Dreams of drinking chocolate in London

Last September, right before the financial downward cycle, I was on a business trip with my manager in London, when I spent about 7 pounds (yes, about $14 U.S. dollars out of my own pocket) on a 4 oz. cup of dark drinking chocolate. It might have been the single most memorable chocolate consumption experience of my nearly 30-years of existence.

I found a great NW blog post from Luna Café detailing the distinctions between hot chocolate, hot cocoa, and drinking chocolate. Essentially, drinking chocolate is literally melted high quality chocolate with cream and cocoa butter, making a very rich and decadent beverage. You might recall Starbucks a few years back tried to market a drinking chocolate, Chantico (which was my first exposure to this delicacy), but they pulled the product after the first season much to my dismay.

But back to my London drinking chocolate memories …

I have to set up the experience that surrounded this gourmet endeavor. Because, for the most part, the discovery of the Chocolate Bar and indulgent purchase of said drinking chocolate was completely spontaneous. First, we spent the Saturday morning before flying home to Seattle wandering the city by foot–both agreeing that the best way to see and enjoy any new city is to explore organically and not pay for predictable tours.

So we meandered with little agenda nor timetable from our hotel in SoHo to Buckingham Palace, Victoria, Knightsbridge, through Hyde Park, down Piccadilly, through the Theatre District and Covent Garden–the whole journey relaxing and lively, taking something like four hours.

It was somewhere between Knightsbridge and Hyde Park that we entered the Harrods department store. I have to note, though my second trip to London, this was my first time in Harrods, which I can only describe for those who have never been as the combination of Bloomingdales, Dean and Deluca, and a Vegas casino. You could eat sushi, buy an expensive steak, visit a Princess Di memorial, gander at 2,000 pound painting for sale, listen to live opera music, and buy a designer gown all in the span of 45 minutes. We opted to explore the many floors and ran into a mention of a chocolate bar on a sign. Knowing my love of all things chocolate, my manager was kind enough to attempt to find this location within the massive Harrods retail extravaganza.

As soon as we came upon the Chocolate Bar, my heart skipped a beat (I’m not actually kidding, here, my knees probably swooned a little too!).

Chocolate Bar at Harrods

 I was smart enough to take some photos of the before and after-I do recommend making this a must-see and taste activity for anyone in London. Each warm, intense sip only more deeply affirmed my passionate love affair with chocolate. Screw the calories or fat count-this stuff is supposed to have health benefits or something. The cup was served with a metal spoon that doubled as a straw. Yum.

Before

After

It is fairly obvious from the state of the “after” cup that I enjoyed my beverage thoroughly. Pictures are worth a thousand words, are they not?

So, I digress. Something about the recent March cold weather and intensity of the depressing headlines has reignited this memory and grown into a full bodied craving. Last night, in Kent, WA before going to the minor league T-birds hockey game with my husband, I ordered a extra dark Dutched chocolate at Dilettante mocha café  with little success. The $3 overly milky crud was served in a paper cup with plastic lid and honestly it was not worth the words to describe disappointment.

But, a few web-searches while compiling this post resulted in some potential Seattle locations to get my chocolate fix: http://www.chocolopolis.com/  and http://www.sschocolatebox.com/. I’ll be exploring these in the coming weeks to see if I can recreate my London experience. I may even shell out a few bucks for the ingredients and attempt to concoct the recipe in my own kitchen. Until then, I only have my pictures and dreams of the Chocolate Bar to satisfy my taste buds.

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Seattle needs good pizza

As a Pacific Northwest transplant, originally born and raised in the Chicago land suburbs, I have often contemplated how a gorgonzola, caramelized onion, pear-topped piece of bread can be classified as pizza. It never occurred to me that there were thousands of pizza fans who have never enjoyed a Chicago slice. Or, even more shocking, don’t even know what Chicago-style pizza is!

Given that I matriculate from a part of the country downright obsessed with pizza, I feel an obligation to explain real, serious pizza to Seattle. But how to do this? Apart from opening my own pizza place–which is highly unlikely for reasons too numerous to count, including and certainly not limited to my lack of culinary skills and financial backing–my deep desire to educate others as to the merits of truly good pizza currently manifests in irregular lectures to my local friends. Enter phase 2 of my plan: blogging.

So what is so special about pizza hailing from the Windy City:

There is nothing quite like the feeling of being completely full after just one slice of the golden deep-dish crust, cornmeal dusted, with cheese and spinach held in place under a chunky tomato sauce.  Mmmm.

There are hundreds upon hundreds of local pizzerias in the greater Chicago area–impossible to get bored.

Pizzerias make your pie to order and you sit, at a checkered table cloth, drinking pop from a red plastic cup for 45 minutes or more until it is delivered piping hot in a cast iron pan. If that does not seem nostalgic for a different, better time, then I don’t know what is.

Cutting and serving the pizza requires expert attention–you are not allowed to touch the first slices and the wait staff will give each person just one slice to dig into.

You must eat this pizza with a fork and knife-you can’t pick it up-it is sophisticated.

Don’t fret Seattle, there are ways to bring this straight to your doorstep. Order a frozen pizza for delivery out-of-state if you can’t make it to Chi-town to try for yourself: http://www.giordanos.com or http://www.tastesofchicago.com.  

Places I recommend if you manage to make it to the middle of our great nation, include: Giordano’s, Lou Malnati’s, Uno, Gino’s East. Maybe if I’m lucky one of these will expand out West.

In the meantime, I’ll keep making due with my husband’s homemade pizza (a fabulous recipe from my father-in-law) to fill the void in my heart and stomach.

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