I’ ve never been a huge fan of hot chocolate. For some reason, I don’t enjoy cauterizing the inside of my mouth after being duped by the deceptivelytepid whipped cream or marshmallow topping.
These days, I mainly have hot chocolate when my three teenage daughters, who I’m pretty sure started drinking coffee as toddlers, invite me and my credit card to join them in the drive-thru of one of our rough…
