LauraHouseDotCom: Eulogy for Chantico

It was February 2006, when I declared war on Starbucks. Why? Chantico. They dreamed it, concocted it, poured it, then yanked it away. Not even to let us enjoy it seasonally like McDonald’s does with the McRib or the Shamrock Shake. It’s gone. It’s gone, never to return.

On October 14, 2004, life as we know if was forever altered. At least for we lucky few who knew Starbucks had given birth to a masterpiece, Chantico. It’s drinking Chocolate, boasted the ad. “It’s like chocolate went to Chocolate University and graduated with a degree in chocolate.” In February 2006, Starbucks, without any consideration for those of us who might object, abruptly discontinued this drinkable dessert. No announcement, no apology, not even an observed period of mourning. So I took it upon myself to offer to the world my own…eulogy for Chantico.

On the date of our first encounter, it was a normal Starbucks evening. A couple talking, a loner, a few laptops, some discounted candy. I saw something new and exotic. “I’ll try ‘Chan-tick-oh?’” I ordered.

Barista Lisa warned me, “It’s really intense.” For years, I’ve seen people take a bite of cheesecake and exclaim, “That’s too sweet.” But I never understood the complaint.

I drank. Chantico is soft and warm, then it sneaks up on you. Oh, I’m innocent like hot chocolate…then, wham! It’s so chocolatey, it hurts. It’s painfully delicious.

At first, it’s like a candy bar. Melted, and juicy.   It’s like a warm liquid Hershey’s Kiss . . . making love to me in the moonlight. It’s like taking a bath in chocolate chips—after a long day in the fields harvesting cocoa beans. Then, boom! Bazam!

It’s like chocolate got a hold of my diary and is reading it aloud . . . to all my friends. It’s like a chocolate beating.   I’m being pummeled by 1,000 tiny chocolate fists. It’s like a chocolate nose bleed. Wait. No. It’s more like drinking the blood of a chocolate vampire, if they had blood, and I don’t think they do. Chocolate vampire? Yes! It’s like Count Chocula. Like making love to an angry Count Chocula. Kind of sweetly.

Barista Lisa asked me if I liked it. I had to be honest: I didn’t know.

I continued. And, you know what it’s like? It’s like running through a door of chocolate glass, and the chocolate shards are stabbing my eye. In a good way. No, it’s like a chocolate tsunami—and I’m being washed away. I’m being pummeled by chocolate coconuts, I grab onto a chocolate palm tree grasping my children, but I can’t save them both, and CHOCOLATE IS MAKING ME CHOOSE.

No, you know what it’s like? One of those solid chocolate Easter bunnies, come to life, and is making love with a nest of Cadbury’s eggs. And not the regular kind, the kind with chocolate filling. Gentle at first, then harder. Mixing the rhythm to keep it interesting. Really getting in there. And, and…and my allotted 6 ounces were depleted. My serving was gone and now it’s all gone.

And do you know why do we no longer have Chantico? We couldn’t handle the Chantico. People didn’t like that they couldn’t supersize it or half-caf it or pumpkinize it or render it sugar-free. People couldn’t handle the Chantico. People couldn’t get their dirty little fingerprint on perfection and they just couldn’t stand it.   And if that’s the way what people want it, I’m glad it’s gone. You can’t change Chantico. It’s drinking chocolate.

I’m grateful I got to know Chantico, to take a ride on the chocolate cloud. I’m a better person for it, and just a little fatter. You were too good for this world, Chantico. Too strong, too sweet, too proud, too perfect. We’ll miss you. I only hope you’re in a better place now. Thank you, Chantico, for gracing us with your chocolate presence, if only for a while. I hope we meet again, in Chocolate Heaven.

And you, Starbucks, don’t think you can make it up to me with your free wi-fi or your acoustic Sweethearts CD’s. Don’t look at me like that. It’s going to take a long time for me to work through this, to get over what you took from me. A long time. But, while I’m waiting, I will try a Chai Tea Frappuccino. It’s time to heal.