Natural Chocolate Mint Pudding

Late February. The big eighteenth sober anniversary is coming up March 14. I have not been thinking about it much. Eighteen years is a long stretch but it does not feel like a stretch anymore. Sobriety is not a project. Sobriety is the substrate. Eighteen years of substrate. The chip in my wallet is so worn the embossing is barely a memory of itself.

The Tuesday meeting at the Bellaire church has had a rough month. One of our members — a man named Roberto, sixty-three, eight years sober — relapsed last week. He came to the meeting Tuesday. He shared. He cried. He told the room he had drunk for three days after his wife told him she was leaving him. The room listened. After the meeting, Bill (eighty-three, my old sponsor, still attending) put his hand on Roberto's shoulder and said, "Now what?" Roberto said, "I don't know." Bill said, "You start over." Roberto said, "From eight years to zero." Bill said, "From eight years to today. Today is one day. Today is the only day." That's the speech. That's the eighty-year-old's wisdom. I have heard it a thousand times. Roberto needed to hear it. The room watched. We don't clap. We just stay.

I went home Tuesday and made cháo gà for myself. Comfort food. Smokey at my feet. The kitchen warm. Eighteen years and counting. The work is the same. The work is the substrate. The chip in my wallet is the small reminder. The chair at the meeting is the larger reminder. The men around me are the largest reminder. We hold each other up. We don't romanticize it. We just show up.

The small Vietnamese-American community in Houston is the small social-spine. The small Bellaire-area is the small Little Saigon district. The small Hong Kong City Mall is the small Saturday-grocery-trip destination. The small Vietnamese church (Our Lady of Lavang) is the small Sunday-worship. The small community is the small refugee-and-immigrant-descended network that has been Bobby’s small lifelong-place.

Bobby’s parents came over from Vietnam in 1981 as the small boat-people-refugees. The small mother (Bich) lives in the small adjacent neighborhood. The small father (Hung) passed in 2020 from COVID. The small mother-visits are the small Sunday-afternoon-rhythm. The small pho-and-com-and-banh-mi heritage continues through the small mother-cooking-with-Bobby Sunday afternoons.

The small Houston Restaurant Supply sales-job continues to be the small post-shrimp-boat career. The small fifteen-years-on-the-Galveston-Bay shrimp-boat had ended in 2018 when the small back went out and the small bending-and-hauling work became the small impossibility. The small restaurant-supply role is the small forty-hour-week-with-benefits the small post-shrimping life rests on.

The three kids are now adults. Tyler is the small oldest, Emma is the small middle, Lily is the small youngest. The small divorce in 2015 (after Bobby’s affair) had been the small marriage-end. The small kids have been the small slow-rebuild of the small father-trust. The small Linh (Bobby’s older-sister, the small pediatrician in Houston) has been the small adult-presence the small kids look to.

The small backyard grill is the small Houston-cooking-engine. The small Vietnamese-grilled-pork (thit nuong), the small grilled-shrimp (the small irony of the small ex-shrimper still grilling shrimp), the small bo nuong (grilled-beef), the small ga nuong (grilled-chicken). The small charcoal-grill in the small backyard of the small Bellaire-bungalow runs almost every weekend.

The small Houston-summer-heat-and-humidity is the small weather-reality. The small grill outdoors at five-AM-on-the-weekend trick is the small same trick the small Phoenix-firefighter Marcus uses but for different climate-reasons. The small Texas-Gulf-coast humidity is the small constant. The small Vietnamese-summer-cooking traditions are the small adaptation.

I did not make cháo gà that night with a recipe in front of me — I never do — but afterward, after the dishes were put away and Smokey had settled and the kitchen had gone quiet, I made this. The chocolate mint pudding is the kind of thing I reach for when I need something small and sweet and honest, nothing complicated, nothing that asks too much of me. Roberto’s face was still in my mind. Bill’s hand on his shoulder. The room staying. I needed something to close the evening gently, and this does that.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 10 min | Total Time: 20 min + 1 hr chill | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 cups unsweetened almond milk (or coconut milk)
3 tablespoons raw cacao powder or unsweetened cocoa powder
3 tablespoons pure maple syrup or honey
3 tablespoons cornstarch or arrowroot powder
1/4 teaspoon pure peppermint extract
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Pinch of fine sea salt
Fresh mint leaves, for garnish (optional)
Dairy-free chocolate shavings, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Whisk dry ingredients. In a medium saucepan off the heat, whisk together the cacao powder, cornstarch, and salt until no lumps remain.
Add liquid. Slowly pour in the almond milk, whisking constantly to combine. Add the maple syrup and stir to incorporate.
Cook and thicken. Place the saucepan over medium heat. Stir continuously with a whisk or wooden spoon until the mixture begins to bubble and thickens noticeably, about 7—10 minutes. Do not walk away; keep stirring to prevent scorching on the bottom.
Add extracts. Remove from heat. Stir in the peppermint extract and vanilla extract. Taste and adjust sweetness or mint intensity as needed.
Portion and chill. Pour the pudding evenly into 4 small bowls or ramekins. Press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the surface of each pudding to prevent a skin from forming. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour, until fully set and cold.
Serve. Remove plastic wrap. Garnish with fresh mint leaves and chocolate shavings if desired. Serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Natural Chocolate Mint Pudding — Something Warm and Still After the Meeting