Biscotti and my boiling point

I have a package of biscotti sitting on my desk. Yes, you foodies, in a package. And it's been there for about a month. It's airplane biscotti. Small, tasteless and roughly resembling a cardboard cutout of Planter's Mr. Peanut.

Here's the thing - I don't care for the biscotti on an airplane. ("I will not eat it in a plane, I will not eat it on a train ... "). Because dry, it's some of the nastiest stuff on earth. But on the particular flight where they handed out this biscotti, the gentleman beside me was a daring soul and ate his biscotti after dipping it into his coffee. (In fact, he ate two packages after informing the stewardess that I stole his first set. Not true.) And it stirred a memory. I actually like the things (cheap, nasty, crumbly little things) dipped into a hot, creamy drink. Never having been a coffee drinker though, I decided to take them home and have them with a cup of hot chocolate.

The catch is that they came home with me in August. And since it's been roughly 100 degrees every day since coming home, I haven't really felt motivated to drink hot chocolate. (Call me crazy ... ) So they sit on my desk, making me question my sanity for having them there, and yet promising a taste down memory lane.

Any day now I may just have to crank the AC and put the kettle on ...


(Photo courtesy of annienothi)