Sunday afternoon, after a late lunch of leftover Burgh’s pizza, my boyfriend was telling me stories from his childhood. We lounged around an empty fire pit, the men puffed on their cigars and drank St. Martin’s Abbey Ale - the way a Sunday afternoon should be.

“Every Christmas when I was a kid, the fire trucks would come through the neighborhood,” he said, “and Santa would throw, like, uh, Sarris - that’s right she doesn’t know what Sarris is!” he interrupted himself.

“Take her to Sarris,” said his dad, as if it were a right of passage.

My boyfriend jumped out of his seat like a little boy. “We’re going to Sarris!”

I was curious to see this magical place, so I slipped on my sandals and scurried after him. He was as excited as a kid in a candy store - and that’s exactly where we went.

Sarris isn’t just a candy store, it’s a leap back in time. The light from gaudy chandeliers sparkle through red and pink stained glass, while old time piano music plays in a booth-lined ice cream parlor. Steps at the end of the parlor lead down to the famous candy store. There’s a case of bonbons and truffles and shelves of Sarris-made chocolate in shapes ranging from flip-flops to footballs.

Then there was the castle. Like something out of a fairy tale, it was made entirely of chocolate and decorated each season with different candy. My boyfriend said that in the winter is was made of white chocolate.

At the ice cream parlor, I ordered a single scoop of Bear Trax ice cream (chocolate chip ice cream with peanut butter cups) in a waffle cone. After my previous dining experience in Pittsburgh, I don’t know why I was surprised to receive a gigantic waffle cone stuffed with a grapefruit-sized ball of ice cream. My boyfriend ordered a “Chocoholic Sundae.”

“It’s big,” the server warned.

“That’s fine,” he said, probably thinking of the Coldstone portions where he used to work. But this was no “Gotta Have It” size - this was more like “Better Share It.” Three grapefruit-size scoops of chocolate, dark chocolate and chocolate chip ice cream, swimming in Sarris hot fudge, topped with crushed pecans and a humble maraschino cherry. After five minutes outside, the thing was already soupy. “You won’t finish that,” I wanted to say, but I was too afraid he’d reciprocate.

Eventually he walked back inside to get a lid but before he uttered a word, the server disappeared and returned with a clear plastic lid.

“Most people think they can finish it,” she smiled.