Jemma swore by hot chocolate before bed, the sweetness to satisfy her craving, the lull afterward to take her into dreamland. The rest of us weren't so sure, but why fight hot chocolate? That became our first "tradition" as a new group, a family of sorts. The milk had to be creamy and the chocolate strong, after that anything went. Oliver often added some liquor, Len liked the marshmallows, Sandy wanted cream like the coffee shops used to add, syrup too. Me? I enjoyed a bit of everything, just not all on the same day.
Hot milk, cocoa, sugar - sometimes the most simple of things are the best. Standing over the pan I watch the small curls of steam rise into the wintry air, though the fire is warming the room quickly. I stirr a little, letting my mind wander. Tommy lays down the mugs with a clink to the counter and glances over, bringing a grin that tells him just what I have in mind for later, so I look away, failing to suppress a small laugh. The milk is hot and so into the mugs, snowy like the ground outside, it is poured.
Letty sighed heavily, enough for Gran to pause her TV show. "What's up, Let?"
She was still staring into the cupboards as she replied, "No hot chocolate powder, you know how Tim is about routines. The shops are still open but my legs still feel heavy from that flu."
Gran smirked. "Girl, you have sugar and cocoa powder. Two thirds sugar, one third cocoa and a pinch of salt. There, now your hot chocolate tub can be full without driving to the store."
Letty nodded, mouth puckered, then let out an all together different kind of sigh - softer, quieter. "You're a life-saver."
Gran was already picking up her remoter control, "Cheaper, tastes better, uses the same pot." But Letty never heard that part, her mind was already fretting about tomorrow's dinner as the soap opera resumed.
Sally let out a sigh, the hot chocolate machine wasn't working again, only hot water coming out. In frustration she threw in the capsule and stirred... and it worked. So what was the point in those silly machines? All the coffee and hot chocolate capsules were basically "tea bags!" All you need for a tea bag is hot water. She asked the lady at the cash register for some cream to add and it was divine! She turned to stare at the machine, all those resources robbed from the earth, and for what? A fancy kettle that breaks in three months?
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.
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 just sugared water. If I close my eyes it tastes like one of those tootsie rolls. It's too hot at first, scalding even, there isn't even a nip of milk to reduce the temperature. After a few minutes I'm planning how best to dump it out, if I sit next to a pot plant it should just be possible; but before I can my aunt takes that seat and engages me in conversation about my long hair and future job prospects. I want to tell her I'm twelve and it really doesn't matter, but I'm not allowed to back talk. So instead I sup at the imitation chocolate, so thin and completely lacking in creaminess.
The hot chocolate has to be milk - all milk -with two heaped spoons of a mixture that contains real cocoa. I can't abide that stuff that's just flavouring and sugar, I'd rather just have milk with a dash of vanilla than that junk. Then near Christmas I add the whipped cream topping with a drizzle of hot fudge sauce. Perfection. I don't need Starbucks, though that stuff is damn good, I can make it myself, put on my own jazz and sit by the fire. By the end I have a cream moustache, but who's here to see? Just the cat, and I hardly think she minds.
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