(For the whole rest of the winter, I’m going to be working through a cookbook devoted to 60 different kinds of hot chocolate. Because why not.)
So, lemme state first that this kind of recipe takes work. This is no envelope of Swiss Miss or anything, here – this involves heating milk on the stove, steeping things in it, stirring chopped chocolate into the milk and waiting some more. And that is assuming it hasn’t boiled over or spilled or foamed up all over the stove, and it also is assuming that you have time for this. This isn’t hot chocolate for the quick hour you have after coming in from work and changing before running out to your book club.
But that’s kind of the point. This is meant to be slowed down over and savored. I have still rushed this recipe (see: book club), but I managed to get it done in time to linger a bit. Calling a cab to the club instead of going by subway will save me time. (It’s freakin’ cold, I was already planning on a cab.)
I went fairly simple first – a basic recipe, with cinnamon and cloves spiking the milk before you stir in the chocolate. There’s a lot of chocolate in this, too – a quarter pound, whisked into the steamy milk on the stove. It’s made the drink super-thick – like there’s someone gently kissing me with each sip.
But I cut corners with the cinnamon and cloves, I think, as I don’t really taste them. The recipe said to let them simmer in the milk for ten minutes before adding the chocolate, and I halved that to five in my haste. I can smell them, faintly – just a whisper of them there. Enough to suggest that if I’d been more patient, waited a bit more, I’d have tasted them more.
An intriguing lesson for next time.