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One cold day, about twenty-eight years ago, my mother entered a coffee shop in Italy and ordered a hot chocolate. It was the first time she ordered one in Italy, since she had just moved there with little Casper, my brother. What she got surprised her; the cup was hot and steaming, but this was not hot chocolate, she thought. The consistency of whatever they had just served her was thick and almost not liquid anymore; it looked creamy and thick at the point she thought it was some sort of pudding.
Soon enough she realized that was just how the Italian hot chocolate is, and even sooner, just after taking the first sip, she had realized it was delicious.
Years went by and that same hot chocolate became a staple in our pantry during the cold winters. Basically it was what got us through the winter. One cup and…
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