random: brother and recipe
A few days ago, it was my little brother's birthday. I haven't seen him for more than a year and a half, and I miss him. Skype just don't quite cut it, y'know? I won't go into the whys and wherefore details, but we've always been close, even when not living together. That indelible close that happens when no one else you know ever shared or understood the world you grew up in. The kind of close that means you can almost forget that an ocean and twenty months lie between you, because you carry the other's self in the very shape of your own, and somehow the fact that the other is not physically present in your present just doesn't seem to register.
Anyway. I miss him.
One of the things we used to do, one of our little rituals of staying sane of the kind everyone needs in the face of the interminable demands of this world, was hot chocolate. Not complicated, right? But it couldn't really be. We'd go out and buy some - and there was a fabulous chocolatier shop called San Churros, which was thankfully too far away to go to regularly, or we'd have been very fat and very poor very quickly - or stay home and make some. We didn't even drink it together, always; sometimes just making it for the other was enough.
And we put our creative and rational faculties (which are considerable, naturally) to quite a lot of experimentation. He's always been more picky than me, more determined to get it right, the perfect cup. He can be obsessive like that. You know: a geek. Me, I was just happy to have the drink. The good thing about experimenting with hot chocolate is the good thing about chocolate generally: even when it's bad, it's still pretty good.
So in celebration of his birthday, and because I'm drinking some right now, I'm going to share what became my favourite hot chocolate recipe. (It wasn't his. I don't remember if he ever had a favourite; he was always tinkering with the next idea - using melted cooking chocolate, adding orange essence, or vanilla, or something, frothing it in a saucepan, etc - and whenever I made him a cup I had to check how he wanted it this time. Which is why it was usually me making him make it, rather than the other way around. And, I'm the oldest.)
My favourite is actually really pretty simple:
- A hefty, heaped teaspoon of cocoa (the Hershey's Special Dark stuff does okay over here; back home, there were a couple of different brands we used, but there was a Dutch one whose name escapes me which was really good).
- A shake of cinnamon and/or pinch of cayenne pepper if I'm in the mood. (Don't overdo the pepper. Seriously.)
- A nice, proper dollop of honey, but don't overdo it. You kind of have to eyeball it, and you can always add more if you need to. This is the only sweetener, so adjust as needed; I don't like it too sweet, myself.
- Milk. A microwave. A mug, a spoon, a couch, a blanket and an episode of whatever is Show to you. I'm thinking this is not the part I need to explain to you all.
1. Put the cocoa (and cinnamon and pepper, if that's what you're doing) in the mug and add the honey. Stir them together until you have a thick paste. It can take a little while until it goes from powdery and lumpy to smooth and blended. If you've stirred for a minute and it hasn't come together, add a little more honey.
2. Pour in the milk; don't bother stirring yet, it's cold and won't mix. (I like to smear the paste all around the inside of the mug with the back of the spoon, but I think that's just me enjoying the texture. I don't think it actually does anything for the drink, except maybe make it a little easier to stir in together later.)
3. Heat in the microwave, but not to boiling. (Which you shouldn't do anyhow.)
4. Stir until it's uniformly chocolatey. If the cocoa remains all globby and bitsy, the milk is probably still too cool to make the honey dissolve properly. Heat it a bit more. If it's hot enough, and you've stirred it properly, there shouldn't be too much of the paste clinging to the spoon once you're done.
And that's it. Simple and yummy, and appropriate for all ages. If you have a favourite hot chocolate recipe, or tried this one, I hereby invite you to share about it in the comments; I'd love to try it (and make suggestions to my endlessly experimenting brother). Or what your own sanity-saving ritual is ... other than writing fic, obviously. ;)
Anyway. I miss him.
One of the things we used to do, one of our little rituals of staying sane of the kind everyone needs in the face of the interminable demands of this world, was hot chocolate. Not complicated, right? But it couldn't really be. We'd go out and buy some - and there was a fabulous chocolatier shop called San Churros, which was thankfully too far away to go to regularly, or we'd have been very fat and very poor very quickly - or stay home and make some. We didn't even drink it together, always; sometimes just making it for the other was enough.
And we put our creative and rational faculties (which are considerable, naturally) to quite a lot of experimentation. He's always been more picky than me, more determined to get it right, the perfect cup. He can be obsessive like that. You know: a geek. Me, I was just happy to have the drink. The good thing about experimenting with hot chocolate is the good thing about chocolate generally: even when it's bad, it's still pretty good.
So in celebration of his birthday, and because I'm drinking some right now, I'm going to share what became my favourite hot chocolate recipe. (It wasn't his. I don't remember if he ever had a favourite; he was always tinkering with the next idea - using melted cooking chocolate, adding orange essence, or vanilla, or something, frothing it in a saucepan, etc - and whenever I made him a cup I had to check how he wanted it this time. Which is why it was usually me making him make it, rather than the other way around. And, I'm the oldest.)
My favourite is actually really pretty simple:
- A hefty, heaped teaspoon of cocoa (the Hershey's Special Dark stuff does okay over here; back home, there were a couple of different brands we used, but there was a Dutch one whose name escapes me which was really good).
- A shake of cinnamon and/or pinch of cayenne pepper if I'm in the mood. (Don't overdo the pepper. Seriously.)
- A nice, proper dollop of honey, but don't overdo it. You kind of have to eyeball it, and you can always add more if you need to. This is the only sweetener, so adjust as needed; I don't like it too sweet, myself.
- Milk. A microwave. A mug, a spoon, a couch, a blanket and an episode of whatever is Show to you. I'm thinking this is not the part I need to explain to you all.
1. Put the cocoa (and cinnamon and pepper, if that's what you're doing) in the mug and add the honey. Stir them together until you have a thick paste. It can take a little while until it goes from powdery and lumpy to smooth and blended. If you've stirred for a minute and it hasn't come together, add a little more honey.
2. Pour in the milk; don't bother stirring yet, it's cold and won't mix. (I like to smear the paste all around the inside of the mug with the back of the spoon, but I think that's just me enjoying the texture. I don't think it actually does anything for the drink, except maybe make it a little easier to stir in together later.)
3. Heat in the microwave, but not to boiling. (Which you shouldn't do anyhow.)
4. Stir until it's uniformly chocolatey. If the cocoa remains all globby and bitsy, the milk is probably still too cool to make the honey dissolve properly. Heat it a bit more. If it's hot enough, and you've stirred it properly, there shouldn't be too much of the paste clinging to the spoon once you're done.
And that's it. Simple and yummy, and appropriate for all ages. If you have a favourite hot chocolate recipe, or tried this one, I hereby invite you to share about it in the comments; I'd love to try it (and make suggestions to my endlessly experimenting brother). Or what your own sanity-saving ritual is ... other than writing fic, obviously. ;)