When I was 16 (and dinosaurs still roamed the earth), I worked as a "soda jerk" at a drugstore in Miami. Homesick New Yorkers used to come in, all desolate and forlorn, and sigh that a chocolate egg cream would restore them to life, but of course that I (being an ignorant Southerner & NOT from "The City"), wouldn't know how. Being 16 and a smart-alec, I would say snidely, "Bet I can," then I'd throw together chocolate syrup, soda water & milk & they would be pathetically grateful. All that rude "I'm from The City" nonsense would go away and they'd turn into ordinary people. Isn't it funny what a little home cooking will do for you in a strange place?