Wait, I got my metaphors tangled up there. My point is that West Chester, PA, is CHOCOLATE MOUNTAIN, because... wait, hang on a second, damn. Let me start over.
World-class chocolatier Chris Curtin owns Eclát Chocolate on High street. It is a tiny shop with a case up front, a window filled with AMAZING cast chocolate, and a stainless-steel door that leads to the kitchen.
Chris started Eclát after studying in Old World master chocolate ninja kitchens, and makes amazing AMAZING chocolate. That's an easy phrase to throw around, but check this out: Jeffrey Steingarten said that Chris makes "World's greatest caramels", in Vogue magazine. His flavors are INCREDIBLE: "Oh, mint? Yeah, that's cool, let me just try th- DEAR GOD I UNDERSTAND NOW. UNTIL THIS MOMENT I HAVE NEVER EATEN A MINT CHOCOLATE."
Randy took the picture above while I was talking to Chris about molds, and the picture at right because he (Randy) is running a promotion over at Lose It or Lose It where if you sign up and make a commitment to lose weight, Randy will reward you with delicious Eclát chocolates. If you lived in West Chester, this world-class choclatier is, you know, right on the walk home!
But that's the thing -- West Chester is packed with amazing restaurants. For example, down at the end of Gay street, there's Gilmore's Restaurant, whose chef Peter Gilmore spent 22 years at Le Bec-Fin ("Why did Georges Perrier ever let this man leave?" wonders Zagat.) You can see lots of them at West Chester Dish, Mary Bigham's West Chester restaurant website.
See, the thing is, there's SO MUCH amazing food here on NINJA MOUNTAIN, that you can't run a simple errand without stumbling on really amazing world-class food. This morning, Kate and I picked up a box of croissants at the Strawberry Bakery in Frazer. Lydia needed to use the bathroom, so Kate walked her back, and I spent a few minutes watching them assemble really AMAZING-looking fruit tarts, while owner Jean Pierre Bournazel negotiated with customers over the phone via his assistant, in the most amazing Central Casting French accent I have ever heard: "Tell zem... tell zem I could do a QWAAART-er of zat!"
I asked if I could blog the process: "Say, Jean Pierre, may I take a picture of the tarts?" "Yes! Of course! Zey even smile! SMILE FOR ZE CAMERA!"
Jean Pierre opened the Strawberry Bakery in 2004, and teaches baking classes in his kitchen, through the Chester County Night School. Here's a review of the class, in French. I see that there's a Christmas Cookie class coming up on December 13th -- is anyone interested in going?
Anyhow, the point I'm making is that, here in West Chester, PA, there's a world-class chef, baker, or choclatier in every quiet bamboo grove. And not just Old Guard French, either -- as the sizable Mexican population starts to open up their own businesses, there's a crop of really amazing authentic Mexican restaurants coming along. YOU SHOULD SERIOUSLY LIVE HERE.
Previous reasons why you should move to West Chester:
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By the time we walked down to Farrell Field, dusk had fallen and the stadium lights were on. Judging by the oom-pah sounds all around, competition was well under way, too. We skirted a couple of utility trailers bursting with kettle drums, passed several groups of excited teenagers clutching bassoons, and made our way around to the stands.
The bleachers were filled with parents, teens, and odd loners in nylon jackets (viz. the fellow in the nylon jacket with the flag patch on his arm.) Everyone was talking, laughing, catching up with friends, having a nice late-summer evening. A voice came over the loudspeakers:
A double file of teens in tight white suits and tall feathered plumes marched onto the field in approximate lockstep, then broke ranks and formed two staggered rows. The maneuver looked like a Napoleonic infantry attack, on a small and slightly ragged scale. I shouldn't have been surprised, I guess: I had forgotten the martial origins of marching bands. It was fun to see all the 
The band was unpracticed, which is hardly surprising for the second week of September. But who cares? Flags were waved, swords were twirled in the air, drummers mounted plywood boxes thumped away, then dismounted again. The theme was "Zorro", and the wavering notes of the trumpets were undeniably meant to carry a Spanish flair.
Following their finale, the Emmaus band filed into the stands, arranging their feathery yellow hats in rows. They radiated relief in all directions and directed their attention to the field, where a flurry of John Deere athletic tractors and students in blue suits were wheeling tympanis, kettle drums, and assorted glittery hardware onto the fifty-yard line.
Band Announcer Man continued to rock the headset, while the field filled with more and more blue suits, xylophones on casters, and then something intriguing: a number of dancers clad in tap-recital Roman slave outfits. Females and males both were wearing shiny, stretchy tank tops with little fringed slave skirts, all over black jockey leggings.
My elation at discovering Todd in the driver's seat of this Capezio Toga Extravaganza was only heightened when Band Man used his headset to set the stage: "Ladies and gentlemen, the West Chester University Golden Rams will present... The Return of the Roman Empire!
When the battery was finished (and I had made a resolution to rent 
Bondage! Agony! Torment! The Roman slaves cavorted in their chains — now stretching their arms out to each other in supplication, now holding their chains to the sky in a mute signal of their fettered existence. Finally, the orchestra swelled in a great "hurrah!" and crescendo, and the slaves threw off their bonds! To celebrate, they seized big sparkly flags, and then they gave those flags one hell of a good waving.
The music became more brassy and martial. Rowing their flags in unison, propelled on a blaring torrent of brass, the mighty Romans rowed pantomime galleons to the far corners of the infield, spreading the majesty of the mighty empire all the way up to the steeplechase pit. The Pax Romana was established in Farrell Field! To celebrate, the Romans dropped their flags, danced martial dances, saluted each other, and finally fell to the ground and saluted mighty Zeus!
Once the traces of Rome had been swept from the field (by John Deere tractors, not barbarian hordes or Christian missionaries), an award ceremony was set up. This was the first "West Chester Invitational" event, it turned out, and was partly an opportunity for the Golden Rams to drum up eager student volunteers from next year's Freshman class, and was partly an opportunity for each high school band to perform for the first time in front of a sympathetic audience.
Things moved pretty quickly after all the trophies were gone; the drum majors posed for family pictures, band members filed back to their busses, parents snapped open their cellphones and walked back to their cars -- a mixture of station wagons, minivans, and PT Cruisers.
Kate and I walked on to the field in search of our neighbor Todd: event producer, landscaper, choreographer, chronicler of the fortunes of Rome.
Todd was pleased to see us, though kind of surprised that we'd known about this "insider" event. I told him that we'd stumbled on the show, and he (like every director) told up about how much better the show was going to be, soon. Especially, he told us about the tall headresses that the Roman slaves weren't wearing in this show,
but that they would be wearing at the next home game in two weeks.
