Thursday

['Twas] the night before Christmas, we'd managed to get to the store just before it closed to buy milk just before it expired. Tradition is about implementing nostalgia to create commonplace security under changing conditions, incidentally. Both our family traditions dictate the conspicuous consumption of hot chocolate on Christmas morning. That morning, Sunshine purchased some bakery sweets while I slept later than anyone traditionally should during Christmas daylight. So it was my duty to make drinks when I finally woke up. What we have in the larder: adulterated Mexican chocolate pucks, infused with cinnamon and sugar and rich Mesoamerican unknowns. The way I make Mexican hot chocolate: chunk the imported puck up with a heavy knife until the pieces are approximately the size of broken chalk, one half circle per cup makes it fundamentally thick. Rudely dump chalky pile into American blender with one cup of milk for each person, making sure to sweep up all the crumbly powder. Find another damn western adapter to haphazardly power blender and press high until a frothy aerated consistency is achieved. Pour this into a pot placed on medium heat, and stir constantly until the chocolate simmers up into something like a beer head made of mousse. Serve. On Christmas morning I was able to balance the US blender prongs loosely into the same arcing outlet powering the Christmas tree. The blender made a hilarious burning tire smell for a minute while locking into thick chocolate chunks; then it fired one Star Wars spark into the dish drainer and wouldn't work again. So I made the Mexican chocolate a more traditional way: I stirred the damn chunks over low heat until they melted. This took the more traditional hour-plus and left the chocolate just as tasty, far denser, and less frothy. [Cavin]