It took me a long time to succumb to City Bakery’s famous hot chocolate. I always thought City Bakery was overrated, and the fact that some of the most inane ex-coworkers I’ve ever had used to frequent it during lunch didn’t help. Somehow, they made the multi-level establishment their own. The other week, I took it back.
It was the coldest day of winter so far, and I didn’t feel like a coffee. I made my way through the perpetual crowds, hovered around the square of counters and cash registers awkwardly (Which line do you get in if you’re not buying food? Who do I order from?), and stared at the giant cookies to avoid making eye contact with anyone I might know. Finally, a girl in an apron came over. I ordered a small hot chocolate, still not sure if I was in the correct line. Then she asked me if I would like a marshmallow. What’s this? Would I like a marshmallow? Well... yes, actually, I would!
While I was mentally picturing freeze dried mini marshmallows and wondering why they only give you one (we’re in a recession, I rationalized), the cashier rang me up. I told him I had ordered a small hot chocolate. He asked me (and I quote), “Is that a small hot chocolate, or a small hot chocolate?” I didn’t know, so I emphasized all of the words and repeated very steadily, “A small hot chocolate,” hoping that meant something to him. It didn’t, and he mentally debated how someone could be such a hot chocolate plebian. This was quickly becoming more confusing than going to Starbucks for the first time.
Was it worth it? Absolutely. I doubted anyone could truly revolutionize hot chocolate, but I was wrong. This is a melted chocolate bar in a cup, with the world’s largest marshmallow on top. It's the stuff children dream of creating when their parents make them eat vegetables. It’s a mesmerizing chocolate river with a little pillow, all for you (and for $5 for a small). It was too rich to finish the entire cup, but I refused to let it go. The other downside? All other hot chocolate now tastes like powdered water.