Chocolate festival in belgium
The Bruges Chocolate Festival is a vibrant celebration of Belgium’s rich chocolate heritage, drawing artisans and chocolatiers from around the world. Visitors explore intricate chocolate sculptures, taste a variety of handcrafted chocolates, and learn about the fine art of chocolate making through workshops. The festival also highlights Belgium’s chocolate history, blending tradition with innovation.
I was invited to this event by Jean-Jacques, a 32-year-old ghost tour manager from Belgium. We met in my Folklore and Oral Traditions class, where he gave a presentation on the role of urban legends in modern tourism. When he answered my blanket email about opportunities for festival study during my sabbatical, he invited me to Bruges, where, he said, I could indulge in the sensory delights of the Bruges Chocolate Festival, learning how confectioners weave storytelling into their craft.
I met Jean-Jacques at 10.30 in the morning at the hotel lobby, where the festival organizers had set up an impressive chocolate sculpting contest right under the grand chandeliers. Jean-Jacques greeted me with a warm embrace.
“How are you, Mars?” he asked. “Was it a nice flight?”
“Hey, JJ,” I said. “It was okay, thanks.”
“Get ready for a lot of chocolate,” he said. “You will be hyped for a week!”
We laughed and went around the lobby to look at the chocolate sculpting competition.
As we admired the artists’ work, I couldn’t help but wonder at the level of skill involved in the delicate sculptures taking shape before us. One artist shaped a horse from dark chocolate, his hands moving with remarkable precision. Another, a woman with short platinum blonde hair, added white chocolate ribbons to her tree sculpture with a fine brush. A third contestant molded a dragon from milk chocolate, carving fine scales into its body. Nearby, a young man stacked layers of caramelized chocolate to form a towering castle. Another artist, an older woman with steady hands, used tempered ruby chocolate to craft a delicate rose.
Jean-Jacques whispered on my ear that the competition had strong contenders from around the world, each trying to outdo the others.
There weren’t too many spectators, but those few who were there, took pictures and exchanged excited comments. The smell of cocoa filled the air, and the excitement was palpable as the artists worked under the watchful eyes of the judges, who were taking notes as they went along.
In the end the judges announced the winner, the young man who had crafted the towering castle from caramelized chocolate. His sculpture stood out for its intricate details and perfect balance, the judges said. He stepped forward to accept his prize—a large gold-plated medal and a handcrafted box filled with rare cocoa beans from South America. The viewers and other contestants applauded and cheered, and a local TV reporter went live on air to declare the winner.
“Why aren’t there more spectators?” I wondered.
“Oh, these sculptures will be here for weeks,” JJ responded. “They will have time to come and see, not on Sunday morning.”
After the sculpting contest, we made our way to the open-air workshop on chocolate and beer pairing, where we joined a small group of festival-goers. The tasting, led by Philippe, a soft-spoken middle-aged man, began with a Belgian dark beer, rich and malty, paired with a dark chocolate infused with espresso. Philippe grinned as he introduced it, calling it "a classic match of bold flavors." He urged everyone to let the bitterness settle before taking another sip. “Let the roasted notes of the beer meet the deep cocoa,” he said. Jean-Jacques nodded in approval as the smooth bitterness of both elements created a deep, lingering finish.
Next came a Trappist dubbel, slightly sweet with hints of dried fruit, paired with salted caramel chocolate. Philippe chuckled as he unwrapped a piece. “This one plays with contrast—sweet, salty, and just a little spicy from the beer’s clove-like notes.” The caramel softened the beer’s richness, making for a smooth, layered taste.
For the third pairing, the brewmaster poured a crisp, citrusy wheat beer alongside a white chocolate with candied orange peel. Philippe held up his glass. “This is what sunshine tastes like,” he said. The bright, zesty notes of both the beer and the chocolate blended effortlessly, balancing out the white chocolate’s creamy sweetness.
Then came a strong, hoppy IPA with milk chocolate laced with chili. A few people hesitated, but Philippe gave a knowing smile. “Trust me, this is a rollercoaster—you’ll feel the heat kick in just as the hops peak.” He was right. The bitterness of the beer cut through the chocolate’s sweetness, while the chili left a slow-burning warmth at the finish.
Next was a barrel-aged stout, thick and smoky, served with 85% dark chocolate with sea salt. Philippe placed a square on his tongue before sipping his beer. “Let the salt wake up the stout’s vanilla and coffee flavors,” he advised. The combination deepened the beer’s intensity, making it taste even richer.
Finally, a light and fruity lambic arrived with a ruby chocolate infused with raspberry. Philippe smiled. “This is for those who like their pairings playful.” The tartness of both the beer and the chocolate danced together, creating a crisp, refreshing finish that left everyone wanting another sip.
After the show, the viewers surrounded Philippe, buying scores of chocolate bars and six packs of beer, and we, too, bought two different bars each, thinking of tea in the evening at the hotel.
Next, we moved on to a hands-on truffle-making session at a charming restaurant where we stopped for lunch. The kitchen, open and welcoming, had an atmosphere of warmth, with soft golden light from the hanging pendant lamps. The head chocolatier, a tall man with glasses and a white apron, guided us through the process of making both sweet and savory truffles.
The first batch we made was a traditional chocolate truffle, smooth and rich, with a center of creamy ganache. A few people at our table, clearly experienced, were adding a dash of sea salt or a sprinkle of crushed nuts to their truffles. Jean-Jacques, with his natural flair for the craft, carefully shaped each one with precision, while I fumbled a bit, trying to make mine as neat as his.
When the savory truffles came up—incorporating dark chocolate with a bit of chili pepper and a small amount of bacon fat—Jean-Jacques jumped in eagerly, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. The chef looked on with an approving smile as we worked, occasionally offering tips on perfecting the flavors, choosing our ingredients from a huge spice rack in the center of the table, and bowls and bowls of other ingredients next to the rack.
There was a sense of camaraderie in the room as we passed around our truffles to taste, sharing bites and commenting on the unexpected sweetness of the chili chocolate or the richness of the bacon-infused one. A couple of women sitting at the far side of the table marveled outloud at the flavors, while an older man sitting across from me slowly savored his truffle, muttering under his breath that it was the best chocolate he’d ever had.
In the afternoon, we made our way across the bar street alleyways, where Bruges’ hidden gems waited to be discovered. As we wandered down cobbled streets lined with quirky little shops, Jean-Jacques pulled me into a tiny vintage shop that smelled faintly of wood and leather. Inside, there were racks of old clothes, knick-knacks, and a curious selection of antique chocolate tins, some of which I could tell were decades old. The shopkeeper, a woman with curly hair and a kind smile, showed us a few of the tins, explaining how they were once used to hold premium chocolates in the 19th century. Further down the alley, we stumbled upon a little bookstore tucked behind ivy-covered walls, where a man was flipping through a book of old recipes, likely looking for vintage chocolate treats.
Jean-Jacques pointed out a small corner café with an inviting wooden door, where the locals were sitting outside under fans, sipping hot chocolates and chatting animatedly. A few streets over, we found a peculiar shop that specialized in chocolate-inspired art, with everything from paintings of cocoa beans to small sculptures made entirely out of chocolate. We paused there for a moment, marveling at the talent on display, while the soft murmur of conversations and clinking glasses from nearby bars made the atmosphere feel alive and vibrant.
That evening, after a long day of exploring, we headed to the tavern where we would stay the night. It was an old, cozy place, with a history that went back several centuries. The second-floor attic room had wooden beams and a view of the street below, where lanterns cast soft light on the cobblestones. After settling in, we were treated to something unusual—a free strawberry chocolate cognac fountain, a specialty of the tavern. Jean-Jacques, with his signature grin, invited me to join him as he dipped fresh strawberries into the warm, flowing chocolate and cognac mix, savoring the decadent combination. The tavern was quiet, and the only sounds we heard were the occasional murmur of guests below and the soft creak of the old wooden floors. We sat by the window, overlooking the glowing lights of Bruges, content with our evening. Jean-Jacques poured us one more glass of the cognac-infused chocolate drink, and we toasted to an unforgettable day in one of Europe’s most beautiful cities.
My Takeaways
I have never known so many faces and colors of chocolates. Granted, I had seen chocolate sculptures before, but I have never tried chocolate with beer or ate chocolate truffles with bacon strips. From time to time I remember the incredible strawberry fountain that we replenished twice that night, and the sweet milk aroma of that particular brand brings back the memories of the butterfly chocolate candies of my childhood.
An evening with Jean-Jacques
Ah, Sucking Sweet Dick!
Ah, sucking a sweet dick covered in glistening chocolate or syrup! First, you pour that shiny liquid on the standing member, enjoying the way it makes a mess on his pubic hair, his thighs and even the sheets, and then you let your mouth envelop its hardness and bring him up gradually to a salty explosion of an orgasm. He wails and wiggles, and then you edge him, and then… ah, sweet memories.
Remember Jean-Jacques who took me to the faraway hidden corners of Bruges and introduced me to the underground shops and hidden gems? Remember we finished the evening with sipping chocolate-infused cognac by the window in my hotel room?
At 3 a.m. I found myself pouring hot chocolate on Jean-Jacques’s waiting dick, and he screamed in delight like an animal. I loved sucking him off because he responded so well to each of my movements, each of my tricks, and he used different noises, too. And, ah, the hot French cussing!
… I took a jar of warm chocolate sauce, and flicked the lid open. Its deep, earthy aroma curled upward as I poured it over his dick. It hung soft and heavy at first but as the glossy, warm stream trickled down, it coated him in a shimmering sheen. Each drip made his flesh twitch and stiffen.
The sauce traced slow, syrupy paths, and turned his dick from a swinging barrel to a reluctant, thickening log. Soon his dick stood rigid under the weight of the chocolate. The excess hit the floor with soft, wet plops. Jean-Jacques stepped into the puddle with his large, rough feet squelching in the sticky mess. His stare bored into me, and the heat of his gaze prickled my skin. He muttered something low in French. I caught the French for “go on” in his gravelly growl. I dropped to my knees.
I started gently, pressing my lips to the chocolate-slick surface. Its tacky warmth clung to my mouth, and the bittersweet taste flooded my tongue, blending with his musky salt. A pulsing heat throbbed beneath the streaks of the sauce. My fingers brushed his balls, tickling them with light, fluttery strokes. Their soft weight shifted like ripe fruit under my touch. His breath rumbled deep and low, resembling rolling thunder. The floor under his feet creaked faintly, as he shifted his stance. Soon after he growled something again, and a menacing string of French spilled out. Had I not known the gentle side of this seemingly angry man, I would be very scared.
I curled my tongue around him, and spiraled upward, licking away the sauce in smooth, languid strokes. The melted chocolate carried a sharp, roasted scent and coated my lips, gradually sliding down my throat. His flesh felt firm and hot beneath it. My hands cupped his balls and I rolled them gently in my hand, the ballsack skin stretching under my hot hand. A jagged hum now growled from his throat, low and animal-like as his fingers scraped faintly against his thighs. His muttering darkened, and soon his dick hardened to a rock in my mouth, oozing drips of sweet precum.
I was sucking him hard now, with firm, deliberate tugs. The wet smack of my lips cut through the stillness, and the chocolate smeared across my chin, sticky and warm. As I sucked him, I now pressed his balls with slow, steady force. Their yielding weight trembled under my grip. His gasps now were slicing the silence non-stop—sharp, uneven bursts like a blade on stone. His chest heaved. A growl clawed its way out, accompanied by a hardly audible “mon dieu” between his teeth, now not menacing or wild, but pleading and feminine.
I flicked my tongue in quick, darting licks, the rapid taps stinging my lips as I cleaned the sauce from the edges of his cock’s head. The chocolate glistened, dripping in thin, gleaming threads, its scent softening under his musk. Then I tugged his balls lightly, pulling them with careful stretch, feeling them tense and spring back, rougher now against my nails. His hips snapped forward, the floor groaning beneath him, and his snarl tore out like ripping fabric, raw and charged. He growled more French, “encore” rumbling deep and threatening, his voice a coiled whip as his desire sharpened to a razor’s edge What a good thing, I thought, that this word was a classical borrowing into English!
Finally, I engulfed him fully and pulsed my loud suctions in a deep, relentless rhythm, my jaw straining as I took him to the hilt. The chocolate overwhelmed me—sticky, warm, its dark taste fusing with his throbbing heat against my tongue. My fingers danced now over his balls, tickling then pressing, their sweat-slick skin quivering as I alternated pressure. His loud and jagged grunts filled the room, blending with the wet slurp of my sucking.
Then a shuddering roar that shook the air, and he muttered a final, weak and pleasing “Je jouis,” in French. That was the word I had never heard before so when he came suddenly, I was unprepared. The hot rush of cum spilled over my lips and chin. Just before his release, his left hand flared up, fingers splaying wide like a jagged burst, eyes clamped shut, and his mouth twisted with a guttural grunt I didn’t decipher until it was too late.
We stepped into the shower after, and the air turned hot and wet. Water sprayed down, and it washed the chocolate off my skin, with its sour smell swirling away in dark streaks. I felt shaky warmth in my chest—tiredness mixed with a restless spark. Jean-Jacques stood beside me, and his dark hair flattened. Drops ran down his shoulders, and he turned his head sideways. His eyes closed under the water, and his rough hand grabbed me. He held tight, and a jolt ran through me.
First he moved his hand with slow, tight pulls, and his fist slid from base to tip in a steady beat. It matched the water’s noise on the tiles, and his palm felt hot with soap and steam. My stomach tightened, and a deep ache built. I saw his jaw clench, and water fell from his lashes. He switched from fast long thrusts to short and quick turns of the wrist. Now he was working the top of my cock head in circles as cut guys do, and each snap sent a sharp sting through me. My knees bent, and my breath came out loud in the fog. He eased his grip, and he slid his fingers now quite slowly. The wet glide peaked me, and I finished hard into his hand. The rush hit like the water—wild, hot—and it left me breathless. He kept my dick in his fist, continuing to shake my hardon with fast tugs. It was an incredibly itchy and long aftershock that made me beg for mercy and try to push his hand away…
We walked out, wet and tired, and he fell onto the bed. Suddenly, on the bed, he looked older and smaller, and seemed so vulnerable and soft that I was for a moment embarrassed about having made him do all these things. Soon the slim body shook with a loud laugh, and he rolled from side to side in a laughing fit. As the laughter continued, his half-hard dick slapped from one leg to the other, his hands hid his face, and his whole body shook violently, like he was reliving his orgasm. His dick and balls bounced up and down, moving in sync with his stomach. I stared at his convulsing body, speechless. He then gasped between laughs, and said, “Looked scary, didn’t I? You should have seen your face!”
My Takeaways
It was fun sucking off another straight guy, getting to his horny dick through a layer of hot chocolate. The chocolate fountain was definitely a vehicle in this one, so I guess I owe the wonderful sweet experience to the owners of the tavern. It’s really great when a straight man (was he?) who looked menacing and scary, melted into a laughing heap, and looked so small and vulnerable after the cumshot.
JJ taught me to never judge the book by its cover. After that day, I knew he was in fact a sweet softy who enjoyed a good long suck and that all the façade of growling and staring was just that, a pretense to cover his vulnerability, and—biness?
