Carob

A slice of cake, please!

Honey, can you say that again.

A slice of cake, please!

What kind, honey?

Chocolate, a slice of chocolate cake please.

Honey, do you mean death by chocolate?

Is that the only chocolate cake you have?

Umm, let me check, honey. We might have something else in the back.

Looking around, Harold, wiped his dark chocolate brown curls out of his face. His brown eyes shined a hazelnut colour under the diner lights.

The woman, her hands in her brown and white checkered apron pockets returned back shaking her head.

Honey, we only have death by chocolate. Its our most popular flavour. How about a slice?

Harold shook his head. He needed a lighter version of chocolate, not the dense intensity of death by chocolate.

That's okay, I'll go elsewhere.

Honey, I don't want to lose your ti... I mean business. Can you wait five minutes. I'll ask Harold to check our other store. Why don't you order a coffee, or a tea?

Harold took his Earl Grey latte, and found a small round table with two-seats by the wall. It was a dirty brown wall that smelled of chocolate. Light camel brown coloured ceiling fans rotated the chocolate smelling air above.

Other patrons milled in and out of the Cafe. All smiled as they left through the front double doors. He kept hearing their orders, over and over again, they all asked for a slice of cake, 'Death by Chocolate.'

As Harold sipped his tea, his curiosity started to get the better of him. What was up with this flavour? why was it so popular?

He pulled out his smartphone, and started googling the Death by Chocolate Cafe.

The bio on the website stated the Cafe opened in 1949, post WII survivors from Europe brought over their trade secrets. Chocolatiers from the German-Swiss Alps whose homes and business were burned by soldiers, as they were taken as prisoners of war to make chocolate for the officers. When the war ended, the allies rescued them, the husband and wife chocolatier team, but they had nothing to go back too. Family members had vanished. They were offered free passage to the Americas, and happened to land in the New York City Port, United Stands of America. Home of the Statute of Liberty. Albert had brought his secret recipe, some bars of carbo. Natalie kept the recipes in a cookie tin, and some of the powders. The couple shared housing with other immigrants. It was a new start. Harold began working in a bakery, his chocolate which he sold on the side to customers was so popular that he eventually bought out the store from the old baker. The baker's his son not wanting to take over the family business.

So Harold sat in the same shop, now owned and run by second and third generation of chocolatiers. The chocolate smell wafting through the air, and into his clothes.

A pretty girl with brownish-blonde hair grabbed the other chair opposite Harold, plopping herself down. hope you don't mind. She said, casually tossing the long wispy bangs out of her deep brown eyes.

Harold shook his head. So you waiting for your slice of cake too? She asked Harold.

Not sure Harold said. She's checking another store. The girl nodded.

I'm addicted. My guess you are too, sitting here waiting.

Harold shook his head.

I just happened to be here and wanted a slice of cake. What is this place? Why is it so popular?

The line up outside the tiny shop seemed to grow outside the door. She looked at him.

For real! You mean you've never come here before?

Harold shook his head. His brown curls fell back over his eyes.

Just happen to be walking around the neighbourhood, as I moved here recently. I was hungry.

Death by Chocolate for Joyce! Death by Chocolate for Joyce!

The woman who had called Harold, Honey was yelling out the order.

The female opposite Harold, got up. Before she walked to the counter, she turned around, and said.

Save my seat, I'll be right back.

In 5 minutes, she returned back to the table with a massive piece of Death by Chocolate cake. It was the size of a 9" by 9" square. She placed it right in the middle of the small round table and pulled out two napkins, and two forks. She handed one over to Harold,

For you my new friend. Cheers to Death by Chocolate.

He took the fork and dug it into the cake, taking a huge dark chocolate chunk onto his fork. As he took a bite, Harold smiled.

He had gone to Death by Chocolate heaven.