Milka, Tolberone, Lindt, Caffarel, Nutella.  Not to mention the chocolate climbing walls, laptops, alcohols, shot glasses.  Every sense was bombarded as my roommates and I made my way through the winding streets crowded with other chocolate lovers.  Not even the constant pushing could impede my happiness as I made my way from one stand to the next, sampling everything available at Europe’s largest chocolate festival located in Perguia, Italy.

“I want some drinking chocolate!” Tierney called over the din created by a multitude of languages.

“What about those chocolate posts that look like kebabs?” I pointed at the interesting structure that combine white, milk, and dark chocolate, carefully shaved off into different tasty treats.

“Oh, I need a chocolate covered banana,” Juliette chimed in.

We wandered through the endless twisting Italian avenues, continuously accosted by new variations of chocolate.  How were we ever going to decide?  I had never seen so many forms of chocolate, especially not in one place.

No one could decide where to go next, what item to buy.

At each stand we asked in broken Italian for a description of the sumptuous chocolates available.  Neither their broken English nor the Italian words we understood seemed to be able to do it justice.  We stopped trying to make informed decisions and gave into our baser instincts.  I spent all my money, buying whatever caught my eye and anything that mixed chocolate with coconut.

My bags filled with truffles, brownies, and plain old chocolate bars, I needed one more piece of chocolate to eat on my way out.  We passed the same stands, each still as appealing as when we first arrived.  Every table provided descriptions of their special chocolate, in Italian and English, all equally alluring.

And then I saw it: Nutella quesadillas.  Mexican food combined with chocolate; how can a Texan girl resist?  My decision made I rushed toward the stand.  My friends followed, equally intrigued.  We watched intently from our spot at the back of the line as the chocolatiers poured warmed Nutella over flat round bread, a little thicker than your average tortilla.  Folded over once, they plopped the concoction onto a grill, flipping it back and forth until it had an attractive dark gold complexion.    Finally reaching the front of a long line, I pulled out the last of my Euros and with an obviously American accent, I ordered.

“Un Nutella quesadilla, por favor!”