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.