It’s always difficult to find a table on a Saturday evening, but this time Chocolate Notes is positively heaving, so much so that you can barely hear the aptly chosen New London Consort recording of Carmina Burana over the hubbub.

There is a distinct group around the largest table.  Mostly young and middle-aged characters: sculpted quiffs, large glasses with square frames, jeans down to the hips, flower-patterned skirts, lipstick that probably glows in the dark, leather jackets, and a fellow in shorts and flip-flops, apparently dressing to the calendar and not the weather.  A colourful sample of ages, genders, fashionistas and anti-fashionistas with a communal expression of moody earnestness in their eyes.

The conversation seems to revolve around an elderly, slender, bespectacled man who is illustrating his point by tracing invisible horizontal and vertical lines with the glass of orange juice in his hand.  He is holding court, conducting adroitly his entourage’s attention. Whenever it wanders a little too far from him and flatters one of the younger members of the group, he summons it back by dropping his voice, so everyone has to hush and huddle around him closer, for fear of missing a word.

I finally catch his eye, give him a little wave and receive a confident “Hello, Katia!” in return.  Several pairs of inquisitive eyes immediately focus on me and look away just as quickly when they realise that I am not going to approach to pay homage to their leader.

A movement in the corner of my field of vision distracts me.  It’s Jan’s arm waving at me from behind the counter, his other hand pointing down at a vacant bar stool.  I smile and hold up my thumb.  “Thanks, Jan,” I say, taking off my jacket and draping it over the back of the stool.  “I see the town’s poets are in residence.”

Jan’s blonde eyebrows rise as far as they will go.

Every tourist is told that Norwich has a church for every week of the year and a pub for every day.  The residents soon discover that it also has a poet for every hourly chime of the Cathedral clock.  

I turn my head to observe the group of verse writers again.  A youngish woman in the flower-patterned skirt is telling a story, but just as her tone suggests she’s nearing the punchline, the elderly man completes her sentence with a quip of his own and reaps the ensuing, by now matured, burst of general laughter.  The youngish woman with the flower-patterned skirt laughs along, but looks a little crestfallen.

Fiamma’s tall frame and mane of fiery hair step out of the back room.  She is carrying a tray of freshly-baked cantuccini.  Never mind the poets — this truly is worthy of attention.  “Are these the ones with almonds or pistachios?” I ask, inhaling the comforting fragrance of the biscuits.

“These are with pistachios,” she says, a crafty glint in her hazel-green eyes.  She puts the tray into the glass cabinet, assesses the atmosphere in the room and turns up the stereo.  The music swells and the Mediaeval hurdy-gurdy fights back to dominate the café, its zany, jocular notes jesting with us all.

I take out my notepad and pen.  Jan looks at them.  “Your novel?”

“No, not this evening.  I’m just jotting down a few ideas.”

Jan squints at the menu board.  “In that case… Cinnamon cocoa?”

“Perfect,” I say.  “With one of those cantuccini.”

CINNAMON COCOA

(all measurements are approximate, see https://scribedoll.com/2023/01/15/new-blog-feasts-fancies/)

Serves two:

❧  2 teaspoons of raw organic cacao (100%)

❧ ½ a cinnamon stick

❧ 1 large teaspoon of date syrup

❧ oat cream (to taste)

❧ Boiling water

Put the cinnamon stick half into a pan of enough boiling water to fill 2 ½ cups/mugs/glasses, slowly bring to boil and simmer ever so gently for 15-20 minutes, until the amount of water left in the saucepan is enough to fill almost – but note quite – 2 cups/mugs/glasses.  If the water boils out too quickly, add some.  You know you’re in for a treat when the fragrance of cinnamon fills the kitchen and wafts into the neighbouring rooms.

Strain the resulting red liquid and throw away the cinnamon.  

Put the cocoa and date syrup into the pan and place the pan back on the stove.  Gradually add the hot cinnamon water, stirring continually.  Slowly bring to boil again and let simmer for a couple of minutes.

At this point, you can either add the oat cream and continue heating the mixture for a few more seconds before serving, or pour into the cups and then add the cream on top, whipped or poured over the back of a spoon, Irish coffee-style.

Dairy cream can also be used, although its rich taste is likely to drown out the delicate flavour of the cinnamon.

Sip slowly, ideally with your eyes half closed.  Make a wish.  Enjoy.   

* Please see https://scribedoll.com/2023/02/12/feasts-fancies-chocolate-notes/