By Eagranie Yuh

What Drinking Chocolate Should Be

My friend Luisa drops a bar of Colombian sweet chocolate into her chocolatera, the tall aluminum jug that she uses for making chocolate caliente. It settles to the bottom, and we watch as the chocolate melts, almost crumbling into the water. She gives it a stir with a molinillo, a long white wand with grooves at one end, similar to a honey stick.

Once small bubbles begin to make their lazy way to the surface of the mixture, Luisa goes to work. She spins the molinillo expertly between the palms of her hands until the mixture becomes an airy mess of teeny bubbles on top of rich hot chocolate.

Later, over mugs of foamy hot chocolate, I ask her how to use the molinillo. It’s a combination of sound (“It sounds like this,” she says as she demonstrates on her kitchen counter—clack, clack, clack) and appearance (“You stop spinning when the bubbles look a certain way: not too big and not too small”).

“It always reminds me of my grandmother. She made chocolate caliente every morning, and I can still hear the sound of her wedding ring on the molinillo. I hear it in my head every time.”

Centuries before Luisa’s grandmother was born, the Aztecs made drinking chocolate. They added chilies and spices to create a bitter brew that was consumed hot or cold. The drink was said to impart power to warriors and lovers alike. Legend has it that the warrior Montezuma prepared to meet his harem of 200 wives by drinking 50 chalices of chili-laced chocolate. History has not recorded his wives’ reactions.

Today, South American hot chocolate is a thin mixture of chocolate in milk or water, made from chocolate specifically sold for this purpose. Depending on where you are, you might add spices, chilies, honey, vanilla, or even cornmeal. Cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg are commonly added, resulting in a heady brew of aromatic spices and rich chocolate that is whisked into a light, airy mixture with a delicate froth on top.

The Spanish took this mixture back to Europe with them, and the trend spread across the continent. The Spanish, Italians, and French all have their versions of sipping or drinking chocolate, which is considerably thicker and richer than the South American version. By the time it made its way to England in the late 17th century, it was the height of fashion to visit a chocolate house for a dainty portion of drinking chocolate in the afternoon.

My memories of hot chocolate don’t include the sound of my grandmother’s wedding ring, or of posh chocolate houses. I remember a canister of instant hot chocolate; inside, a mixture that looked vaguely like cocoa. The ingredients list declared sugar, non-dairy creamer, potassium phosphate, silicon dioxide, carrageenan—and at the very bottom of the list, cocoa.

Thankfully, I’ve since discovered real drinking chocolate, and haven’t looked back. Instant hot chocolate, like instant coffee, is a modern “convenience” masquerading as something that should be delicious. The result is a pale shadow of what it could be. Yes, it will take more work to make a genuine cup of drinking chocolate. But, I promise you, it is well worth the effort.

Eagranie Yuh is a writer, chemist, and chocolatier. She’s also the voice behind The Well-Tempered Chocolatier, an award-winning blog about chocolate and food science. www.thewelltemperedchocolatier.com

Editor’s Note: Thank you to personal chef Luisa Rios for the drinking chocolate demo and for hand modelling. www.cookingjourneys.ca