I only craved ice-cubes.
At the time I lived in a shared house and had one tiny shelf of the freezer to myself; I kept this shelf entirely stocked with ice-cube trays stacked one atop the other. The ice-cubes were at their perfect state when the outsides were frozen but the inside not; cracking that with my teeth was like biting into the most decadent chocolate liquer.
I’d stand next to the freezer waiting for the ice-cubes to freeze just enough, having to hold myself back every minute. My flatmates would come in to cook or something and I’d have to pretend to wash the dishes or tidy up because I couldn’t really tell them I was waiting for my ice-cubes to reach the perfect chocolate liquer state. Sometimes they’d stand and chat with me for ages, and inwardly I’d be cursing them because the ice-cubes were calling to me. As soon as they left, I’d grab the top tray and savour the ice-cubes there and then because I couldn’t last the twenty foot walk to my bedroom.
One of my flatmates was very particular about the kitchen light being left on at night, because the light would leak into his room, so sometimes I didn’t turn the light on. So now and then my other flatmates would come in and switch on the light to find me, in the dark, standing next to the freezer, eating ice-cubes with an expression of carnal pleasure similar to a zombie finally getting hold of some brains.
So no, no bizarre cravings really.