The Cult of Nutella

Dear reader, I guess this was inevitable. I didn’t really want it to turn out like this, but here it is. I am an addict. My addiction has brought me to deep, dark places, searching for my fix. It has drawn me in with its sweet release, and I am now part of the cult. That’s right. I’m addicted to Nutella.

I'm drooling.

It started out casually. A little bit on toast here and there. But then I arrived in Europe. Here, they celebrate my addiction. There are fan clubs.

 In every hotel, they provided for my fix at breakfast. My addiction took a new turn, however, during breakfast in Dresden. Here, it dawned on me that Russia might not have the delicious hazel-nutty spread. I decided that I would need to liberate a few packages of the stuff so that I could enjoy it when we reached Russia. I picked up a few packages, and tried to casually walk away while stuffing them in my pocket. Unfortunately for me, Nutella packages crinkle when handled, and might has well have been sirens alerting the staff to my lameness. I finally gave up and carried them out of the breakfast room cupped in my hands, prayer style. My shame was palpable.

Behold my sweet stash

When I arrive in Berlin, I was happy to see Nutella everywhere in the supermarket. They had Nutella chocolate milk, candy bars, and my favourite, Nutella & Go!

Yum!

The package contains a well of Nutella, and beside it some cracker sticks for dipping. I have stocked up, and plan on surviving only on Nutella & Go! packs and an IV of the stuff when I’m in Russia.

I need Nutella, stat!

I am not yet ready to seek help for my addiction, but when I return, I plan on detoxing with a healthy load of peanut butter. Hopefully, I will be able to return to only eating Nutella in moderation, but you know what they say: once an addict, always an addict.