Let’s talk about chocolate. Not the cute little “kisses” kind. Not the “Let’s-hand-it-out-to-the-kiddies-for-Halloween” kind. Let’s talk about real chocolate. Magical chocolate. Manly chocolate. Let’s talk about the kind of chocolate the ancient Americans believed would confer extraordinary strength and courage on those preparing for battle.

Let’s talk about the kind of chocolate that, for hundreds of years was believed by Europeans to be a virtual all-purpose cure for any disease that ails you. Let’s talk about the chocolate that inspired Linnaeus to apply the scientific name Theobromo cacao — food for the Gods. That’s the kind of chocolate I’m talking about.

See, I’ve been enjoying the tamer more domesticated members of the chocolate family my whole life. It wasn’t until Dec. 18, 2005, that I came face-to-face with honest to goodness, mind-blowing, “big-boy” chocolate. Here’s what happened. Just after dawn that morning, I stood on the south rim of the Grand Canyon with Brent and Russ, my two grown sons, and Rob, my lifelong friend. Those three had never been there. I, myself, had scouted it out a couple of years before on a solo motorcycle pilgrimage. So I knew a little of what to expect.

Now, if all you know about it is what you’ve seen in photos and video, there’s no way to appreciate the emotionally explosive power you actually experience when you see it with your own eyes. Donald Peattie, the naturalist, tried to put it into words. “The Grand Canyon is cavern deep by the master hand; it is the gulf of silence widened by the desert; it is all time inscribing the naked rock; it is the book of the earth.”

It was quiet as a holy temple out there that morning. We pretty much had the entire overwhelming phenomenon to ourselves. Too cold for cargo shorts and T-shirts. This column is too short and the English language is too small for me to relate, with accuracy, the effect the canyon had on us.

When we were able to pull ourselves together and make our way to the lodge, we all knew it wasn’t the time or place for clichés. So believe me when I tell you it was an expression of heartfelt sentiment when someone, I don’t remember who, said something like, “It just doesn’t get any better than that.” That was just before the prophetess, disguised as a waitress, steered us away from our usual coffee and persuaded us to “experience” her hot chocolate. When we asked what made her chocolate so special, she said it was a secret recipe and we’d be missing an added marvel if we left the canyon without trying it. So we did.

And there it was. Chocolate. Hot. Rich. Not sweet. Creamy. Intoxicating. A super beverage made the way God intended chocolate to be enjoyed. Theobromo, the food of the Gods.

There was some talk about hurrying home, selling everything and gathering up wives and children and moving up there so we could share the sights, sounds, feels and tastes of that morning with everyone we loved. Then we sobered up and decided, reluctantly, to resume our journey toward Santa Fe so we could be home before Christmas Eve.

Back on the highway, we couldn’t bring ourselves to leave without a “Good-bye for now” look at the Grand Canyon. We found a barely marked “last chance” turn-off and took a winding road back to the canyon rim. We didn’t expect to be thunderstruck again. But we were. From that vantage point we could see — and hear — the mighty Colorado River carving its way through the canyon as it has for countless ages. We stood quiet, respectful and thankful until the cold drove us back to the car. On the road again, the car heater was chasing the chill out of our bones and Marty Robbins was playing on the iPod. Someone, I don’t remember who, said, “Now boys, that’s what I call chocolate.”

So what did I learn about manliness from that experience? More than I can say in this column. But here are a couple of things. First, it’s fulfilling beyond measure for a man to be in the cathedrals of nature in the company of his sons and a good friend.

And it’s true, chocolate — the right kind of chocolate, in the right amount, at the right temperature, in the right location, at the right time of year, in the right company — does make a fella stronger and braver. Smarter and better looking, too. I’m Hink and I’ll see ya.



MIKE HINKLE is an Edmond resident and retired attorney. He may be reached via e-mail at hink@edmondsun.com.