The Cocoa Scientist

     It was Fiver who really took cocoa to another level here at Rabbit Run.
     Chef Thelma of course had an excellent basic recipe, but she was not so interested in experimentation.
     But Fiver, who often came home late after a long gig on a chill evening wanted variety, and so out of necessity he began to tinker with Thelma's cocoa recipe.
     (Fiver doesn't drink coffee. "It's a brutish beverage," he says. "Too sharp. Too insistent. Cocoa is warmer. It envelopes you.")
     At first Fiver's choices were pretty straightforward: a bit of cinnamon, and then later some nutmeg. But nutmeg somehow seemed to "violate the spirit of cocoa." That set him thinking. Cocoa was tricky. You couldn't just throw any old spice into it and have it taste good. It wasn't like tea and coffee; one had to be considerate.
     The next thing he tried was a fresh vanilla bean, which he simmered in the milk before adding the cocoa. It was a pleasant concoction, especially when he was steeping the vanilla in the milk. The scent wafted back to Thelma's room, which is behind the kitchen and brought her out to see who in the world was in the kitchen so late at night. She really couldn't imagine a single other rabbit baking and was quite mystified and then astounded to see Fiver pensively stirring the milk with one paw and gesturing in a circular motion with the other in an effort to draw the aroma of the vanilla and milk to his nose.
     "What's going on here," said Thelma in a quiet, but demanding tone. "Cocoa," was all that Fiver said. And then, "would you pass me the cocoa powder and the measuring spoons please?"
     Well, technically the kitchen isn't really Thelma's. Of course the other rabbits are deferential because, as Hula put it once, "You don't want to bite the paw that feeds you." But really it is a communal kitchen and the dinner rush was long over and the vanilla in the simmering milk smelled lovely. So Thelma passed him her pre-made cocoa mixture and the measuring spoons.
    "Cocoa huh?"
     "Yup."
     "With vanilla eh? Interesting choice" she mused. "Of course the cocoa could overpower the vanilla you know."
     Fiver shot her a look of consternation.
     "I'm just saying that's all. Don't get your fur ruffled!"
     "As a matter of fact," said Fiver, with great dignity, "I'm reducing the cocoa powder to allow the vanilla to have it's proper say."
     "Interesting, interesting..." said Thelma. "Say are you making any extra? I might like a cup myself."
     Of course there was extra. Rabbit rule #123 clearly states that if you make food, always make extra because you never know who else might be hungry.
     And so that was the formal beginning of Fiver's scientific inquiry into the properties of cocoa. Thelma got him a small journal and showed how she made her own recipe entries in her cooking journal. She even allowed that he could keep it on the shelves with hers, but Fiver was so excited to realize that he had stumbled onto cooking something that actually might be good, that he decided to keep his recipe journal in his violin case. That way when interesting ideas about cocoa come to him, which is often the case when he's in the middle of a gig, he can write them down and try them out once he gets home.
     Fiver uses a coffee grinder to pulverize the spices he uses in his cocoa. "That way the true personality of the spice can emerge," he says. Fresh ground cinnamon, for example, gives cocoa an added delicate sweetness with a hint of spiciness, very subtle but sincere.
     Fiver's also tried ground cardamom, cloves, allspice, and he's even used chilies. They give the cocoa some zip. Not everything he tries works of course. But it's always interesting.
     Lately he's branched out into fresh marshmallows. Thelma suggested it and she taught him how to prepare them. They're simple to make, and they take flavors really well. Plus, both marshmallows and cocoa have the added advantage of being, as Fiver says, "paw friendly" - an important quality for a rabbit who earns his living as a musician. "Nobody every cut his paw on a marshmallow," Fiver has observed on a number of occasions.
     When Fiver is making cocoa, all the other rabbits come quick. As Hula says, "Thelma makes a fine cup. But Fiver is a cocoa scientist. He's always taking things to a new level."
     Even Thelma prefers Fiver's cocoa. When he comes home late and she hears the whir of spices in the grinder, she pads into the kitchen to see what he's up to.
     "You think you'll try a bit of ginger tonight?" she'll ask.
     "Possibly..." says Fiver.
     "Or maybe a little orange zest?"
     "Well just have to wait and see what happens," he says.
     And so they stay up into the wee hours, simmering, tasting, working through the flavors. Thelma thinks that Fiver may be even more then a cocoa scientist. She thinks he might even be a cocoa artist.
     Coming from Chef Thelma, that's saying something.

Rainy Days & Rabbit Paws

                                                                                                                                     .

      Today was the first rainy day in a long time. All the rabbits were very excited. They love the rain, and even though they like living in Tujunga, they miss the wetter weather of the places where they used to live.

     This morning they got up early and had a round of fresh baked rabbit paws. Rabbit paws are one of Thelma’s specialties. They’re a bit like scones, but made with whole wheat and honey, so they have a light, nutty sweetness. And they’re shaped like paws of course, with a raison where each paw pad would be.

     All the rabbits love them, although they often get the name wrong, which drives Thelma crazy. This morning Bunnie came in and asked “Are the bunny paws ready?”
     “Rabbit paws!” said Thelma, “and yes, they’re fresh and piping hot.”
     Bunnie held out her paws and Thelma handed her a warm treat. Bunnie sighed and said “Ummm, bunny paws, they’re so divine when they’re warm,” and hopped off.
     “Those are rabbit paws,” Thelma hollered after her. “I made them up, I ought to know.”

     And then Fiver sauntered in. “Ah, I see the rabbit claws are ready…”
     Thelma hopped up and down, waving a wooden spoon. “Paws! Not claws! Paws! Rabbit paws!"
     And so it went.
     After they finished breakfast, the rabbits all put on their rain slickers and went for a walk in the wet. It was a grey, misty, mysterious day. Perfect for thinking thoughts. Hula especially let her mind wander. Hula feels that walking in the quiet of an overcast morning is one of the most opportune times to work on The Muse Manifesto, her encyclopedic compendium of everything that she has learned about the art and craft of being a Working Muse.
        Being a Muse is something Hula is very serious about. That is to say, she does not take it lightly. It takes contemplation, and a touch of mental solitude. Rainy days are perfect for that.
        In fact, it was such a good walk in the rain that the rabbits did it twice – once in the morning and once in the afternoon, just after lunch. The second time Hula was less interested in work and more interested in play. Sometimes she likes to scurry up behind the other rabbits and give them a gentle poke in the back of the head, and make a little noise that sounds a bit like “pling!” – a sound that Hula finds musical and charming: “pling!”
        So today Hula gave most of the other rabbits a surprise poke in the back of the head with this little musical sound that she’s fond of. She calls this game “Touched by the Muse.”
        “You’ll have good ideas later,” she told others. “Wait and see.”
        Most of the other rabbits are very tolerant of this game. Except Thelma. If she’s busy in the kitchen, and most especially if it’s a day when everyone is calling the rabbit paws by the wrong name, and then Hula gets the drop on her and goes “pling!” Thelma can be downright cross.
        “Out! Out! Out of my kitchen!” she said this afternoon. And then she pointed with her wooden spoon toward the door.
        Hula took it in stride, grabbing an extra rabbit paw on her way out. “You’ll thank me later,” she said, “when an especially excellent recipe pops into your head. By the way, these are wonderful bunny biscuits.”
        “Rabbit paws!” shouted Thelma, hopping from foot to foot, “Rabbit paws!”

Copyright © 2007 Denise Bauchamp