Over the years, I have tried to find some reason to not detest winter. Sports involving gravity and zero traction, like skiing, are a bad fit for a person who recently managed to break her ankle walking across the street. For indoor sports, there’s squash, an irrational pairing of a coffin-sized space and a long-handled racquet. Snow is aesthetically attractive for around four minutes, but sooner or later shoveling is required, and those cozy woolly hats, scarves and mittens one customarily dons while performing this task, when damp, smell like a dog’s butt. Add to this my chronic nose drip, an enduring tribute to my modeling career in the late 70s, I find myself envious of any animal that hibernates. Then, I remembered hot chocolate.

To most, hot chocolate is just a drink, but I believe there‘s a certain nobility to a beverage that single-handedly makes bearable the burden of winter. Add mini marshmallows, and hope, meet your metaphor.