Candy bars are meant to be consumed during your walk from the liquor store to your apartment's front door. Typically after having too many beers. But what about an $11 candy bar? When we came across Coracoa's Caramel Bar (81% raw cacao, if you're an asshole) at Small Foods in South Park, we couldn't resist.

First, we know that, according to many, our first reaction at that price should've been disgust. Anger. We should have shook our head at the over San Francisco's twisted relationship with food. But we didn't. We felt neither horror nor ire. If anything, the $11 price tag—sitting there nonchalantly, acting like it didn't do anything—intrigued us. "I bet that's what'll finally make us happy," we thought. Bullshit's siren song. It's like the clothing items up on the wall at Crossroads. We're drawn to those pieces, leaving behind the pit-stained Banana Republic and Diesel for you. Things that cost more are better and thus make you a better person, or so we'd like to believe.

Anyway, we bought it. Ate it. Enjoyed it pretty damn quick. Did not savor it. (Savoring chocolate is for women in Dove Chocolate commercials.) And we can report that, alas, it didn't taste like $11. The candy bar, made by Emeryville's Coraco Confections, boasts organic raw cacao, cashew butter, organic coconut palm sugar, "wild-crafted vanilla bean," yacon syrup, and Himalayan crystal salt. The candy bar was pleasant. Gritty but smooth caramel, with a deep chocolate taste. It tasted like sustainability. It tasted like Caramello's wealthy cousin that goes to UCSC.

According to an employee at Small Foods, Coracoa's Caramel Bar does sell pretty well. Makes sense, we suppose, since the quaint neighborhood turns into a tech-industry feeding frenzy at lunch hour. So if you've got money to burn, buy it. Just make sure people see you eating it. Otherwise, what's the point?


Previously: Would You Pay $11 for a Pint of Juice?

(Brock Keeling)