The UK’s Naked Chef, Jamie Oliver, claims to make the best hot chocolate in the world. Apparently Mr Oliver has never visited Latin America. I don’t claim to make the best hot chocolate in the world, but I’m not shy to tell you that it’s pretty darn good. It’s a bit of a process, starting with picking the ripened cacao pods, so grab your scorpion-proof hiking boots and get ready to take a wander through the jungle.
First, we hike up and down steep hills carrying recycled nylon rice sacks and finely sharpened machetes. A makeshift bamboo hook comes in handy to reach up into the taller trees. Careful where you step. The undergrowth is a maze of concealed rotting logs and hidden ravines; perfect for spraining ankles and grazing shins and knees. The trees are filled with spiders and snakes, the odd scorpion and an iguana or two. The only thing worse than walking face first into a sticky spider web is not knowing where its occupant landed. The resulting dance, while hilarious to your friends, is not so amusing for you.
Keep your eyes open, wave your machete in front of you and also smack it on the ground, and don’t step on any fallen bamboo stalks. The needle-sharp spikes will go straight through the sole of your boot. When you spot a yellow cacao pod, after checking the tree for cobwebs and critters, gently twist it until the pod falls off the branch. Pulling it may damage the rest of the branch and possibly prevent further growth, so always twist. Leave the red and green pods to ripen. The yellow Theobroma pod goes into the sack.
Harvested Cacao Pods
Theobroma means “food of the gods” from the Greek theos (gods), and broma (food). Ironically, broma in Spanish means “joke”.
Professional cacao harvesters split the pods right there, underneath each tree and throw the emptied shells onto the ground where they decompose and become compost for the trees. Just the beans go into the sack for fermenting and processing. My method is slightly different. While the load is a bit heavier, I take the sacks home to open the pods. Now, take off your boots and get comfortable. My seat of choice for this task is a beanbag. I pull each pod out of the sack, split it with a large knife and check the juiciness of the fruit.
Super-juicy beans go straight into my mouth. I suck the gelatinous white fruit from the seeds and them spit them into the sack in front of me – pre-sucked chocolate! Yum! This is one of those super special treats most people never get to experience. Put it at the top of your bucket list; eat juicy cacao fruit fresh from the pod. It’s very sweet and tastes nothing like chocolate. Some of the fruit is slightly drier. Those beans go straight into the sack. When we’re done, the discarded pods go into the green waste pile near the fence. The sacks of cacao beans go upstairs to ferment for five days before being spread out on plastic sheets to dry. Don’t worry, our deliciously rich hot chocolate will still get made today!
Upstairs, there are some dried beans ready for toasting. We bring them downstairs and prepare the toasting pan with a few handfuls of ashes from the barbecue; sifted to get any lumps out. The ash serves to protect the beans from too much heat exposure, helping to dry the outer skins without damaging the precious cacao oils inside and the resulting beans are still considered a raw food.
Doña Sara, one of Mompiche’s icons and a good friend, roasts her beans in large clay pot over a slow coal fire. Countless times we’ve sat chatting as she stirs the beans through the ashes with a large wooden spoon, toasting them just enough so the skins crack and they’re ready to peel. At my house, the beans are toasted in a 45cm (17.5 inch) diameter cast iron pan over the gas stove, but the result is much the same. Peeling the beans is the most time-consuming part of the process. The more hands, the better. I’m hoping yours are not too delicate because the beans are hot. Snap them between your thumb and forefinger and the skin should crack and slip off. The shiny bean goes into the bowl. The peel goes into the bucket; I’ll use this “waste” to mulch the sunflowers. Try to ignore the blisters on your thumbs until we’re done. Taste some of the beans… they’re delicious. And by now you’ve probably forgotten that a while back someone sucked the fruit off them.
Now we’re ready to grind our beans. Nestle, Cadbury’s, Hersheys, Lindt and all those other international chocolate manufacturing companies have entirely different methods for processing their GMO cacao beans that include extracting the cocoa butter, separating the liquor, adding tons of sugar, various other additives and preservatives, refining, tempering and several other steps until zillions of shiny wrappers filled with smooth chocolate spill over the conveyor belt and out into the world. This process requires millions of dollars worth of finely tuned and carefully maintained machinery. My cast iron grinder cost $32, the roasting pan was $28 and the one-hundred percent organic beans are processed by hand. I hope that knowledge disperses any delusions you may have about the end product.
After giving everything a thorough brushing, we fit the pieces of the grinder back together and secure it to the bench top. Handfuls of beans go into the chute and we start grinding. For fitness freaks, this exercise adds bulk to biceps. Add a few shreds of cinnamon bark, a piece of star anise, and whatever other magical spices that tickle your fancy. What comes out of the grinder now depends largely on how long the beans have been fermented, how long they’ve been dried and also the type of cacao bean. Doña Sara’s beans always form a rich thick paste that she molds into oval-shaped patties and leaves overnight to dry. Mine frequently come out in powder form, but sometimes in paste. Either way, the taste is much the same. Now we’re ready to make steaming mugs of delicious hot chocolate.
To draw out the luxuriousness of the afternoon, grab a large saucepan and add one heaped tablespoon of raw chocolate and a slice of panela (raw unrefined organic sugar) per person. Add some finely mashed birdseye chili – more or less depending how much you like chili; I use a third of a chili for one cup – and trickle fresh rainwater into the pan until the chocolate is wet through. I like to add a touch of grated nutmeg at this point, but it’s an individual thing. You could also add ground cinnamon or allspice. Heat the pan, stirring until the chocolate and panela are liquid and beginning to bubble. Add one and a half cups of fresh squeezed cow juice per person and stir it in thoroughly. What? You don’t have any farm-fresh milk? Ah… Fortunately for you, I wake early on those mornings when I fancy starting the day with hot chocolate to visit Juan Zambrano who sells me udderly warm organic milk for $0.50 per liter. This unprocessed, unpasteurized, unultravioleted dairy product has been sitting in the cooler while we were up in the mountains picking cacao. Careful, we might all drop dead immediately after consuming an entirely natural product! Ha!
Bring the chocolate milk to the boil and stir it until the foam settles. Let the foam rise three times but don’t let the milk boil over. After the third time, turn off the heat and grab your mugs. I like to lay in a hammock and watch the bright tropical birds flit overhead while I drink mine. The chili gives it a zing without being too piquant. If chili isn’t your thing, you still can’t beat the rich flavor of pure unadulterated organic hot chocolate.
At the first sip I’m transported centuries earlier to a Spanish galleon, where I imagine an aristocrat trying the brew for the first time. A handful of crushed cacao beans boiled with water. Poured into a pewter mug. His first taste of hot chocolate; very bitter. He screws up his face. The servants don’t like it, each sneaking a taste in the galley, sipping delicately at the wooden spoon. Everyone below decks rejects it as awful. Undeterred, the aristocrat adds sugar. Stirs it into the hot liquid. Brings it once again to his lips. His eyes widen as he realizes his discovery. Closing his eyes, he purses his full round lips and sips again. His taste buds are overwhelmed by a sense of lush pleasure. Almost sinful. The servants nudge each other. Sugar. Of course. He wonders if he should share this culinary gem, then becomes concerned the authorities might not like it. He decides not to tell them about the sugar. Thus, initiating Europe’s historical, revolutionary and, at times controversial, “discovery” of chocolate.
The hot chocolate in my mug is wickedly delicious. A flavor to savor. Richer and fresher than any other chocolate I’ve tasted. Notice the thin film of opaque oil floating on top? Pure cocoa butter. Separated from the water soluble cocoa solids by heat. The historical gourmet genius who decided to separate the fats from the solids and then put them all back together with milk and sugar to create chocolate as we know it today probably discovered this exact same phenomenon purely by accident.
Unfortunately, I’m lactose intolerant, so even though my reaction to local organic milk is not catastrophic, dairy products are not a main feature of my diet. However, I do consume hot chocolate daily. It’s the same recipe, with rainwater instead of milk. Sometimes I add a few fresh mint leaves to the pot. The lack of milk makes it lighter, easier to digest. Healthier. A hint of cinnamon grazes the taste buds. There maybe just a kiss of nutmeg in there too. The mint is subtle, almost over-powered by the sensual chocolate. And whenever I hear anyone say chocolate is bad for you, I laugh. No, it isn’t.
Ya Mismo: Thirty Minutes North of Zero 