Haute Chocolate

A couple of years ago, I was walking in the streets of Edinburgh when I chanced upon the Chocolate Soup, at 2 Hunter Square, near the Bridge. It was evening, and I had a couple hours to spare before meeting some mates at The Three Sisters – a popular nightspot for the student crowd (who colloquially refer to it as The Six Tits). Enticed at the novelty of a chocolate cafe, I excitedly plonked myself down at a corner table and curiously digested the menu. It was unbelievable – a real mecca for chocolate lovers with all sorts of chocolatey delights on offer.

You know the feeling when you go into a really posh gourmet haute cuisine fine dining restaurant, where you more likely than not are presented a menu writ in a language completely foreign to you even though it is your main lingua franca? That’s exactly how it was, looking at the menu at the Chocolate Soup.

Now experience has told me that in a good restaurant, when faced with a predicament as above, it is usually a wise idea to trust your server for recommendations – which I did. Several minutes later, I was presented with a steaming cup of the richest looking chocolate ever, as well as a small but artfully crafted slice of pastry to go with it.

It was the most fabulously fantastic chocolate experience I’ve ever had. Mind you, I was up till then an amateur when it comes to all things chocolate, believing that the Mars bar (especially the fried variety) was the pinnacle of chocolatedom, and that Hot Chocolate referred to powdered chocolate drink sachets reconstituted with Hot Water, and maybe topped with some badly manufactured marshmallow bits and whipped cream out of a can. So you can imagine the ecstasy that enveloped my entire being and psyche as I indulged in the chocolate manna – rich, silky, beautifully bitter and perfectly prepared.

I’ve never had a chocolate chaud as good as that ever since.

Which is why I decided to try out Jeffrey Steingarten’s Chocolate Chaud recipe, which in itself is an adaptation of acclaimed French Pastry Chef Pierre Herme’s creation.

The recipe is simple enough:

550ml whole milk
50ml bottled still water
60g caster sugar
1,100g bar dark bittersweet chocolate, Scharffen Berger, Valrhona, or Lindt (see note, below), finely sliced with a serrated bread knife
28g cocoa powder, loosely packed, preferably Valrhona

In a 2 litre saucepan, stir together the milk, water, and sugar. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Add the chopped chocolate and the cocoa and bring to a boil again, whisking until the chocolate and cocoa are dissolved and the mixture has thickened. Reduce the heat to very low.

Blend for 5 minutes with a wand mixer or whirl the hot chocolate in a standard blender for half a minute, until thick and foamy.

Yield: Four (175ml) cups of hot chocolate.

Note: I use a dark chocolate containing close to 70 percent cocoa, though Lindt bittersweet also works just fine. The Mayans and the Aztecs considered the froth the best part. Today, five minutes with an immersion mixer or a blender accomplishes what a half hour of beating did long ago.

- Jeffrey Steingarten, “It Must’ve Been Something I Ate“

In New Zealand, Whittaker’s makes a pretty decent – though by no means outstanding – chocolate bar that’s 72% bittersweet chocolate, of Ghanaian cocoa beans. I’ve had lots of experience working and tasting Valrhona chocolate – which to me is undoubtedly one of the finest chocolate produced today – during my brief stint as a Pastry Commis Chef (oh the wonderful memories), so I decided to give Whittaker’s a go. After all, compared with Cadbury’s Old Gold, Whittaker is like a Porsche next to a beat up Proton.

As with all pastry recipes, measurements should be as precise as possible, though as scientific as one tries to be, one can’t help but think that in the end, its the artistry that matters most. I made a half batch of the recipe above, which turned out beautiful! Silky, strong, rich, velvety (which is a horrid descriptor of food as far as I concerned – have you ever tasted velvet?), albeit a little sweet – which I attribute to whittaker’s chocolate bar which is somewhat sweeter than say a Valrhona equivalent. The only problem was that I could not get it to be much frothy, no matter how much I whizzed it in my low-quality home blender. But no matter. It was still gorgeously tasty and sinfully satisfying.

Half an hour later and I’m still in ecstasy. It now occurs to me that the quality of the chosen chocolate really is tantamount. The preparation is simple, but just like great Italian food – the ingredients must be of quality. But as great as it was, it left me feeling a little queasy due to the richness, and most probably the sweetness of the Whittaker bar. The next time I make it, I think I’ll add a little chilli powder, to balance the richness of the chaud. And I think perhaps a pinch of salt might do wonders for it too – as salt according to some helps bring out the flavour of chocolate more, not unlike vanillin, though many others would say it is absolutely toss.

Come to think of it, this chaud I had is not too unlike a woman. It’s brilliant to have and a marvellous experience, but if a little unbalanced can leave you feeling a little worse for wear.