When I was a little girl testing Easter egg dye colors on hard boiled eggs that would later be hunted and devoured, I always looked forward to one thing: the chocolate bunny in my Easter basket. Some people go for the cream-filled eggs, the elaborately decorated bunny cakes, or the jellybeans (seriously: what’s wrong with you?), but my Easter treat of choice has always been that delicious bunny. Life’s not easy for us chocolate bunny devotees, because our anticipatory Easter appetite is often met with the cruel slap of a glutton’s astonished disappointment.
Every spring you’ll find a vast assortment of these tasty bunnies propped up on shelves, their vibrant pastel foil masking the delicacy concealed within. Some will be posed demurely in an attentive sitting position; others will seem as if they were poised to hop away from their unfortunate pearly white predetermination before being congealed in chocolate. These bunnies will tempt you from within boxed packages and ribbon-adorned cellophane.
As a naïve child ignorant of the distinction between ideal candy and mediocre candy, I held all of these rabbits in the highest esteem and impatiently wondered which one of these hares the Easter bunny would deem appropriate to complement my new sidewalk chalk and jump rope.
The day of the big reveal would finally arrive, and I’d be presented with my bountiful Easter basket. After making a mess of the carefully arranged artificial grass and tossing my seasonal toys aside, I’d find that glorious bunny. Without hesitation, I’d peel off the foil to expose either a shiny dark chocolate rabbit whose sculptural details were highlighted in the light, or a matte milk chocolate bunny that promised to be creamier than any old candy bar.
I knew my plan of attack: start with the ears. There may be more than one way to skin a cat, but there’s only one way to begin torturing a chocolate bunny. Leading with my two front teeth, I took a modest first bite. It was a paltry morsel, but already the flavor was divine. I took stock of just how much chocolate bunny still remained, as I did after each bite, before continuing on to a more aggressive second chomp.
This time, something was wrong. The top part of my bunny had partially crumbled. Shards of ear had fallen deep within the depths of the rabbit’s body! I peered into the obscure caverns of the bunny’s torso and saw only emptiness where chocolate should be. I’d made a startling, gruesome discovery that would alter my Easter expectations forever: I had been given a hollow chocolate bunny.
What.
How could this be? Why would this exist! What had I done to deserve such chocolate cottontail chicanery?!
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To all Easter bunnies, “Easter bunnies” (that means you, parents), spouses, significant others, friends, bosses, everyone: do not give anyone a hollow chocolate rabbit unless your goal is to use bunny-shaped sweets to convey how little you love that person.
I know right now you might be wondering if that Whitney Houston song “How Will I Know” was actually written about figuring out which chocolate bunnies on the grocery store shelves are solid and which are not. Here’s a quick guide:
- Typically, the solid bunnies will be labeled as such because chocolatiers are proud of the fact their bunnies aren’t heartbreakingly empty inside.
- Most of the foil-covered, boxless bunnies are hollow (Lindt included).
- Never assume the elaborate boxed bunnies are solid!
- In a commendable, progressive move, some candy companies have become more honest about the fill of their bunnies, adding a humble “Hollow” disclaimer to their packaging.
You may notice that hollow bunnies are cheaper than solid chocolate bunnies, but if cost is what’s prohibiting you from buying your loved one(s) a solid chocolate bunny, allow me to refer you to the Cadbury creme eggs, because those might be more suitable for someone in your financial situation.
I think I speak for most chocolate bunny enthusiasts when I say that I’d rather receive no chocolate bunny at all than a hollow one. The mere existence of the hollow chocolate bunny is disturbing enough, but stuffing one in an Easter basket is perhaps the most grievous Easter insult one could deliver.
Whenever you come across a chocolate bunny, don’t you automatically assume it’s solid chocolate? Why wouldn’t it be? There’s no precedent for this, because there’s no other candy situation where this kind of shortcoming would be acceptable. No one has ever unwrapped a Hershey bar, discovered a gaping hole in the middle where chocolate should be, and shrugged his or her shoulders like there was nothing distressingly wrong with the situation. You would never bite into an M&M and be okay with discovering there was nothing more than candy coating and a typewriter M emblazoned on the top with nothing inside.
The audacity of those candy companies to create something three-dimensional with no filling! No logic validates paying money, any amount, for a chocolate item that is literally filled with nothingness. Why are we not outraged about this deception?
But maybe the solid chocolate bunny is too much chocolate for some people! What if some people don’t like almost breaking all their teeth biting through the bunny’s neck?
I’ve heard of these mythic “too much chocolate” people before, and I fancy myself an open-minded woman willing to accept people of all races, preferences, religions, and tax brackets, but if you’re the kind of person who’s ever claimed something has “too much chocolate,” I have no time for you. Moreover, you have no business receiving a chocolate bunny from anyone, because you expect the world and all of its Easter confections to become less chocolatey just to suit your delicate fancy. Your hubris is unparalleled.
You’re only allowed to say a bunny has too much chocolate if it’s a giant, statuesque rabbit made of a chocolate mix that somehow combines milk chocolate, dark chocolate, and semi-sweet chocolate (no I didn’t forget white chocolate, because as far as I’m concerned that shit is solidified tapioca pudding parading around as chocolate—chocolate can only be brown). The average chocolate bunny ranges from about three inches to twelve inches (we’re talking about innocent chocolate animals, you pervert); if you can’t handle that much chocolate, even over the span of several days, perhaps you need to bow out of the chocolate bunny ranks and stick with the miniature cream eggs I’ve mentioned above (that’s what she said-ish).
If you’re a person who’s concerned about someone breaking their teeth on a solid chocolate bunny, I’m sorry you seem to know a lot of morons or people with very brittle teeth. Instead of chocolate, you should probably consider filling their Easter basket with a helmet, calcium, and minty floss he or she will never use, except maybe to make a leash for a spider (because that seems like an activity befitting of a person who breaks his or her teeth on chocolate bunnies).
I’ve been eating solid chocolate bunnies for a long time, and all my chompers are still intact. The trick is to let your bunny sit out at room temperature for a little bit before taking a huge bite. If you try to eat a chocolate bunny straight out of the refrigerator, expect to use your molars and gnaw at it a bit while it thaws in your hand.
Side note, if you’ve done the gnawing thing before, and you took a second to stop and look at the imprint your teeth left on the chocolate in a fit of savage pride, know that you are not alone.
There’s no good reason to buy anyone a hollow chocolate bunny, unless you really hate them and yourself. When you’re putting together your Easter baskets this year, please be cognizant of the message you’re sending with your chocolate rabbit of choice. No one should suffer the heartbreak of the hollow chocolate bunny.
Original chocolate bunny images from yumsugar. I do not fully agree with their chocolate bunny ranking.
