Chocolate purism

A bunch of friends who have had many opportunities to partake of the fruits of my baking frenzies, recently forwarded me a rash of recipes featuring Nutella. Taking the hint, I spent a happy afternoon re-creating Nutella cupcakes with Ferrero Rocher, Nutella cheesecake, and Nutella and hazelnut cookies. Obviously it was all blindingly delicious, and it inspired me to go chocolate shopping to find other kooky chocolate variations to bake with. A tough challenge, that, as by this time (8 years and counting of increasingly obsessive cake production) there isn't much out there that hasn't been tried. So I make my way to snobby, chi chi St Johns Wood, which harbours shops with weird and eclectic chocolate variations. Triumphantly I seize some obscure Japanese brand purporting to be a marshmallow and strawberry chocolate concoction; Reese's peanut butter cups; and some weird African mint cracknel thing that explodes in your mouth when you bite into it. Excellent. Adventure sated, I make my way to the shelf of Lindt chocolate, which is showcasing its newest kid on the block: Wasabi chocolate. Now here's the thing. I am not brand loyal in the slightest and I'm open to new experiences, but Wasabi? Is that strictly necessary? I get the whole salted caramel fad, and I could just about stomach chocolate with chilli. But wasabi is a disgusting green paste you smear on sushi rice. It is not a taste of comfort/reward/gluttony. I ignore it and head home with my purchases, picking my way through the residents of St Johns Wood, the male half of which live in some kind of time warp where people wear deck shoes without socks in the middle of Winter. And it's not the no socks bit that jars. Deck shoes??? In central London? In 2012? Lacoste makes a fortune in St Johns Wood, I'll bet. Anyway. I head back to my much less expensive, far less fashionable, rather grittier, nook of London, with my purchases, to gloat and fantasise about my next version of cake. Or would do, if I could concentrate over the competitive chatter coming from my neighbours outside my door, who are trying not to argue about the food they should be eating at the huge Jubilee lunch that they have been planning for weeks. Older neighbours advocate for 1950s food - difficult for the younger neighbours, who were born well after the 50s, to imagine, let alone deliver - and younger neighbours argue for Eton mess, strawberries and cream, pavlovas and trifles. Actually I don't remember them arguing for any other food than desserts. I hear one of them argue that it would be an excellent occasion to make food that is just, well, a bit experimental. I look out of the window. She is wearing long, flowing robes and lots of jewellery. A thought occurs. I stick my head out of the window. How about chocolate wasabi cake, I suggest. Her face brightens. Genius, she says. Do you have a recipe? No, I reply, valiantly injecting regret into my voice, but try Lindt chocolate. There you go, marketeers of Lindt. As for the local residents who will be partaking at our Jubilee lunch, I would stick with the trifle.