Quest for the World's Greatest Hot Chocolate

It is incredibly rare for me to say any variation of, “I love that place! It’s so close to my house!” That miniscule circle encompasses Applebee’s, the 99, and Tucker’s. When I entered the restaurant with a group of coworkers for some corporate-mandated team bonding, I expected the meal to be standard, as it always is in a one-pony place like this. My friend Clorese immediately shattered that expectation along with the coffee mug that she dropped while we stood waiting for our table. Though she was, of course, extremely embarrassed, she could not have known that that simple act of chaos in my normally ordinary world would become the catalyst to something amazing.

I found myself thinking about that broken mug while I waited for my order to arrive. It was orange, I think. A beautifully ordinary piece that crumbled and splattered its white ceramic insides across the tiles filthy from coffee-aroma mornings rushing on sensible footwear- the grout was probably white, too, once upon a time. To us the crash was a memory, a significant event, but to the harried servers and dime-a-dozen retirees hunched over homemade hash browns it was nothing but a minor blip in the radar of that ordinary chaos.

I did not think about it at the time, but I realize the irony that when they brought out my hot chocolate, it too had shattered. Its speckled brown guts were splashed along the side for everyone to judge, a hack job poured with love, a one-star Yelp review waiting to manifest. In that moment, I understand now, the server was not handing me a cup of hot cocoa, but of power. A few strokes of my keyboard and that beloved little locally-owned chain would go the way of so many before it, crumbling under the bootheels of suburban disdain, and Tucker’s would be but a footnote in the history of companies whose one offhand mistake toppled everything they’d worked to build.

Thankfully, I am not the type to complain. I accepted my hot chocolate, tatters and all, because it was still perfectly edible, and I’m not some asshole who doesn’t know how to use a napkin.

Initial impression: The serving was more than decent compared to the reasonable price, though most things are in a place like Tucker’s. I allowed the whipped cream to melt into the frosty first layer, both cooling down the liquid and sending me off with a smooth, toothache-sweet start. It was an easy temperature right off the bat, the kind of feat normally accomplished only with ice cubes, but with none of the watery side effects. As I came down from that first sip, I detected a hint, just the barest whisper of something that might have been a wisp of hazelnut, but before I could understand what was happening it was gone like smoke in my fingers.

Further reflection: My joy was dashed when, once I got past the initial layer of cream, there wasn’t a whole lot of flavor left. It was semisweet, smooth and just on the edge of dark, but mostly just… liquid. It’s like they went all in on the “hot” and forgot to add the “chocolate” part until the very last minute (maybe that’s why it exploded? I never got a formal explanation for that). Every few sips I would get a whiff of vanilla cream, but for the most part I was floating in a sea of warm, filtered nothingness.

Thankfully, the odd flavor did not detract from that of my meal. I had the meat lovers skillet with toast, and I found that the hot chocolate neither impaired nor enhanced the food, which is quite an accomplishment considering that in my experience most chocolatey beverages do the former. As I approached the bottom of the mug, I felt the flavor regaining a bit of fullness, a bit more pizazz, probably because I was stirring up the dregs. While I understand that gravity is a crucial component of life on Earth, I am never impressed by a beverage whose most flavorful elements tend to float to the bottom of their vessel.

Final thoughts: This hot chocolate experience concluded in the exact opposite way in which it began: decisively, and with a bland, unnoteworthy decrescendo. While the flavor never quite embraced its full capacity for deliciousness, it was not an unenjoyable drink. For this reason only I am giving it as high a score as I am.

If you’re ever in the Manchester area and don’t feel like taking advantage of the city’s many conveniently located coffee shops and diners, I recommend taking a stroll over to Tucker’s for New Hampshire’s (so far) most okay cup of hot chocolate. Take a moment to admire the takeout window left over from when it was a Burger King fifteen years ago. If you happen to be waiting for a table and notice the complimentary coffee next to the host stand, take a moment to reflect on my friend Clorese and the act of casual clumsiness that turned an otherwise ordinary morning into a memory. And hey, if you know Clorese, tell her congratulations because she (like everyone else on my Facebook feed) just got married. She’s a good kid.

Did you know that there are very few restaurants open on Sunday evenings in Barcelona? We didn’t. There we were, wandering Las Ramblas in hope of finding somewhere, anywhere that would take our Euros, if only for a measly plate of tapas. Thankfully, we stumbled upon this quaint little cafe-style restaurant.

Initial impression: The presentation was certainly a plus. It arrived, like most hot beverages in Europe, on a dish with a tiny spoon, but unlike other restaurants, I did not feel inordinately self-conscious about using the spoon. I was surprised to see that it was not your typical cup of cocoa, but rather literal hot chocolate- as in, thick, dark, rich melted chocolate.

I was immediately enveloped in the fudgy aroma exuding from the substance. I was so enamored by this scent that I took a sip far too soon, and my tongue was struck by that all-too-familiar sensation of eating hot fudge straight out of the container right after it’s been heated. Indeed, the beverage itself tasted more like fudge than regular hot cocoa. It was thick and dark, filling me with its searing embrace, just a hint of musk but without the bitter edge that typically accompanies dark chocolate. The resulting flavor experience was indescribable; the best word my brain can supply is “strange”.

Further reflection: This beverage was like coming home to a place you’ve never been before. The flavor was rich and thick, completely embracing every bit of my tongue, searing with a comfortable heat that played just on the edge of burning before pulling back. The liquid left behind a slightly chalky aftertaste, but this was bolstered by a smooth undercurrent just poking a toe into uber-sweet territory. I noticed that if I did not take a sip every few minutes, the liquid formed a strange film, but this did not deter from the taste or overall experience.

Final thoughts: It is truly rare to find a hot chocolate that retains its lovely flavor even when paired with a savory meal. This beverage remained at a comfortable temperature even with the persistent February breeze and ended with a warm, silky finish of which I will dream for months to come. While I certainly enjoyed this experience, I will say that this cocoa is best enjoyed as an after-dinner dessert or a sweet treat on its own, not as an accompaniment to a meal. Truly, it belongs in a category of its own rather than living in contrast to the other hot chocolates which I have reviewed. As things stand, however, while it is far from the coveted 10/10 spot, I am assigning it the highest ranking of any beverage I have reviewed so far.

Initial impression: The Goat Tavern is a charming and historic little building perfect for tourists who desperately don’t want other tourists to know they’re tourists. It is also a great place for grown adults who are at the tail end of a very long vacation with their family and just want a dark, quiet, cramped pub to hole up in for an afternoon. In case the nuance was lost on you, yes, I fell into both of these categories.

The menu was classic pub fare. I wanted to order the deluxe hot chocolate, which came with all sorts of goodies like sprinkles and extra whipped cream, but the bartender said they don’t have it. Don’t know why it’s on the menu then. Somewhat peeved and more than a little disappointed, I ordered the regular hot chocolate.

When it arrived, my displeasure was abated by the incredible aroma and the lovely presentation. The chocolate shavings on top and the visually enchanting swirl effect almost made up for their lack of deluxe hot chocolate. The color was an excellent medium with a strong bitter taste, but not in a bad way, and they gave me some sugar packets to alleviate it. The beverage also arrived at the perfect temperature: not too hot, but still comfortingly warm, like a mother’s tender embrace.

Further reflection: The aroma was truly fantastic; it really elevated the experience. The flavor was full-bodied, bold and exciting, like the whirlwind European romance I never got to have. While this was diluted somewhat by the addition of the sugar, I still found myself enjoying the experience, now more akin to a rainy afternoon on a Paris boulevard. The very experience of drinking this hot chocolate made all the woes of that vacation seem miniscule. Why worry about silly things like crowded airports and weak WiFi when you get to sit in the Goat Tavern and enjoy such a creamy, rambunctious, wholly amorous cup of cocoa?

Once our food arrived, that’s when things began to decline. I was so focused on the incredible fish ‘n’ chips that I began to neglect my beverage, and when I finally returned to it, not only was the previously bold flavor washed out by that of my meal, it had cooled down so that it was nigh undrinkable. I felt like a spurned lover, whisked along a bold new path and swept up by the adventure and novelty of it all, then deposited on my rump on a rainy side street in Dusseldorf. Everything that had made me love that experience- the uninhibited flavor, the texture which coated my tongue with candied promises, the arrival temperature that seemed to have been crafted just for me- was now corrupted in my memory forever.

Final thoughts: If you visit the Goat Tavern, there is a spot at the corner table on the wall farthest from the door that is a little bit warmer than the rest of the pub. That is where I was sitting when I experienced my first true love- and my first true heartbreak. It wasn’t all bad, of course, but I find that whatever happy memories might remain there are now warped by the haze of loss which colors those moments. This cocoa is a cruel mistress, sweeping you up with its assertive flavor and delectable presentation, then tossing you aside like so much processed sugar. By the time I soldiered through the remainder of the beverage, I was struck by the realization that there was almost no residue at the bottom. How fitting, I see now, that it should be so cruel as to leave me without even the sour brown dregs to remember it by.

This was the first meal I had after arriving in London for a family vacation, and I will admit, I started off already a little skeptical. I’m not afraid to say that I don’t trust British cuisine at the best of times, and the homey ambiance of Ale & Pie did little to assuage those fears (with the exception, of course, of fish & chips, which is what I ordered). I am disappointed to report that while the meal itself was the best slice of fried cod I’ve ever consumed in my life, the beverage fell far short of even my abysmally low expectations.

Initial impression: They served the drink with a cute little biscuit (side note, British biscuits should in no way be equated to American cookies. This tasted like the a high-end version of the little shortbread things they give you on Delta flights. Which, granted, are amazing, but still. Not a cookie). It arrived far too hot to serve- on a scale from Arctic Sea to Stella Liebeck, it hovered somewhere around Yellowstone geyser. I understand it needs to be so hot to fully diffuse the chocolate, but come on.

After having to wait what felt like several lifetimes to take a sip without melting my upper lip off, the first thing that stood out to me was that there was absolutely no taste. Maybe it was just the foam being, y’know, foamy, but I couldn’t detect an ounce of flavor anywhere in the upper strata. There was a dusting of cocoa that was bitter but not in a terrifically off-putting way. I wanted to use the little spoon they gave me, but I felt like everyone in the restaurant was judging me for doing so. I settled for dipping what remained of my biscuit in the cocoa, which, I’ll admit, wasn’t actually half bad.

Further reflection: The foam lent it a slightly buttery aftertaste. Finally, after after a few dozen sips the chocolate flavor began to manifest at last. Smooth and gracefully textured, it danced across my tongue, yet left me wanting more. I took a few more sips, and it gradually began to work its way onto my pallette. The drink was half gone and the flavor had yet to show me any real staying power. It was like chasing smoke. It didn’t taste bad, per se, but for me it was about principles. When I order a cup of hot chocolate, I expect to be wooed by rich, lurid flavors and comfortable warmth-but-not-too-warmth. I don’t want to have to go on a goddamn wild goose chase just to get a little cocoa mixed in with my mug of tasteless milk foam.

Final thoughts: The texture was decent and the flavor did come into its own, but I was disappointed by the struggle which came with the experience. The score was saved only by the wonderful presentation and the addition of literally the best fish ‘n’ chips I’ve ever had (seriously, they were transformational). I wouldn’t say that I did not enjoy it, but I would not order this hot chocolate a second time.

My name is Abby, and I am on a quest to find the world's best cup of hot chocolate.

It all began many years ago, during the summer between high school and college. I was lost, stilted; a wayward soul with little to make my life worth living. I was demotivated, and this demotivation gave birth to a diet consisting almost entirely of hot chocolate and microwave popcorn. This, I believe, is what began my passion for hot chocolate as a beverage and as an entity.

My quest was not officially determined until two years later. I had just transferred to the College of Charleston and was searching for an on-campus job. I had been lucky enough to score an interview at the Sottile Theater for a position as a stagehand. Looking back, I arrived at the interview in high heels and a skirt and was incapable of moving the shutters on a lamp, as opposed to the third-year theater tech major who looked like she'd just stepped off a goddamn Broadway set, but we both got the same job at the same pay rate. Perhaps the theater was simply desperate for cheap student labor.

Anyway, unjust hiring practices in the entertainment field is not the point of this post. The reason I mention that interview is because on the application, the technical director had included a question which begged of the interviewee, "What is your quest?"

Now, I'm sure there were many ways to interpret this question, and when I asked my colleagues later on about how they had answered, I was a tad embarrassed about the absurdity of my response compared to their own mundane ones. (But hey, we all ended up in the same place, right?) I do not remember if the technical director addressed the fact that I had opened our correspondence by stating that my quest was to find the world's greatest cup of hot chocolate. He probably didn't even read it, knowing the kind of person he was. He didn't stay at that theater much longer.

I do have him to thank, however, for igniting the true sparks of my lifelong quest. Had he not posed that question so bluntly, made it integral to the process of obtaining a job which I desired so strongly, it is almost certain that I would not have been forced to address the matter with finality. He handed me the pitcher full of cement which I would pour into the mold of my dreams. Now that I had said it to another person in a job interview, it was definite, sealed not only in my consciousness but in the canon of reality as a whole. For that, I thank him.

I will be uploading tales of my hot chocolate adventures every two weeks, beginning with my visit to the Ale & Pie in London, England. (Disclaimer: please don't expect too many posts about international hot chocolate. Normally I never leave my house unless I have to so I drank as much hot chocolate as I could while I was on a rare family vacation. I am not as chic and cosmopolitan as my cocoa tastes might lead you to believe.)