I love this time of year. The crispness of the air, the gentle drift of snowflakes, the sampler chocolate boxes that proliferate as though fluorescent lighting is some kind of aphrodisiac and wrapping paper a handy love nest. I was at CVS the other night with my roommate and I just happened to notice, while wandering aimlessly down the goody aisle (that’s the one with candy, not condoms), that Russell Stover holiday chocolate assortments were on sale. So I bought two. They were only $7.99, together! I’ve had a craptastic last few weeks! Shut up. Anyway, I always get really excited about these boxes because it’s like, “Wow, all that variety! I’ll never have to eat the same type of chocolate more than twice if I don’t want to! This is the epitome of American life right here.” And then I actually open the box. Man, who comes up with these recipes? Obviously someone who maybe lost his tongue in a tragic shaving accident or an anorexic who has forgotten that some people actually want to enjoy the taste of food. There are always the weirdest flavors in there: maple nut cream (great, if you’re, like, Abe Lincoln, and trying to recapture the experience of living in a log cabin and eating wood shaving porridge), fruit and nut caramel (this tasted like cinnamon, which is neither a fruit or nut, so whatevs, Russell Stover), and Roman nougat (which was some sort of pink concoction that had broken out of the chocolate shell and attempted to conquer the other compartments). It’s always tempting to use that diagram they include in the top of the box, the one that doesn’t really have a clear up or down until you start comparing the shapes in the picture to the shapes of the actual confections. “That blobby one shaped like Italy…that’s the cherry foie gras truffle, and I think the sort of roundish one, the one shaped like Aunt Rhonda’s creepy cheek mole, that’s…what? Vanilla butter cream? I might actually want to eat that.” But it turns out to be the coconut bacon, which gets a 9 for a superior visual imitation but loses points for flavor. After trying to decode the drawing, which practically requires some sort of secondary degree, I just abandon it all together and take my chances. Besides, the risk adds a little spice, a dash of adventure, a chance to vomit that’s otherwise missing from my life. Jim Gaffigan has a great bit about it: “And then there are the boxes filled with the gamble chocolates. Have you ever actually eaten those with any bit of confidence? ‘Hm, this could either be really good or totally nasty, and I’m just pig enough to find out…Ugh! Toothpaste! Oh, well, I’ll just have to eat another nine to get rid of the taste.’” That’s pretty much how I feel about them after the eleventh or twelfth one in a row. These boxes are worse than Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. Except for the second box I bought, which is a mix of truffles, and I’m pretty sure that they are going to be awesome.