from across the counter, before counterboy popped the lid onto the paper cup, i caught a glimpse of glossy dark brown and knew that this was a hot chocolate to be reckoned with. minutes earlier, the answer to the question, “do you make it with melted chocolate?” was a pause, and then, “it’s half cream and half chocolate.” i sipped it at the counter. it’s like drinking luxury.

but luxury which, a short time later, made me feel like my face was detaching from my head. i fear that my tolerance to good dark chocolate is decreasing; i would like to be able to eat more of it in one go before i start feeling strange. and this is really good dark chocolate: a rich… well, i can’t even say “liquid”, because it is on the verge of that next step up into… well, i can’t say “solid”, or even “goop” — like those cornstarchy concoctions that get sold as thick, european-style hot chocolate — because it glides so smoothly down my throat. what i did say, out loud, was that it was better than the lindt cafe hot chocolate, and those are big words, i know.

i kept up the steady sipping all the way home, and when i got there, with my loaf of soy linseed, and removed the lid, i was astounded to find that i hadn’t even made it halfway through the cup. i prepared myself a slice of buttered toast, and put the hot chocolate in the fridge for later.

which turned out to be much later, after dinner, when — because i am a wuss — i thinned it out on the stove with a dash of milk, and — because i am a wuss capable of diabolical and twisted reasoning — fashioned a sort of affogato with three kinds of ice cream. and look, one of them was even chocolate!