We’re loco for cocoa

ONE evening, after a particularly infuriating day at work, I dialled an old friend as I left the office.

I begged her to meet me for a quick drink. “Nope,” she said, “out of the question.”

Instead, she counselled, I should make my way down French Church St in Cork City to O’Conaill’s Chocolate. Once there, I should sit up at the counter and order a praline hot chocolate. This, she said, would provide all the equilibrium restoration that I was craving.