Cincinnati, OHHot Chocolate

CityBeat calls this Bridgetown cafe the only place in Cincinnati with an entire menu devoted to hot chocolate, a claim the West Side shop backs with its own powder blend of powdered sugar, cocoa powder and white sugar rather than a bottled syrup. Extras run to peanut butter, peppermint, marshmallow and strawberry syrup, turning the base into what the write-up calls dessert in a cup, a step up from what it calls the plebeian Ghirardelli-serving competition. Order the hot chocolate with peppermint or peanut butter mixed in, since the custom powder built for extras is the whole reason for the stop.

CityBeat's guide to Cincinnati hot chocolate makes Dojo Gelato its Italian entry: a drinking chocolate made from melted chocolate and what the counter staff called Italian secrets, kept constantly churning in a heated glass contraption at the Findlay Market shop. The result reads thick and strong, like a melted chocolate bar, with a pudding-like texture the write-up says warrants a spoon rather than a straw. Order it topped with whipped cream, which CityBeat calls absurdly delicious against the chocolate's sweetness, and expect dessert rather than a quick cup to go.

CityBeat sends dark chocolate loyalists to this Findlay Market bean-to-bar chocolatier, where the hot chocolate is made from the shop's own melted small-batch chocolate, churned on a contraption like Dojo Gelato's next door. The result is bitter rather than sweet and topped with fresh, unsweetened whipped cream, which the write-up calls the holy grail for anyone who insists milk chocolate is not real chocolate. Order it if a dark, strong cup matters more than a sweet one, and skip the whipped cream if the bitterness is the point.

CityBeat's roundup finds this Oakley cafe updating the powdered hot chocolate of childhood: milk from Snowville Creamery mixed with a cocoa powder made especially for the cafe by local roaster Coffee Break, producing a cup the write-up calls frothy and delicious without going as far as melting a chocolate bar. Patrons can add one of chef Francis Kroner's homemade honey marshmallows, which CityBeat says leaves a sticky film on the lips with every sip. Order it with the honey marshmallow rather than plain, since that add-on is what the write-up singles out.