You know those magical midwinter nights, when you wake up in the inky blackness while the rest of the world slumbers, yet somehow you feel completely awake? Perhaps you read for a bit, or (if you are somewhere safe) go out for a contemplative walk or cross country ski...and then, after you experience the beautiful silence of the wee hours, you fall back into restful sleep. In the morning, you have a faint recollection of your winter’s night activities and you can remember snapshots with clarity as sharp as a perfect ice crystal, and yet those minutes or hours feel completely… otherly? Like perhaps you somehow woke up in another reality for some time, or you felt like you were awake for days in that peaceful void? When the bright skies wake me again in the morning, I often wonder what force drew me into that time, that place, that cross-section of the universe folding in on itself like a heavy blanket. 

Time moves differently when you are awake and alone at 3am. It can stretch out infinitely or feel like barely a blink. Sometimes it feels close enough to brush your skin, or so far outside you you can no longer sense its presence. The blackness that would feel harsh and hard is suddenly softened to velvet, or perhaps to leagues of water in an ocean sparkling with stars. Do not discount these moments of perfect alive-ness. If they feel like magic, they are. 

“There are such a lot of things that have no place in summer and autumn and spring. Everything that’s a little shy and a little rum. Some kinds of night animals and people that don’t fit in with others and that nobody really believes in. They keep out of the way all the year. And then when everything’s quiet and white and the nights are long and most people are asleep — then they appear.” - from Moominland Midwinter by Tove Jansson 

Perhaps I’m one of the little beasties that comes out in the midnight magic of midwinter; I certainly find it alluring. And should there be any illumination at all, I am a conglomeration of many shadows. Little sources of light glimmer from all directions; candles tucked into corners, white lights from the neighbors porch casting beams through the window, low-lit lamps add warmth to reading spaces. Each new source of light gives me a new shadow, or perhaps splits mine into many separate entities, all following me around and moving and shifting away from the ever-present light. 

Shadows can show us how big our dreams can be, that life is flexible and ever-changing. Have you ever caught a glance at your own shadow projected onto a wall, later than life and looming over you? Did it make you feel strong and strangely powerful? Similarly, have you ever seen the shadowed image of a dog come trotting around the corner before he does, alarmingly big and ferocious, only to reveal a tiny puppy? Shadows are shapeshifters, ttrockstars, and often artistic. We don’t give shadows enough credit. Though they are permanently attached to us, they dance in the firelight, moving in ways our bodies never could. They are ever-present, whether in daylight or pitch black, when they seamlessly blend into the darkness. Can you imagine losing your shadow? Looking around on a sunny day only to find it missing? How strange that would be, and oddly heartbreaking. 

Shadow Winter Cocoa: 

This thick, dark beverage is the perfect accompaniment to the velvety blackness of midwinter nights and shadow dancing when you can’t tell if you are in a thick atmosphere or a thin ocean of stars.  It’s easy to prepare squares of drinking chocolate ahead of time, so that you can easily plop one in a hot mug of water or milk to enjoy on your mysterious night-time meanderings. I recommend treating this like the hot cocoa version of espresso: thick, strong, and in small doses. It gets rich smoky notes from the addition of pine-smoked tea, and a savory depth of flavor from dulse seaweed. I like to add a wee glug of scotch to mine for added warmth and earthiness. 

Ingredients: 

Some kind of mold - I used a small domed chocolate mold

24 oz high quality dark chocolate

2 Tbs. wakame seaweed

2 Tbs. lapsang souchong tea

Optional: naturally colored cocoa butter and luster dust to line the molds

Directions: 

1. If desired, first decorate the inside of your molds with naturally colored cocoa butter and/or luster dust. You can paint on the melted cocoa butter, or mix the luster dust with a tiny bit of vodka to paint it on as well. To get the effect of shimmering gems, you’ll need to use a polycarbonate mold and temper your chocolate when you melt it, before adding the other ingredients. 

2. Melt the chocolate over a double-boiler. While it is melting, grind the tea and seaweed into a fine powder. 

3. Stir the powdered tea and seaweed into the melted chocolate. Pour into molds and let harden. 

4. To enjoy, add a couple of your molded chocolates to a small espresso cup  and cover with heated cream. Let sit for 5 minutes, then whisk until smooth. A dash of scotch is a wonderful addition as well! 

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