You Call that Death by Chocolate?

Before she was my wife, Sandra introduced me to Death by Chocolate. Not long after that, I introduced her to a much fuller meaning of those three words. But let’s start with her.

For our first date back in October of 1985 (it should have been our second, but she forgot our first & was three hours late), we went to Bannister Mall in Kansas City, Missouri to see “Agnes of God,” after which we walked across the parking lot to Bennigan’s for supper.

In the middle of our meal, our waitress asked us our names & then exclaimed, “Sandy & Randy! That’s so cute!” Once she was out of earshot, Sandra leaned over to me & said softly but sternly, “We can never be called ‘Sandy & Randy.’” She wasn’t really into cute at the time. But I digress.

Some time later she went back to Bennigan’s, this time with some friends. When she returned, she told me about this new dessert called, “Death by Chocolate.” A few days later we returned, officially for lunch, but really for the dessert. We just had to know what it was all about.

We finished our sandwiches (I loved their Monte Cristo), before attending to our actual purpose for being there. Our waitress brought out this large wedge of “rich chocolate ice cream, almonds, mini marshmallows, chocolate fudge sauce, & Twix(TM) cookie bars on a crumbled Oreo(TM) cookie crust & covered in a chocolate shell. Pour on a side of hot chocolate topping, it’s killer!” (Their description, not mine. Go to their site, you’ll find it there.)

Most places where we’ve eaten since then where “Death by Chocolate” is served apply the term to a thick wedge of rich, moist chocolate cake with chocolate mouse between its layers, dark chocolate frosting, & chocolate sauce drizzled artistically over both it & the plate, sometimes with a scoop of ice cream alongside. Those are good, but they’re not “Death by Chocolate.” Through most of my adult years I could easily handle one of those after a hearty meal by myself.

But this was good! I tip my hat to Bennigan’s for putting forth the best effort with the confection I’ve encountered at any restaurant. I could still handle it on my own (& occasionally did), but it hurt. Still, it was not truly “Death by Chocolate.” I had known that experience from childhood on. But for Sandra, it would have to wait until Christmas.

Sandra & I had only met at the beginning of the school year. By mid-September I began casually announcing to others that we were going to get married (“others” being two of her male classmates who were clearly smitten with her; I so enjoyed torturing them). In October she told me I had to stop doing it because it just wasn’t nice. So, I asked her out instead—the date which she subsequently forgot & for which she was three hours late. By Thanksgiving I was meeting her family (where her mother told her she needed to break up with me before I got hurt because I was clearly head over heels for her & she knew I wasn’t Sandra’s type). On the drive back to school I suggested we get married. She said, “Okay,” & we decided on a small ceremony the following Thanksgiving.

Christmas, when Sandra came to meet my family, is where things got interesting. Her bus got into town while we were enjoying my younger brother’s (Dan’s) post-wedding feast at Bonanza, one of my family’s favorite eateries. I picked her up on that frozen South Dakota night & brought her in to meet my mom & dad, four of my five brothers (Steve, Terry, Dan & Rod; the oldest, Rick, had already left with his family to make the three-hour journey home), & two sisters (Kristi & Heidi), along with the families of both Steve & Terry. After finishing with our meals & the celebration, Dan left with his new bride (Brenda) for their honeymoon. Most of the rest of us headed home with mom & dad where we would be spending the rest of the holidays. (Steve & his family lived in town so they just went home.)

We rang in the New Year at Steve & Lugene’s, along with their two daughters, Laura & Erika. It was after midnight when we got back to mom & dad’s house & mom was clearly not ready for the night to be over. She loaded up the kitchen table with two-liter bottles of pop, chips, & every kind of dessert still left over from the holidays. Dad may have gone to bed (I don’t remember for sure), but the rest of us gathered around the table to continue the feast, the party & the conversations.

Shortly after all of us were situated, Rod turned to Sandra & me & asked, “So how long have the two of you been married?” We told him we weren’t & asked what made him think we were. He wouldn’t say but continued grilling us for the next two hours as the rest of the family piled on with vicious glee. Finally, he confessed that it was because Sandra & I had been watching a movie together on the couch & I fell asleep. He said, “You wouldn’t have done that unless you were already married.” Oh-kay?

The party finally broke up & I escorted Sandra to the bottom of the stairs leading to her room. I turned to her & asked, “If they’re going to do this, why don’t we just go ahead & do it?”

So, we semi-eloped (we told both sets of parents the night before), on January 24, 1986, getting married in Truman’s courtroom in Independence, Missouri.

What does all of this have to do with Sandra’s first encounter with what truly is the one & only actual “Death by Chocolate”? Nothing really, other than it happened over this particular set of holidays. You see, it’s one of mom’s favorite recipes, one which I often chose for my birthday, but which we always had at Christmas. French silk pie.

Now admittedly, true connoisseurs would look at her recipe & complain, “That’s not authentic French silk!” They would probably be right. But then, I wouldn’t call authentic French silk pie a true “Death by Chocolate” experience. Mom’s was.

The recipe is so simple, even I can’t seem to mess it up. (Though I did tell her once that I’d found a way to make it better. I’ll never do that again!) It’s just a twelve-ounce bag of real chocolate chips melted together with a quarter cup milk, a quarter cup sugar & a pinch of salt in a double boiler (I always just use the microwave). Let that cool slightly, then whisk in four egg yolks one at a time. After that’s well incorporated, stir in one teaspoon of vanilla. In a separate bowl beat the four leftover egg whites until stiff (the egg whites, not you). Fold the chocolate mixture into the egg whites until they are blended thoroughly, then pour into pie shells (already baked, of course—unless you’re like Sandra & me & prefer graham cracker crusts), let set for two to three hours (at least one hour in the refrigerator), & voila! You have a true “Death by Chocolate” experience just waiting for you.

“Really?” you ask.

“Really,” I reply.

To demonstrate the efficacy of my assertion here (& my complete confidence in making it), let me offer the following case in point. My freshman year of high school I invited my debate partner, Brad Johnson, to our house for my birthday. I got to choose the dessert mom would make (or buy). For me it was always a choice between mint bon-bon ice cream or French silk pie. This year it was French silk. Now Brad was a big guy, several inches taller than me & probably twice my size around (not fat, more like stocky). We warned him not to fill up too much on what would certainly be a tasty meal because he’d want to save room for the pie. He leaned back in his chair, patted his belly with a laugh, & asked, “Do I look like I won’t have room for pie?”

The pies were cut in eight pieces. He made it through half of his before he had to shake his head & apologize to mom saying that it was really good, but he was just too full.

Don’t say we didn’t warn you.

Sandra & I, through decades of intense & focused research on the subject, have discovered that the pies may be cut into either six or eight pieces & you can get away with eating a single piece for dessert—if, unlike Brad, you’re not already too full. And you might even get away with it twice in one day. But if you try to eat two pieces at one time (either a quarter or a third of a pie), you’re going to feel like you have a hangover before you go to bed. We’re talking blinding migraines. We’re talking do not try to drive, operate heavy machinery, or use dangerous equipment under such conditions. Seriously, the recipe should come with a warning label.

Still don’t believe me?

Try this. You know all those pie eating contests that are so popular at every county & state fair? Make it a French silk pie eating contest using this recipe. Just know that, if you try preparing the same number of pies as you would either apple or cherry, you’re going to have a lot of pie left over.

Not feeling that ambitious? Just make one or two pies for yourself & your family. (Make sure no one has a heart condition.) Then try eating two pieces. Beware, if you go for a third, make sure you have your doctor on speed dial & the county coroner &/or funeral director standing by.

But, whatever you do, don’t say that we didn’t warn you.