Santa Monica Brew Works Pale Chocolate Heaven Porter

Santa Monica Brew Works Pale Chocolate Heaven Porter

John ShearlockSep 29, '23
As Scott jogged along the Santa Monica beachfront, the sun dropped over the horizon casting a strange sienna glow over the sea, making it look somehow like a vast bowl of chocolate milk. He loved these moments of tranquillity - with the peachy warmth of the sun countered by the soft kiss of a cooling sea breeze and the thought of a cold one, or two, that night on the balcony of his Beverly Hills condo.

First though, his derigeur reward for knocking another gruelling week of work on the head and for nailing his daily 5k run.

He’d run past the café by chance a couple of weeks prior, and his senses had been pleasantly assaulted as a cornucopia of roasted sugars, coffee and steamed milk chocolate aromas had wafted his way. He had simply followed his nose, and as if under a spell, had wandered in and ordered something sweet. Now it was simply part of the routine.

Today he had decided to push the boat out, going for the house “Chocolate Heaven” but pimping it with additions of chamomile and vanilla bean - and as the chap behind the counter slid the concoction his way, boasting about the 100lbs of cocoa nibs used in its production - a Pavlovian drool trickled down the back of his throat.

Heading out of the café, he could wait no longer, and chugged back his first sip eagerly. A silky tidal wave of flavours immediately cascaded over his palate, offering scorched malts, chocolate orange, citrus and chamomile. It was effortlessly light, somehow thirst quenching and pleasantly different to what he had expected.

The rich flavours were there, but this was not your typical hot chocolate. It was lean and somehow wholesome to the taste, and in a perfectly “Cali-style” - seemed low fat, with minimal carbs and calories. Just as well, he thought to himself, as he rocked up to his Telsa parked on the beachfront and caught a glimpse of his ripped torso in the door window - this body doesn’t look after itself. He rippled his pecs for good effect, opened the door and slunk into the plush embrace of his low leather seats.

As the glow of a dying sun reflected off the LA smog, he flicked his shades over his eyes, hit the ignition and the car roared off into the weekend…