Chocolatier Than Thou

Chocolate Gift-giving in Europe Can Backfire

By Bard Andreas Schjolberg

You tread carefully when giving chocolate to someone in Europe. Chocolate signals class and rank: your social standing, where you belong, and not least, your nationality. The kind of chocolate you give, is a dead giveaway  to who you are.

In the league of countries that are Chocolatier Than Thou, my own country, Norway, finds itself at the bottom of the pariah list. According to other Europeans, Norwegian chocolate contains too little cocoa, isn’t dark enough (a rare moment when “dark” is a plus in lily white societies), and isn’t bitter enough. The chocolate from up north has too much milk to it, too much sugar to it, and the wrapping is oh-so-country plain.

This son of the Land of St. Olav once entertained the idea of giving Norwegian chocolate as a gift to a Belgian family he knew. And did something about it. For what better gift could there be than a big bar of Freia Melkesjokolade, the kind of milk chocolate Norwegians swear by as a snack when they seek out the last snow for skiing in Easter, or better Lent, when there are only three or four months left before snow will fall again.

Freia Melkesjokolade introduced a snappy slogan back in old times: “For the gayness and wellness of your mental state.” This state of happiness seemed completely lost on my Belgian friends. How dare I give them something so dreadful, they wondered. Their sensitivities were completely offended. Who did I think they were? Well, after seeing their reaction, I’m glad I didn’t offer my opinion. The children—yes, the children—had wept in anguish at the quality of the chocolate! It was then I realized that the war of chocolate was something I’ve been accustomed to since early childhood.

Every Christmas as far back as I can remember, and I am no Spring Chicken, our dear aunt in Sweden would send us chocolate filled with cherry booze. The box or gift would always arrive totally banged up and leaking, and my mother banished it to the basement. On my coffee table here in Paris sits the book The Naturally Scented Home by Julia Bird. In my childhood home we were ahead of the times; every Christmas, our basement naturally reeked of booze and cherries. My mother would complain, “Why do the Swedes have to over-sweeten everything, even the chocolate?”

Chocolate filled with alcohol is a fine European tradition. And the kind of alcohol along with how, dark, bitter, etc., the chocolate is, determines your class, your nationality and here we go again. Well, as New York City was home for much of my adult life, it came naturally that booze-filled chocolate would be a splendid gift for an industrious New York friend of mine who happens to be a compulsive snacker and a chocoholic, too. His staff found him face down in the chocolate box, completely under the influence. The gift will never be repeated.

Here in Paris, chocolate can take you on a social journey and open doors. Thus, I found myself the center of attention at a French Christmas party, when the elderly ladies of the family discovered that not only had I brought chocolate from Regis, but more importantly, chocolate from the Regis store on rue de Passy in the Sixteenth Arrondissement. So now, a bite from Regis will be my class ticket. My French work permit and residency card mean less, even though they say that I live just a block from rue de Passy.

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