The hot chocolate is more like melted belgian truffle than the stuff my mother serves. Its dark, rich and coats my tongue thickly before flowing down my throat. The top is swirled with white milk foam and spotted with cocoa powder. It smells like Charlie's Chocolate factory and I am torn between wanting to savour it and inhale it. For some moments I just wrap my hands around the ceramic mug, letting the warmth flow through my fingers, banishing the wintry chill. Despite choosing to make it last it is gone too soon. I know before I leave my chair i will be back here tomorrow for another. Some things are too good to have just once.
The hot chocolate is as rich as it is dark. It flows as slowly as cream as I swirl the mug. I know the bottom is a mass of sugar crystals that have reformed as it cools. It's cream saturated with sugar and I don't care. I pick up the mug and return to the counter, "I want the cream on top after all." The assistant smiles and adds a generous layer, topping it with a zig zag of chocolate sauce.