The Chocolate Bowl

When you look at a map of Europe, you will see a land at the bottom shaped like a boot. This is the country of Italy, and the upper part of the “boot” is called the Piedmont region. The beautiful land of the Piedmont region is surrounded by mountains and is full of hazelnut trees. At the foot of the mountains is a very special city called Turin. Why is it special? Because it is known for its wonderful chocolate. Turin is where our story begins.

Some time ago, two famous chocolatiers lived in Turin. They constantly competed with each other by coming up with the most delicious melt-in-your-mouth chocolate, shaped in balls, squares, hearts, flowers, and flat rounds. Everything was made from the best quality cocoa.

One of the chocolatiers had a son by the name of Paolo. Paolo was a quiet boy—or at least it seemed that way. As soon as he could walk and was able to hold a wooden spoon, young Paolo was in the shop, mixing the chocolate. A small stool always stood by the table, ready to help the boy reach the counter. He even got his own special mixing bowl, painted in the deep brown color of chocolate. His father had bought it for him once he'd seen the boy’s eagerness to help and learn. He also put the boy’s initials on the bottom of the bowl, on the outside.

The bowl was such a perfect match that sometimes it was hard to tell which was the chocolate and which was the bowl. But that was not a problem for the boy. He used his finger to taste the difference.

“Paolo,” the father scolded. “Are you helping or eating?”

“Just checking, Papa,” the boy said with a smile. 

Paolo was fascinated with the chocolate swirl left behind by the mixing spoon. Holding it in both his hands, he went around and around.

“Enough, Paolo,” the father said. “It’s time to pour it into the forms.”

“Of course, Papa,” Paolo replied, grinning broadly. “I just wanted to make sure it was well mixed.”

Well, the boy might have been shy, but he had some mischief up his sleeve.

Sometimes, when Paolo's father’s back was turned or he was busy with customers, Paolo used his finger to make the swirl.

“Mamma mia, Paolo. You’ll eat all the chocolate,” his father groaned. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if the boy was a help or a nuisance, like bees that make the honey, but sting when you get in the way.

In his free time, Paolo enjoyed wandering through the woods, picking hazelnuts. He had mixed them in with the chocolate once or twice, but no more than that. His father didn’t like it.

“The chocolate loses its smooth texture,” the father said.

Among those calm hazelnut trees, Paolo found a spot where the sun's rays traveled through the leaves and fell on his face. He sat with his back against the trunk, his legs stretched out, and his hands like a pillow behind his head. He fantasized about dipping the hazelnuts into the chocolate and building a likeness of Pinocchio, a five-leaf clover, or perhaps a unicorn.

Paolo could daydream for hours. Usually the only thing that could wake him from his dreams was the chill at the end of the day. One evening, the cold became unbearable. Paolo put his hands in his pockets and hopped to keep warm, moving with big steps. As he came out of the woods, he saw Cara, the daughter of Turin's other famous chocolatier.

Cara giggled, seeing Paolo moving with his clumsy steps. “Ciao, Paolo. Are you …” Her voice trailed off as Paolo’s big eyes grew to the size of chestnuts. He looked surprised that she had even tried to start a conversation. Then he gave her a big smile, and she found the courage to finish the sentence. “Are you getting ready for the festival?”

“Of course,” Paolo said immediately, but his happy smile soon melted into a sad face. The area was suffering with a shortage of cocoa, and without cocoa they could not make their chocolate.

“Don’t worry, Paolo,” Cara said, guessing at the change of his mood. “You will come up with something as always.” All the kids knew that Paolo’s great imagination resulted in the most fun-looking chocolates.

The girl didn’t mention anything about her family moving to Perugia, another city known for its chocolate. Perugia was located in the middle of the “boot,” and Cara’s uncle was also a chocolatier. In Perugia he didn’t have much competition. He invited the girl’s family to join his

business so they wouldn't have to compete with the other chocolatier in Turin. Besides, everyone knew that this year there was not enough cocoa in Turin. Cara's family decided they would move to Perugia after this year's festival, since the festival was approaching very soon and this was something that everybody was looking forward to the whole year.

It was a week before the festival, all chocolatiers anonymously decided to put their minds together. “Each of us has to come up with an idea of how to stretch the little cocoa we have left,” said the tallest guy usually with the dullest ideas.

The next day, early in the morning, Paolo tossed and turned. He was too excited to sleep.  “Father!” he yelled running to his parent’s bedroom. While pushing the door to open, he almost knocked out a hole in the wall as the door slammed into it. “Hazelnuts! We can add hazelnuts and a little bit of cocoa we have left.” His hands moved in all directions, he just couldn’t contain his excitement.  

The father sighed. Not having an idea himself, he agreed to suggest it at the meeting.

All the chocolatiers approved of the idea as nobody had a better one.

“What if the chocolate will lose its smoothness?” whispered one of the concerned chocolatiers.

“We will crush the nuts well,” mumbled another.

At last, the boy’s dream was coming true.

It was the day. The big day had approached. The noises of the clicking spoons and bowls spread throughout the city. The smell of sweet chocolate travelled to the narrowest of the narrow streets waking the townsfolk for festivity. The cocoa, sugar and crushed hazelnuts were skillfully blended, creating the rich soft texture.

The chocolate sculptures were carved; one more elaborate than the other.

A fountain of chocolate flowed from a tiny vessel into a bigger one beneath and even bigger one at the bottom. One lady in a pretty blue dress with white long gloves on her hands dipped a red, sweet strawberry into the chocolate and sighed, “Mmmmmmmm.”

Tables bended under huge chocks of solid chocolate. Some were shaped into a carriage, like the one from which a gentleman just stepped out, “Give a way, please.” He walked with his head high and eyes in the sky that he almost missed a step and tripped.

Every chocolatier had a stand displaying small samples of their unique creations. One stand offered geometrical shapes such as oblong vessel, triangular pyramid, or round ball. Another offered something from the nature such as butterfly, leaf, or even a bird. Whatever prompted their imagination. 

After all was done, the spoons and bowls were cleaned and collected by each chocolatier.

There was so much joy and talk still after the festivity that the word spread out beyond the borders of the city.

As it was decided before the festival, Cara’s family left Turin. One family left to start a new life somewhere else. Paolo stayed on in Turin.

In the morning, the boy beamed with pride and got ready to mix and form some more goodies. He pulled the mixing bowl and a wooden spoon, but something wasn’t right. “That’s not my bowl.”

The boy dropped a tear or two, sniffed his nose once or twice. There was no choice, but to use a big bowl from now on.  

Some time passed, the boy took over the shop.

Now, the window display showed more and more intricate shapes. Chocolate flowers with bulky petals as they were filled with full hazelnuts took the central spot. Smooth and coarse balls as the second were covered in crushed nuts surrounded the chocolate flower.

People always flocked to try something new or just to admire a new shape displayed in the window. The awe of admiration was never ending.

One day, Paolo saw a familiar face in the window. The girl had dark hair split into two braids. With her pointy nose and perky eyes, she looked quite familiar. “Father, father, come here,” he recognized Cara.

The girl walked into the store and hesitantly said, “Ciao Paolo.” She wasn’t sure if the boy recognized her.

“Ciao, how is Perugia?” Paolo asked.

“All is well and the word reached us of a famous Paolo from Turin,” the girl smirked. “I thought you might need this,” she handed him his small chocolate bowl. “My father realized he had taken the wrong bowl when we reached Perugia, and held on to it in hopes of returning it one day,” the girl explained.

The girl stayed in Turin and married Paolo.

Even today, Paolo can be seen catching his son swirling chocolate with his little finger in the small bowl he passed on to his son.