The Mystery Hot Chocolate

It's a tradition now that every Sunday in the fall my husband and I get together with a few friends to walk the boards. We have a great time chatting, getting exercise, and watching the waves roll in. Since the weather is a bit colder now, it does get a bit challenging to stay warm. Hmm. What about some hot chocolate once we finish the walk? This was a grand idea. It was time to kick it up a notch in our stride, and we did just that.

It seemed like eternity before we reached the area on the boardwalk where you can sit for some sustenance. Finally, it was upon us - restaurants! The only problem; however, none of them served hot chocolate. We pressed on even though the cold wind was cutting into our faces, but it was worth it. I could just taste the creamy, chocolatety drink sliding down my throat and warming my belly.

Things were beginning to look grim, as there was only one place left on the boardwalk - an ice cream parlor. My 3rd eye - intuit self, was drawn to this place. I dragged the gang in and hit the proverbial jackpot...HOT CHOCOLATE! We couldn't get to the counter fast enough to order. And boy did we order. I'm talking LARGE and of course with whipped cream.

We sauntered towards the bar stools with hot chocolate in hand. The weird thing was my hand didn't feel warm holding onto the hot chocolate. Okay, just figured it was a well insulated cup and that's why I didn't feel the heat. I sit down on my stool, prop myself up nicely, and pucker my lips around the cup slowly sipping as not to burn my mouth. Hmm, no burning of the mouth and no warming of the belly. This hot chocolate wasn't HOT. At best it was lukewarm. There was something else strange about this hot chocolate - it didn't taste like chocolate. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it was a cross between sugar and sugar.

Before saying anything, I decided to take a look at my friends' facial expressions while they were drinking this mystery cup of hot liquid. I couldn't help notice my friend Maria constantly licking her lips like she was trying to wash them off. Okay, it was time to make a comment, but before I could my friend said, "Are your lips really sticky?" It was time to let it roll now. I went on to give a dissertation about all the qualities, or rather lack of qualities, this hot drink had. For the next 15 minutes on our stroll back to the car we tried to decipher exactly what was in this mystery drink. To no avail. The enigma drink is what we were left with. I should have taken my husband's advice and stuck with the pasta fagioli.

What's the karmic lesson? Always listen to my husband when it comes to food.