I took off to New York City last month to visit my daughter and her family.
Each morning, after I leave my two-year old grandson at daycare — where his lifelong buddies Calvin and Aakash greet him with unrestrained glee — I head to the neighborhood patisserie for my coffee, brioche, and digital New York Times.
On Tuesday of my Upper West Side week, I opt out of my routine and order hot chocolate instead. The arrival of my cup of fulfilled desire immediately transports me to the Paris of my dreams, where my expat cousin Sherry had treated me to the most memorable hot chocolate of my life — a cup of le chocolat chaud l’africain at Angelina, on Rue de Rivoli near the Louvre.
The setting is palatial, a salon worthy of royalty before the populace stormed the ramparts:
The rich and gorgeous liquid, curated from the finest African sources, arrives in a warm porcelain pitcher equivalent to two and a half cups. The waiter offers the first pour but then you linger with your friend, your lover, or in this case, ma cousine francaise, to continue the ritual.
What enhances the experience exponentially for me is the bowl of fresh, thickly whipped cream that accompanies le chocolat, generous enough to handle all of the servings plus an extra spoonful.
La vie en rose!
After dreaming of Paris and finishing my bistro breakfast, I begin my walk to the New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue. Within a few blocks, I pass a senior community center on 73rd and glance at the calendar taped to the door. Coincidentally, a poetry workshop is scheduled to begin just then. The receptionist assures me that the instructor welcomes “drop-ins.”
At first, I apologize for being an interloper — and an out-of-state one at that. Although I was born in the city, I have never lived there, but at this time in my life, I will enter any senior center with the certainty that I will find a program or an exercise class, or simply meet up with “my people” for camaraderie and conversation.
The poetry group is led by a senior published poet named — I’m not kidding you — Chocolate Waters!
Chocolate begins the session with a simple prompt: “Write something, a poem, a story, a memory, your thoughts, about your favorite sweet snack.” In the ten minutes she allows for the exercise, I scratch out a dozen lines or so about my memory of the candy box that my mom kept in her bed-stand for her nightly nosh.
When I return  to Boston, I work them over into a poem:
🌹🌹🌹
My mother Rose
slim as a stem,
kept a box of Whitman’s
near her bed.
She chose a different chocolate
every night.
My father bought
a new assortment weekly,
gleaming foil wrappers and thinly pleated cups,
hidden under crackling parchment.
Propped against her pillows,
she scanned the contents closely,
disdaining the beginners’ map.
She lingered over fine displays
of shape and size,
the pointed crowns emerging
from dips in whirling lava,
the one perfect cherry
undetected till Wednesday.
My dad loved Rose and her chocolates.
He offered her the yellow box
with each paycheck,
sending his beloved on to sweet dreams
each night of the week,
over roads lined with nonpareil pavers
and seas aswirl with foaming coconut cream.
After the serendipitous poetry meeting and my visit to that iconic library building with the mighty lions overseeing all who enter, I walk back to the daycare to pick up my grandson. He runs up to me cheerfully, with no clue of the treat I have in store.
On the way home, we stop at the Italian ice cream place to share a cup of gelato, smiling at each other between tasty licks from our chocolate-covered spoons.
For me — and for my sweet grandson — it was a splendid day!
Love your recollections of a sweet memory!
You are so sweet 🍬 to say that, thanks Kathie!
You have inherited your mother’s sweet tooth along with many of her other qualities. Sounds delicious.
Thanks as always for reading, cousin (not the French one!)
What is it about chocolate that is so satisfying? I love your memory from a past
generation to the next generation.
I’m glad you enjoyed the connections, there are lots to pick from over time.
Formidable!
Merci beaucoup — et Vive la France!
Another SWEET memory! To add to the list of memories.
You and your SWEET Grandson, sharing smiles between the licks from CHOCOLATE covered spoons.
Kathy, thank you for your appreciation of the picture, and the sweet feeling, I tried to get across.
This is wonderful, like all of your writing. You transport me with each installment. Query: how did the hot chocolate in New York compare to that of Paris? đź’•
Nothing else compares to hot chocolate in Paris!
In this horrendously chaotic world, this was a charming, calming interlude. Thank you!
Elena, so glad it lifted your day. You are welcome!
I’ll have to make sure Neil reads this one! Being a chocoholic, as I call him, obviously must run in your family. As always, you deftly and easily bring your subject to life.
Thanks for your “chocolate-covered” compliments Judy.
I wonder if Tartine serves hot chocolate and, if so, whether it is transformative.
If I am to undergo a transformative food event, it would most likely occur in Paris!
La cousine (et les cousins aussi) et la ville de Paris await your next visit. I loved the story about your parents too. A bientot !
I think we were born with Francophile genes — but you, impressively, have activated yours!
Barrie,
I loved your story about NYC and Paris- via chocolate!
Thanks so much for writing, it is really uplifting.
So happy to have provided a momentary respite from reality!
Hi Mom! I read this to Rivka and we both enjoyed…it was a treat for us!
Thank you Mordechai, and I love that you shared it with Rikki — my youngest fan!
“…and seas aswirl withfoaming coconut creme”….ahh, bless you, Barrie.
Merci, merci beaucoups, or as one sometimes hears across the
river in Quebec, “Mercy Buckets!”
buckets of love, appreciation, and good chocolates to you, too.
your fan,
Miki
Miki, love your comment — and that you support my writing vigorously! It’s a real pleasure in life to connect with you after our five decade break. Best wishes, my friend.
I enjoyed reading this lovely piece of memory about the special relationship between your father and your mother.His gesture of love towards her was loyal and consistent. Your description of the different flavors of chocolate reminded me of how delicious those chocolates were to eat. Then you shared a beautiful image of you and your grandson eating chocolate gelato at an ice cream parlor, enjoying every mouthful of this delectible treat; which made me think about how good chocolate would taste right now. You have some really special memories. Thanks for sharing.
❤️🍫❤️ thank you Diane for your sweet thoughts. I enjoyed writing this piece about the good things in life.
Barrie, I forgot to mention that your writing is pretty awesome, too. Thanks again.