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The website of the Oxford English Dictionary offers a total of five definitions for the word ‘indulgence,’ of which only the first two are relevant to the subject at hand: 1. the action or fact of indulging. 2. A thing that is indulged in; a luxury. Change the noun to a verb, and askoxford.com offers the following for ‘indulge:’ 1. (indulge in) allow oneself to enjoy the pleasure of. 2. satisfy or yield freely to (a desire or interest).

You’ll note that nowhere in either of these entries is the word "chocolate" mentioned. But it should be.

Of all the world’s singular foods, which is to say comestibles that may be enjoyed on their own or used as ingredients in greater dishes, chocolate stands out as perhaps the ideal illustration of an indulgence. Unlike, say, fresh eggs or baby bok choy or a good sirloin, chocolate offers very little of that which humans need to survive, such as proteins, vitamins or minerals. What it does offer is pleasure, and perhaps useful antioxidants, although the latter notion is the subject of much debate these days.

(As reported recently in The New York Times Magazine, Mars, Inc. has sponsored considerable investigation into the possible health benefits of chocolate over the past several years, and has set up two websites, cocoapro.com and chocolateinfo. com, to report on their findings. However, such research is still in its early days and is seen by some as compromised through its affiliation with the well-known chocolate maker.)

What’s more, chocolate has been providing human beings with pleasure for a long, long time. While its precise history is sketchy, we do know that Mayans were actively cultivating the cocoa bean in Yucatan as early as 600 A.D., although it’s a fair bet that they knew about the bean long before then, perhaps centuries earlier. Back then, cocoa beans were used for both a culturally important drink and valued as a currency. According to the Swiss website, www.chocolat.ch, in Central America circa1000 A.D., 400 cocoa beans equalled one Zontli, while 20 times that amount was a Xiquipilli.

Columbus ‘discovered’ cocoa during his fourth visit to the New World, although he was apparently too preoccupied with other matters to pay it much attention. Cortez, on the other hand, was fascinated by the bean, in large part because he found it possible to literally grow money and so became perhaps the first European to set up cocoa plantations. It was he who brought the bean back to Spain and established the drinking of sweetened chocolate in Spanish culture and, eventually, throughout Europe.

Curiously, though, in not a single one of the histories of chocolate I’ve managed to find is there mention of who was the first to partner it with beer. My guess would be that it was a Belgian, and not only because that country is well known for its excellence in the creation of both foods.

More so than in pretty much any other brewing nation around the world, Belgian beers are defined to a far greater degree by their malt than by their hoppiness, or bitterness. Sure, exceptions do exist — De Ranke XX Bitter and Duysters Loterbol, to mention but two flavorfully hoppy Belgians — but by and large, the country’s great ales are sweeter, stronger and maltier than they are bitter. To my experience, this suits them ideally to the task of pairing beer and chocolate.

When I think of perfection in this partnership, what immediately comes to mind are such treats as flourless chocolate cake and Rochefort 8, the great Trappist ale from the Belgian south, or a piece of not-too-sweet and lightly fruity fudge with the newer, though no less stellar member of the Trappist ale family, Achel Extra. Substitute the almost-revered Westvleteren 12, another potent Trappist brew, or the of late dramatically improved St. Bernardus Abt in either of these partnerships and the results would be almost as delicious.

On the lighter side of things, one of the more fruity traditional fruit lambics, such as Hanssens Kriek, is a natural with a mediumdark chocolate, while a still lighter, creamier, almost milk chocolate will benefit nicely from the addition of a bottle of Liefmans Goudenband, preferably one that has been aged for a few years first.

Closer to home, I imagine partnering North American-brewed but Belgian-inspired ales with all manners of chocolate, such as Unibroue’s Trois Pistoles with a dark chocolate fondue or New Belgium’s refined Abbey dubbel with a simple chocolate brownie. Equally inspiring would be Rob Tod’s Allagash Dubbel with a handful of hand-made chocolate truffles or Brewery Ommegang’s flagship Ommegang Ale with something both spicy and chocolatey, like a slice of spice cake topped with a dark chocolate ganache.

Which is not to say that the Belgian-style beers have a monopoly on partnering chocolate with beer. One of my all-time favorite beer and chocolate experiences was a dark chocolate mousse of my own making served alongside a glass of Swiss-brewed Samichlaus. And the delectable Hale’s Chocolate Celebration Porter Cheesecake recipe included in my Brewpub Cookbook is without question even better when served with a robust and sweetish stout, or a well-aged American barleywine. Nor am I suggesting that hoppy beers cannot also be happy partners in this marriage — witness the way a British-style pale ale complements nutty chocolate or how a dry stout weds with a high cocoa content chocolate bar. It’s just that as with many gastronomic partnerships involving beer, the Belgians certainly do seem to lead the way.

Maybe that’s because chocolate and beer, like chocolate alone, is mainly about indulgence. And as a people who ponder food and gastronomy almost obsessively, that’s something with which the Belgians would seem to have a great deal of experience.