I have...destructive...tendancies. My brothers and I would build then, more importantly, destroy Lego cities; I have a weird unconscious habit of tearing apart my dinner napkins and shredding paper in my hands; and I have the same fascination with knives, axes, fire, and small- to mid- range explosives as do many boys.

Given all this, the thought of a food the preparation of which entails a little physical violence inspires in me no small amount of glee.

Faced with this prospect, I may have overdone the chocolate orange.

I have, for years, seen Ferrara Chocolate Oranges in stores and chocolate shops, yet never have I tried one. So when my parents threw one into my Christmas stocking, I was delighted. Here was chocolate that didn't just benefit from, but straight-up required, the application of directed force.

Yet when the time came, and I slammed it once -- twice -- three times -- four times into surfaces of increasing hardness (wood to granite) -- the orange, wrapped in its foil, barely seemed to feel it.

Then I opened it -- I'd shattered half into tiny slivers and chunks, and maybe half had split into the desired wedges. Good enough!