It was my wife who introduced me to Dubai Chocolate:

“It’s got pistachio in it.  I wonder what it tastes like?”

It wasn’t an entirely subjective question.  The subtext was: “Yes, I know it’s ridiculously expensive, but I want it.  I WANT it.”

I managed to delay acting on this matrimonial pressure until Christmas; decided it would make a good present.

Christmas morning got the response I had hoped for:

“Oh, what a lovely surprise, a bar of Dubai Chocolate.”

But did my wife’s pleasure justify the price tag?

Give it its due: it was a thick bar of chocolate; practically old-skool Mars Bar dimensions.  Except…. Peel off the outer wrapping, and it suddenly got a lot smaller.  It was like lusting after Liz Fraser only to find Barbara Windsor concealed beneath her bodice.  That notwithstanding, I was still prepared to be magnanimous; what really mattered was how did the Dubai Chocolate taste.  Would it be so exquisite that it justified both the price tag and the now-revealed disappointingly Mars Bar 2026-vintage dimensions?

I take a bite and am immediately reminded of something.  What is it?  Something nice or something nasty?  It takes me a few seconds for my tastebuds to link up with my memory.  But then I remember the taste.  Pink wafer biscuits.  Did they ever actually have a brand name?  (McVities now market them as Tasties (Ed.)).  I remember them from large tins of mixed biscuits from the 1970s––Family Circle and Rover Assorted.  Amidst an already fairly bland selection, the pink wafer was always my least favourite biscuit.  It was like eating raffia.

Now, I know some people like the pink wafer biscuit; I am perfectly willing to concede that it takes all types to make a world but, I for one, am not a fan.  And it was not a memory that I expected to be revisited by eating Dubai Chocolate.  On this final, vital criteria––taste––I find it wanting.

And, do you know what?

Even my wife wasn’t too keen.

© Simon Turner-Tree

Simon Turner-Tree: the poor man’s Jay Rayner.