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I am Geoff Barnes and this here is
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So, you want to make hot cocoa.
With so much recent ado about culinary self-improvement and cocktailian craftsmanship, it seems to this mixed up husband-to-be and father of three that a crucial field of knowledge has been left dangerously unaddressed, and it just wouldn’t be socially medially dutiful of me not to illuminate the darkness to the best of my ability. (Also, Cub Scout motto.)
Of course, I’m talking about hot cocoa. The kind of hot cocoa you never had before. The kind of hot cocoa your mom maybe knew how to make, but never let on, because you’re not supposed to eat from The Tree of Knowledge of Now Your Mind Is Blown Hot Cocoa and we all know what happens when you violate injunctions like that. The kind of hot cocoa that, in its weaponized form, will land you knee-deep in hot lovin’ before you can say, “Screw the whipping cream!”
Enough hyperbole. You came here for the sex, and that’s what you’re gonna get. Pencils ready?
Put a sauce pan on your stove.
Put two heaping tablespoons of white sugar in it.
Put two heaping tablespoons of unsweetened cocoa in it.
Put two pinches of salt in it.
Put a half teaspoon or so of vanilla extract in it. Except if you want to fancy it up like a barista. In that case, try orange extract or some such malarkey.
Turn the heat up to a low-medium temperature and add a little milk. Not too much, and make sure you stir. The goal is to dissolve as much of the powdery stuff into as little of the liquidy stuff as possible. It should look like you melted a chocolate bar in there, so add milk slowly.
Add milk until you’re out three cups.
Stir frequently until a slow spiral of steam rises steadily from the center of the pan and a tablespoon sample simultaneously scalds your tongue and brings you to the brink of climax.
Serving instructions:
Pour into two mugs and set them on the hearth before a crackling Fall fire, taking special care not to spill on the white bear rug.
Do your thing. You can always reheat hot cocoa.
Alternate serving instructions:
Pour into three mugs and set them on the dining room table, taking special care not to spill on the kids’ homework or Pokemon cards.
Watch. Just watch.
Yeah, I know. We all have our preferences. But isn’t this cocoa the best?

So, you want to make hot cocoa.

With so much recent ado about culinary self-improvement and cocktailian craftsmanship, it seems to this mixed up husband-to-be and father of three that a crucial field of knowledge has been left dangerously unaddressed, and it just wouldn’t be socially medially dutiful of me not to illuminate the darkness to the best of my ability. (Also, Cub Scout motto.)

Of course, I’m talking about hot cocoa. The kind of hot cocoa you never had before. The kind of hot cocoa your mom maybe knew how to make, but never let on, because you’re not supposed to eat from The Tree of Knowledge of Now Your Mind Is Blown Hot Cocoa and we all know what happens when you violate injunctions like that. The kind of hot cocoa that, in its weaponized form, will land you knee-deep in hot lovin’ before you can say, “Screw the whipping cream!”

Enough hyperbole. You came here for the sex, and that’s what you’re gonna get. Pencils ready?

  • Put a sauce pan on your stove.
  • Put two heaping tablespoons of white sugar in it.
  • Put two heaping tablespoons of unsweetened cocoa in it.
  • Put two pinches of salt in it.
  • Put a half teaspoon or so of vanilla extract in it. Except if you want to fancy it up like a barista. In that case, try orange extract or some such malarkey.
  • Turn the heat up to a low-medium temperature and add a little milk. Not too much, and make sure you stir. The goal is to dissolve as much of the powdery stuff into as little of the liquidy stuff as possible. It should look like you melted a chocolate bar in there, so add milk slowly.
  • Add milk until you’re out three cups.
  • Stir frequently until a slow spiral of steam rises steadily from the center of the pan and a tablespoon sample simultaneously scalds your tongue and brings you to the brink of climax.

Serving instructions:

  • Pour into two mugs and set them on the hearth before a crackling Fall fire, taking special care not to spill on the white bear rug.
  • Do your thing. You can always reheat hot cocoa.

Alternate serving instructions:

  • Pour into three mugs and set them on the dining room table, taking special care not to spill on the kids’ homework or Pokemon cards.
  • Watch. Just watch.

Yeah, I know. We all have our preferences. But isn’t this cocoa the best?

  1. thescentof-life reblogged this from texburgher
  2. simplekitchen reblogged this from texburgher
  3. do-over said: I think … I … I’m not … OMG. I think it’s entirely possible that I just fell in love with you. In a platonic, recipe-worshiping, way, but love, just the same.
  4. texburgher posted this