Deep in Chocolate Cups

Last month, I wrote about a party that my roommate Pat and I threw 20 years ago. At the party, at her insistence, we served alcohol in stale chocolate liqueur cups that tasted like burnt rubber which we later found hidden in plants by friends who were too polite to throw them away.
Astor Chocolate took up the gauntlet challenging me to try their chocolate liqueur cups to prove that the cups are tasty. They sent me a box of 60 cups, each in their own gold foil like miniature muffins.
My husband, who refused to try one of the cups because 20 years later that burnt rubber taste remains imbedded on his tongue, took an artsy photo of the box.
We lifted the lid from the box and inhaled the rich chocolate scent. Not a hint of rubber from these cups.
Then, after a Girls Night Out dinner, where we were all slightly tipsy from the bartender's free drinks and an after-dinner liqueur, we returned to my house to try the chocolate cups.
I can honestly say that it didn't matter we'd been drinking before we tried the cups. At that party 20 years before, plenty of people had been drinking but still abandoned the cups.
My thoughts on filling the cups ranged toward sweet liqueur.
Baileys, Kahlua. We had some mint Baileys so I climbed on a chair and pulled that from the cabinet over the refrigerator. I also got down a bottle of Drambuie that came from Earl's parents' liquor stash, and a bottle of limoncella that Earl's sister brought from Italy.
We all tried the cups, some with the Baileys, others just as an after-dinner chocolate. The verdict -- good, dark chocolate. Linda, a chemist by profession, studied the ingredients on the side of the box, and proclaimed it quality chocolate.
Janine merely broke off the pieces of the chocolate cup and ate it, although this picture indicates she may have sampled the Baileys in a cup before switching to straight chocolate.
Sheila tried the Drambuie in the cup and warned the rest of us to stay away from it. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol in general or the alcohol mixed with the chocolate that didn't go together.
I tried the limoncella in the chocolate cup, and again, not a good match. When I started thinking about it, I couldn't picture lemon and chocolate together. Not like chocolate and raspberry or strawberry.
Laura, who was celebrating her birthday, took the gold foil cup and folded it into a table shape. In addition to quality chocolate, the foil was quality too, she declared.

So, the opinion of the five of us about chocolate liqueur cups has been swayed. I let the boys each eat a chocolate cup, no liquor involved. They asked for seconds. I put away the remainder for when Grace comes home and makes chocolate mousse that we can dole into the tiny cups and serve at Thanksgiving.
Thanks Astor Chocolate for the taste treat.
Earl still hasn't tried one. He can't get over that traumatic first experience in a party in Largo, Florida 20 years ago.

Spray Cheese? Anyone?

My running friends are egging me on to continue rembrances from my past life. I want to tell the story of the Argentian sailor I met at the Louvre, but first I need to get some photos scanned into the computer. Instead, I'm going to tell a story about my halcyon days as a young reporter when I shared an apartment with my friend Pat, who masquerades as Suburban Kamikaze now.
Pat grew up in a Greek area of Florida, so her idea of hosting a party leaned in a different direction from my own Midwestern roots. I thought people should be fed, offered drinks and made to feel comfortable. She thought the guests should feel envy and admiration when they arrived.
This is what led to an interesting trip to the grocery store where we argued whether we should buy the spray cheese. I knew for a fact that spray cheese is always a hit at parties. She argued that it was too Midwestern and akin to our parents' cheese balls. I prevailed on the spray cheese, but she made a stand herself as we wandered through the alcohol store. She found a thin white box wrapped in cellophane that held small chocolate liqueur cups.
"These would be perfect," she murmured. I could see in her mind that she pictured the crowd of reporters sipping Bailey's Irish Cream from their chocolate liqueur cups before nibbling on the liquor-infused cups.

Here's a photo of five of us who were in attendance at the party and had a little reunion two years ago in Chicago. I'm sitting between Pat's husband Dave and our friend Steve. Pat is wrestling with my husband. Not a liqueur cup in sight.

Now, I know it wasn't a competition as to who performed better as host, but history can attest that the crowd preferred the spray cheese to the chocolate liqueur cups.
How can I be sure?
I stood by and watched the reporters grasp a shot glass filled with tequila spread a string of cheese along the area between their thumb and forefinger. They downed the tequila and licked the cheese into their mouths as a chaser. The spray cheese ran out before the tequila did.
As for the chocolate liqueur cups, unfortunately, they hadn't been big sellers in the liquor store. This cellophane-wrapped box of edible liqueur cups must have been on the shelf for quite awhile because they tasted like rubber. Our guests agreed.
How can I be sure?
We found the cups hidden in our plants afterward by guests too polite to throw them away in front of hostess Pat. Instead they stashed them in the ficus pot and the green corn plant. As we cleaned up the next day, the number of cups seemed to flourish. Could it be possible that we found more cups than were actually in the package?
The party was further Midwesternized by a friend who threw glitter as he greeted people and later gathered friends around to tell the story of the Yule Log. But, that's a story for another time when I need to perturb Pat.