Minkchocolates

A Crash of Epic Proportion

Wednesday. I go to Fred’s Yaletown showroom to deliver bulk chocolate that he can put out for clients, and demi-tasse cups and saucers for his newly built espresso and scotch bar. Grateful he no longer has to serve macchiatos in hi-ball glasses, he offers to make me a coffee from a pound of Stumptown beans he got on a recent trip to Seattle.

I watch him fiddle and fuss with an assortment of dials and knobs that have only icons to explain their function. Fred doesn’t read icon. The coffee is poured long and weak. He downs his without hesitation, and looks to me for approval. I shrug.

Twenty minutes and seven cups later, he admits to needing to read the manual. He’s starting to twitch and his eyes have glazed over. He puts his hand on his chest and I can see he’s counting beats per minute.

Resuscitate a guy with dry lips or feign an excuse to pick the fleas of a thousand camels from my armpits, I choose the latter and make a hasty exit.

Friday. The Professor is on his way to the Café, and texts me to ask if our POS system is back up and running. While I was at Fred’s two days before, witnessing coffee shock syndrome, the web-based till at the store suffered a catastrophic hard drive failure, necessitating terminal replacement on Thursday and countless hours on speakerphone with tech support. It also forced us to a hand written post-it note order system and cash only payment.

I reply that too much time spent looking at a tangle of wires in a dimly lit cupboard has given me eye strain, but we’re almost fully operational. He offers to bring his LED headlamp.

“I’m looking forward to the day when the air is so electrified that nothing ever needs a wire or plugging in again,” I text him in response.

“I’d never want to leave ohm,” he replies.

Saturday. My new baby girl is balanced on my chest and shoulder while I attend to a backlog of emails. iTunes is running in the background and it seems she’s keen on the Kings of Leon.

Today was supposed to be the end of the world and I wanted to make sure I answered everybody before humanity experienced catastrophic heart drive failure.

There are a slew of notifications from Twitter that I’m being followed. I instinctively look over my shoulder.

The sudden movement wakes the baby. Her eyes half-open and glazed, and gently twitching, she burps up something that looks like tuna fish, which is odd, because she’s drunk on an exclusive diet of breast milk. I take that as my cue to pass her off to mama Mink, and go upstairs to make a cup of coffee.

Fred calls. He says he’s gone through two pounds of espresso in less than four days, and he’s also finished the 2.2 kg box of dark mini Mink chocolate squares. I remind him the chocolate was earmarked for clients.

“I’m not in season,” he says. “I won’t have anyone in for a few weeks yet, but I find those little squares so easy to eat.”

We make arrangements to meet at the Café Sunday so he can replenish his coffee and chocolate inventory. It means too, that I can regulate his coffee consumption. I can’t afford to be party to another catastrophic failure of any kind.

Marc Lieberman

Mink Chocolates Inc.,
Mink A Chocolate Cafe Ltd.

Call the store: 604.633.2451
Call my mobile: 604.376.3464
Call toll free: 1.866.283.5181

Shop: minkchocolates.com
Tweet: twitter.com/minkchocolates
Join: facebook.com/mink.chocolates
Read: blog.minkchocolates.com
Watch: youtube.com search mink chocolates
In Person: 863 Hastings Street West, Vancouver, BC V6C 3N9

Nine out of every ten persons say they love chocolate. The tenth lies.
– Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

A Catwalk in the Park

Monday. Fred calls to tell me he’s not entirely confident the weather is trending warm for his proposed fashion show on the Commons in front of Mink next month, and that he’s thinking of postponing it.

Originally contemplated as an invite-only catered luncheon, the mid-week affair would have models and clothes supplied by neighboring Leone, and props in the form of new model Rolls Royce motorcars.

“How does anyone plan anything outside when you live in a rain forest?” he asked. “If I have to put up tents, I might as well hold it inside the dealership, or on second floor womenswear.”

I try not to sound disappointed. I was looking forward to having the Café act as a staging ground for a bevy of nubile young things in various stages of undress, attended to by a cadre of fluffers and dressers, primpers and preeners, people whose only job is to tousle hair and command a pout.

“It’s too bad. I wanted to watch the models try and eat chocolate while sucking in their cheeks.” I say.

Tuesday. The Canucks play Chicago in the biggest Game 7 this city is likely to see for some time. All of a sudden, the biggest topic of conversation isn’t the depressing weather, it’s how depressing it will be if we lose. The grey skies, the below seasonal temperatures, the endless rain, pale in comparison to the potential pallor people are resigning themselves to live under if we end up blowing a 3 – 0 series lead.

Nathan walks into the Café sporting an Alex Burrows jersey, and orders a frozen blended chocolate drink, in spite of it being in single digits outside.

“You have a chance to redeem yourself,” I say, reminding him he called a 3 – 1 Vancouver win when in fact it ended 7 – 2 Chicago.

“That’s the reason why we lost,” he says. “I can’t gamble. There’s too much at stake.”

With that, he picks up his drink at the end of the bar, and walks out onto the Commons, into a torrential downpour.

Wednesday. Staci drops by the Café to get her schedule for the Mink Chocolates Mother’s Day pop-up shop at Holt Renfrew. She shows me pictures from her recent trip to Mexico.

“Where’s your tan?” I ask.

“I have a photo shoot next week. No sun for me,” she says. “It’s a Fall/Winter collection.”

“You could have saved yourself the jet lag and the expense and just had a few friends over for Margaritas.” I quip.

She opens her laptop and starts to watch a video about the preparations for the upcoming Royal Wedding.

“They say it’s going to rain,” Staci says nonchalantly. “Not even the Queen has enough clout to do something about the weather.”

 Marc Lieberman

Mink Chocolates Inc.,
Mink A Chocolate Cafe Ltd.

Call the store: 604.633.2451
Call my mobile: 604.376.3464
Call toll free: 1.866.283.5181

Shop: minkchocolates.com
Tweet: twitter.com/minkchocolates
Join: facebook.com/mink.chocolates
Read: blog.minkchocolates.com
Watch: youtube.com search mink chocolates
In Person: 863 Hastings Street West, Vancouver, BC V6C 3N9

Bringing Home Baby

Wednesday. Skelly sends me a text and says my house looks like a marshmallow.

Recently wrapped in white Tyvek as part of an extensive renovation, I quickly deduce he’s in the park across the street from it, with his dog Dante.

I SMS him back. “Jet-Puffed or hand cut?”

As if he expects me to believe his dog has the requisite dexterity to type on such a small keyboard, he writes back “woof”.

Five months ago we moved out for a four month stint in my sisters’ basement while our ninety year old house got a makeover. Conventional wisdom be damned, we were so confident the contractor understood the exigence of our situation, we packed the new baby’s car seat in the POD with the rest of our gear and shipped it to a warehouse in Richmond.

“Baby is due in April. We’re home February. Why do we need to schlep the car seat around?” I said back when the cherry trees were dropping their leaves. Now they’re all in bud, and we’re preparing to bring our little girl home in a borrowed bucket to a room we preface with the word rumpus.

Thursday. I dash out of the Café to meet Mrs. Mink and the contractor on site and discuss timing for drywall.

“We’re loading board Monday,” he says nonchalantly. “Two weeks to tape, mud and sand. We’ll have you in by Easter.”

Ordinarily, we’re making chocolate bunnies and filled eggs and the celebrated Flat Pack Easter Egg chocolate bar on the heels of Valentine’s Day, but the holiday is late this year. Still, I take little comfort from his assurance.

I command my lovely bride to open her jacket.

“Ed. We’re not having twins! She’s so ready you may have to catch this one in the back of that shiny new F-150 I’m helping to make the payments on.”

No one laughs.

I think to myself that if I were a betting man, which I am, moving in by the Victoria Day long weekend is looking like even money.

Mrs. Mink and I reconvene on the sidewalk, out of earshot of the trades.

“All things considered, they’re doing a great job, and the house will be a wonderful place to raise our young family,” she says, noting in her iPod Touch the time and duration of an apparent contraction.

I make a mental note to bring home more chocolate.

Friday. Fred sends me a text. “Baby yet?”

I reply “No, still very much pregnant.”

He writes back, “Did you ever determine if you’re the father?”

I reply with a smiley icon.

He writes again, “Is that a yes or no or maybe”

Saturday. I take our dog back into the ‘hood to give her some face time with Dante. Friends since they were puppies, it’s game on as they start chasing each other around the tennis courts.

Skelly turns to me and says, “The neighborhood consensus is you’re back in by Labor Day.”

Just then, the carpenters show up. They’re actually going to work on the weekend. I’m so excited, I text my wife “Woot”, but instead of hitting the letter t, I press the letter right below it and it goes out as “Woof”.

Instantly she texts back, “Good doggie. And on the way home, please fetch mama more chocolate.”

Marc Lieberman

Mink Chocolates Inc.,
Mink A Chocolate Cafe Ltd.

Call the store: 604.633.2451
Call my mobile: 604.376.3464
Call toll free: 1.866.283.5181

Shop: minkchocolates.com
Tweet: twitter.com/minkchocolates
Join: facebook.com/mink.chocolates
Read: blog.minkchocolates.com
Watch: youtube.com search mink chocolates
In Person: 863 Hastings Street West, Vancouver, BC V6C 3N9

Nine out of every ten persons say they love chocolate. The tenth lies.
– Anthelme Brillat-Savarin