Descriptive Essay About Hot Chocolate

It was a regular sunday morning around 6 a.m. when Mrs. Robinson was taking her daily run in the morning. She jogged around the perimeter of the neighborhood at a fair speed while she pondered her plans for the day. Would she go grocery shopping, would she go out with some friends, or would she just stay at home and continue to grade papers, as she was a school teacher. These thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when she saw something very peculiar in the corner of her eye. She approached what appeared to be a hunched over figure next to one of the rose bushes that lined the fence of the neighborhood. As she got closer, she realized what it was.

I set out to find a place to begin my observations, not knowing what to fully expect, what I may find. So I decided to look around at what is close to my home that isn’t a place I frequent or have even visited at all. Then it came to me, the Starbucks that is only about a mile away is a perfect place for me to observe subjects that I would consider different from myself, seeing as how I consider such obscene prices for coffee ridiculous. Starbucks is a very popular chain of coffee vendors that describe their product as more about quality than what Americans are used to in typical coffee joints.

Imagine being a young child walking into a chocolate museum where chocolate lines the walls, you can create your own one of a kind candy bar, thousands of different types of chocolates, and chocolate bars line the walls.

Like Water for Chocolate is a novel written by Mexican novelist Lauren Esquivel, and published in 1989. The story is set during the Mexican revolution and portrays the life of Tita De La Garza and her mother, Mama Elena. In this novel, Esquivel explores ideas such as the power of love and hatred, as well as the importance of staying persistent. By using magical realism, it allows the author to emphasise on the significance of these ideas, as well as to effectively convey her thoughts to the reader.

Can a book truly relay a cultural aspect of a culture well enough so that we see the true cultural believes of a country? To this I think yes, “Like Water for Chocolate” by Laura Esquivel represents many cultural aspects of the Mexican cultural life style throughout the entire novel using everything from small cultural references to large references. This is due mainly to Laura Esquivel being from Mexico and having string cultural beliefs. Laura Esquivel from what Gale Contextual Encyclopedia tells us “Esquivel was born on September 30, 1950, in Mexico City, the daughter of Julio Caesar, a telegraph operator, and Josephine Esquivel.”(Gale encyclopedia, 560). From her being so tied to her culture we get a deeper point of view on the Mexican

Laura Esquivel's Like Water for Chocolate The novel “Like Water for Chocolate” written by Laura Esquivel is a historical piece of South-American literature which is parallel to the Mexican Revolution which took place at the start of the twentieth century. The De La Garza family in the novel emphasizes certain similarities with the things going on during the Mexican Revolution, especially with the people in the lower rank. One important structural device used in the novel is the use of recipes which is found in each chapter and sets the overall mood and atmosphere for that particular chapter, the mood or feelings of Tita.

This may not be considered disturbing to some with the great strides that Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgender (GLBT) have made over the past years, but in 1998, this segment had teenage boys freaking out.

Seattle’s famous Pike Place Market has become a prominent symbol within the city over the past century. The market is not only has significance to Seattle natives, but to the millions of people from around the country as well as from around world that visit it each year. Over the years, many different cultures have been imprinted on this market, thus making it the perfect example of a cultural landscape.

“For STEM day, in my classroom, I am going to challenge you to make a Hot Cocoa machine. You will only have 10 minutes and one yard of tape. I will pick sticks,” Mrs. Healy announced. I was thrilled, even if she was picking sticks. After she had told us our groups, I went to get our tape, and somebody else got our paper. "I will put the cocoa in after you are done making the machine," she stated. Our group got started right away.

Ms.Brown the owner of the shop, walked outside to the back of the shop to go see her daughter under the oak tree reading with coffee in hand, but what she saw is what she wishes she hadn’t. Her daughter”s lifeless corpse laying in the middle of the grass. Her coffee cup lying next to her dusty brown hair as the coffee staining it to a mud brown.

“Stand up right now and put on your coat. We’ll be waiting for you in the car.” Having no idea what was going on, I swiftly dressed up, and in a minute was downstairs. Carefully driving, daddy occasionally looked at my mom. He said, “Everything will be okay, believe me.” In the wing mirror of the car, I recognized a woman, who had never shown her weakness before. Tears were slowly running down her face. Passing by glass buildings, we moved towards another part of the city. Floors of every building decreased. Streets narrowed. Every street was a reminder of my childhood. Trying to get rid of an idea floating in my head, I closed my eyes tight. In a few minutes, the sound of an ambulance broke a silence. I opened my eyes and recognized a familiar

We walked up to the dodgeball tournament sign up. “What’s your team name?” The student in charge of the tournament asked. We conferred amongst ourselves. While I most likely would not play in the tournament, I still would cheer them on while they played, so I deserved some input as well. We all looked around at each other. “White chocolates?” Somebody blurted out. Everybody laughed it off, of course, but, eventually, we became so amused by the name, that everyone consented to it. White chocolates it was. Ever since high school started, we had mocked the jokes and teases associated with the “browns” of our school, and we loved it. But, to think that I, a white son of a white conservative father, would socialize with mostly Muslim and Hindu friends, was a doubtful prospect at first in middle school.

I prayed that the emotionless cashier wouldn’t follow, but I could feel her footsteps rocking the floor beneath me. I felt as though the building was crumbling around us. I forced my eyes shut and hugged my knees to my chest. The man in the back with me kept trying to comfort me, but he couldn’t figure out why I was so worried. I began to question my sanity: “is she actually here or am I picturing something?”, “is this a prank?”, “why is he all of the sudden acting like…” before I could finish my thought, the window shattered behind me. The shards of glass covered the room, but I felt as though nothing had changed. The sharp feeling in my heart was equivalent to the tearing feeling the glass left on my skin. Empty. I felt nothing.

Walking down the dusty, deserted streets was much scarier than she’d expected. During the day people roamed the streets, women donning large hats that covered their faces from the unforgiving sun while men ran about in their caps. Now though, everyone was safely in their homes, young children tucked into bed by their parents with blankets pulled high up underneath their chins, stomachs full with food touched by their mothers’ love. The only thing that moved was the dust shuffled beneath her shoes that billowed behind her. The quiet was quite eerie and slowly built up fear inside of her, making her steps rigid and awkward. Minerva tried to calm herself, slow her breathing. But halfway out of town she heard the shuffle of feet behind her, distinct and intense in the lull, and something inside her snapped. Minerva began running, clumsy feet rushing forward in panic, not exactly sure what was behind her but terrified anyway. She had to get out. This was her only chance. If she didn’t catch it all was lost-

The carriage wheels creaked as they rolled down the snow-covered path. The lamplight made shadows dance across the trunks of the pine dense forest. I leaned forward in the seat as we rounded the corner, the mansion coming into view. It looked too beautiful to possibly be haunted, standing atop a rocky slope. Snow covered its sloping roof and icicles hung like daggers. As we neared the entrance I saw the lawn was carefully decorated with roses, blooming blood red despite the frigid weather. My shoes clicked on the marble as I made my way to the large oak doors emblazoned with a rose. I raised my hand to knock when the heavy doors began to swing open, revealing a dim hall lined with statues was revealed.