I work in a coffee shop full of delicious beverages and confections. Artisan donuts, berry coffee cake, carrot muffins so delicious that you’d barter your own soul for a bite. And ‘health and vitality bars’ aka Congo Bars. These are some sort of sinful concoction of coconut, chocolate chips and butter. Dear Lord. I coined them health and vitality bars to be completely ironic and to make myself feel better about woofing them down. It eventually evolved into me telling customers tongue in cheek that they too were purchasing health and vitality bars.
One lovely afternoon an older, fuller woman who had previously asserted that a frappachino was mostly ice and therefor had a negligible amount of calories, decided to have herself a health and vitality bar. Yup, your whip cream covered sugar goo caffeine slurpy is basically water and yeah butter and chocolate are only the first two listed ingredients on this ‘power bar’ followed by coconut (health food) and walnuts (again health food). Shit eat 3, it will probably give you super powers. SOLD. I’m really good at closing deals.
So, today the day came after 3 lonnnggggg months of Congo Bar hiatus for me to eat my feelings. I ceremoniously unwrapped it, heated it for 20 seconds and cut into theeee brick? Da’ fuck? Ahhhh it appears this was a particularly healthy batch of health and vitality bars. Less butter and more oats or some shit. Maybe they were cutting costs so they skimped on the chocolate chips. Mid way though gagging down half of it I realized the universe was listening. It really is a health and vitality bar…or at least it tasted like it. That’s no fun. I’m no longer interested. I’d rather be eating kale.