic as I am the contact high of that smell was more than a bit distracting. Forget about when we went into the cooking room and I had a face to face meeting with a giant pot of melted chocolate spinning around and around and around... for a moment my eyes turned to pinwheels and I felt like Augustus Gloop, imagining a happy death by chocolate suffocation.

STUMPTOWN chocolate??? will you marry me?

 Wait, I'm already married. Perhaps Bryan will consider an open relationship?