I love Nutella. It is an obsessive improper love. I struggle to manage it. I am shy about the peanut butter aisle because if I make eye contact with the Nutella it is going to come home with me. My mouth waters at the thought. I can’t be alone with a virgin jar of Nutella without promptly breaking the seal and then digging in with the nearest utensil. A spoon, a knife, a fork, a finger, a tongue. Whatever it takes. If you are afraid of germs and jeebies, don’t eat Nutella after me unless I stated that I bought a jar for the purpose at hand, for baking or for sharing. In that case, you’re (probably) safe. You will be able to tell by the look in my eye if you say the word Nutella. If I look sated and you are really averse to double dippers, you should politely pass. If I have a look of longing, dig in.
I kept coming across a recipe for these banana Nutella wontons. I kept meaning to make them, but the problem with Nutella is that I have no control when in its presence. None. So every time I was all set to make these, the Nutella was gone. I have to hide the stuff from myself. When I find it though, it’s on. It’s messy. It’s probably illegal in some counties.
Finally, however, I had the willpower to make it so. And I did. And I was not disappointed. And then, for good measure, I took my spoon to the jar. It was a celebration of sorts. An ode to Nutella. I think I hear her calling.