I made drinking chocolate.
Deliciously creamy, smooth, and dark … with just a hint of cinnamon. It was decadence in a cup.
It was my birthday, and I didn’t want the usual birthday cake. I just wasn’t in the mood for cake. Besides, then there would be days of cake sitting around to tempt me.
Years ago, I had the most delicious drinking chocolate at a coffee shop while on a ski vacation in Park City, Utah. That’s what I was craving for my birthday treat.
First, I stopped at Starbucks. No luck. They didn’t have drinking chocolate. Then I stopped at a local coffee shop, where the barista with a full tattoo sleeve and gauged earlobes looked at me as if I were speaking a different language. And maybe I was. I was not looking for Hot Chocolate, the kind we’ve made for years. You know the one … brown powder that comes in a pouch and added to boiling water … or even the upgraded version we sometimes made with cocoa mixed with sugar and added to scalded milk. Neither of those would do. After my third stop at yet another coffee shop, where I was met with the same blank thousand-yard barista stare, I began to wonder if perhaps I had made the whole thing up.
Memory has a way of doing that.
Has your memory ever done this? The restaurant that was unbelievably good the first time you went was only “okay” the next time. Or the romantic and secluded picnic spot overlooking the ocean with the perfect view of the surf rolling in was dirty and crowded on the second visit. Both of those scenarios have played out for me on birthdays gone by.
My husband often remembers my homecooked meals as better the first time. He has a chart of his favorites taped inside the kitchen cabinet. One of his favorites is the Chilean Sea Bass I made for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I’ve made it annually ever since, and it has never been as good as his memory. I know this because this year we celebrated our thirtieth anniversary, and there was no clapping at the end of our anniversary dinner. He calls dinner “a clapper” when he’s impressed.
But my memory of the delicious drinking chocolate was so vivid! I could feel the warmth of the tiny, espresso-sized cup in my hands, and taste the velvety smooth, semi-sweet chocolate on my tongue. So, I would just have to make it! After a quick Google search on my phone and a stop at the grocery store, I headed home.
Because it was my birthday, and there was nobody home to complain about it, I put on the movie Chocolat, starring Johnny Depp and Juliet Binoche, to set the scene. I chopped my chocolate ever so finely, heated the milk, and slowly stirred along with Juliet. Her French kitchen and beautiful copper pot with a pour spout were much more elegant than my setup. I had to move a stack of mail to make room on the counter, and I used a stainless sauce pan. It did have a copper bottom … but, alas, no pour spout.
I put on a fancy apron over my work dress, which made me feel a little more elegant. I had designed a series of Domestic Goddess aprons as gifts for my friends. The Dee apron has a Palm Beach theme with gold fringe and tropical foliage. The Linda apron has a Paris theme, featuring the Eiffel Tower on a toile background, and the Tammy has a beach theme, cerulean blue with tiny seashell-trimmed pockets. This occasion obviously called for the Linda apron.
The smell of the melted chocolate was heavenly as I slowly poured it into the small espresso cup. And the taste was just as I remembered it … and maybe even better.
The way I did it. Chocolate, Chocolat.
This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—my quest to find what a meaningful life looks like. One experiment per week: Possible strategies for a happier life. Trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.
Field Notes: For Paid Subscribers
Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, what I didn’t expect, what I might do next time, plus things I’m still working on.