Hot chocolate
Dec. 17th, 2017 05:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fufarawThere was mention of hot chocolate today in <lj user=spn_darkside>, which reminded me of a story.
OH was stationed in Germany at the time, and was out with his unit on maneuvers. Two other wives and I drove up to Berchtesgaden to visit with yet another wife whose husband was also away, and one ridiculously early dark o'clock, we drove out to the village huddled on the shore of Konigsee to watch the cows come home. The cows are pastured up on the mountainsides through the summer, but in the fall, they're brought down to winter in barns and paddocks in the village. It's an annual observance and celebration of the turning of the seasons, and the cows are decked out to participate in the celebration. All the cows wear flower crowns in their horns, and the first cow (you do know there's descending order among a herd, yes?) wears a broad collar, embroidered all over in flowers and scrolly designs, and a huge bell hangs from her collar. Each cow after her wears a collar less ornate and fancy and a smaller bell than the one before, but even the last one in the procession has her collar and bell.
We waited along the village street for more than an hour. The sun wasn't actually risen above the mountains ringing the lake when the bells tolled the approach of the herd. There was cheering, which the cows accepted as their due as they made their way to various enclosures. And then the crowd dispersed to go about their mornings, cheerful and chattering amongst themselves. We stamped our frozen feet on the muddy ground and suffered a definite sense of "Is that it?"
Our hostess asked, "Does anybody feel like hot chocolate? We could go to the gasthaus," and she gestured to the ironically and aggressively Bavarian half-timbered inn a ways up the slope. It looked like there was heating inside there, and that sounded like heaven.
We settled around a table in front of a roaring wood fireplace, the room full of breakfasting tourists and village celebrants, and ordered hot chocolate. It was brought in a tall silver pot, with a long silver spoon for stirring. The top quarter of the pot was piled whipped cream, and there was a bowl of whipped cream in addition. The first sip was a surprise, since neither the chocolate nor the whipped cream was sweetened, but as we sipped a welcome warmth spread, and our smiles broadened. The milk itself was rich and the chocolate was decadent, the whipped cream just adding more welcome richness. I'm sure our cholesterol levels rocketed that day, but none of us cared. As we poured happiness from a steaming silver pot, we were warm and blissful, and somehow thrilled that we, as few ever have been, were there when the cows came home.
OH was stationed in Germany at the time, and was out with his unit on maneuvers. Two other wives and I drove up to Berchtesgaden to visit with yet another wife whose husband was also away, and one ridiculously early dark o'clock, we drove out to the village huddled on the shore of Konigsee to watch the cows come home. The cows are pastured up on the mountainsides through the summer, but in the fall, they're brought down to winter in barns and paddocks in the village. It's an annual observance and celebration of the turning of the seasons, and the cows are decked out to participate in the celebration. All the cows wear flower crowns in their horns, and the first cow (you do know there's descending order among a herd, yes?) wears a broad collar, embroidered all over in flowers and scrolly designs, and a huge bell hangs from her collar. Each cow after her wears a collar less ornate and fancy and a smaller bell than the one before, but even the last one in the procession has her collar and bell.
We waited along the village street for more than an hour. The sun wasn't actually risen above the mountains ringing the lake when the bells tolled the approach of the herd. There was cheering, which the cows accepted as their due as they made their way to various enclosures. And then the crowd dispersed to go about their mornings, cheerful and chattering amongst themselves. We stamped our frozen feet on the muddy ground and suffered a definite sense of "Is that it?"
Our hostess asked, "Does anybody feel like hot chocolate? We could go to the gasthaus," and she gestured to the ironically and aggressively Bavarian half-timbered inn a ways up the slope. It looked like there was heating inside there, and that sounded like heaven.
We settled around a table in front of a roaring wood fireplace, the room full of breakfasting tourists and village celebrants, and ordered hot chocolate. It was brought in a tall silver pot, with a long silver spoon for stirring. The top quarter of the pot was piled whipped cream, and there was a bowl of whipped cream in addition. The first sip was a surprise, since neither the chocolate nor the whipped cream was sweetened, but as we sipped a welcome warmth spread, and our smiles broadened. The milk itself was rich and the chocolate was decadent, the whipped cream just adding more welcome richness. I'm sure our cholesterol levels rocketed that day, but none of us cared. As we poured happiness from a steaming silver pot, we were warm and blissful, and somehow thrilled that we, as few ever have been, were there when the cows came home.
