Chocolate: The Tease of a Taste

I awoke to the sound of birds; the net that encased my bed had averted the scorpions but did little to keep out the melting morning heat. I ducked under the net and threw open the door to my cabin, just in time to see a crimson songbird swoop from a palm frond into the cashew tree where the ground starting sloping towards the river.

It was my final day of eight interning at the Maya Mountain Research Farm. I was deep in the jungle, two hours by foot from the nearest village in Toledo, Belize.  Along with my sister, I had given up the comforts of a usual tropical vacation to intern on a solar-powered farm with no refrigerator. Yes, that means no ice...and certainly no ice-cream! 

MMRF is a self-sustaining farm and one of the oldest projects on permaculture in Central America. Christopher Nesbitt, who bought and built the farm twenty years ago, gives students from around the world a first-hand study on permaculture, agroforestry, sustainable living, and organic farming.  (The farm is truly a special place, check it out at http://www.mmrfbz.org)

As I walked down the trail towards the sound of the ringing breakfast bell, I pondered what my job would be that day-- carting rocks from the riverbed up the hill for the foundation of the greenhouse?  Drilling the solar panels onto the roof of the aquaponics system?  Harvesting green pumpkins and callaloo?

When I reached the kitchen and heard someone say, “Cacao pods are getting ripe, I think it’s time to do a round,” I jumped at the chance-- “Count me in!”  And that day a life-long chocolate lover learned how to harvest cacao.

Necessary materials: two large empty buckets, two machetes, and one machete on a 6-foot rod.

Step one: collecting the pods.

Head farmer Eddy led a group of us down the hill; we skirted the river, systematically visiting each cacao tree. The pods hung amongst the shiny green leaves like swollen nuggets of gold. He taught us to look carefully: a yellow-colored pod on one tree meant it was ripe, but yellow pods on another type would turn a deep red when ready for harvest.

Once we found a ripe pod, Eddy took his machete and with one clean swipe sliced the stem. It took accuracy; a slight miss would cut a gash into the core of the tree. I experimented on a low branch-- after three timid hacks the pod plopped to the ground-- success!  As for pods that hung eight feet in the air?  For some reason Eddy never offered to let me use the 6-foot machete to hack at things above
my head. Probably a smart choice.

Step two: extracting the beans.

Holding the pod in his palm, Eddy swung the machete right at his hand-- the knife sunk an inch into
the pod, just enough so he could then crack open the shell and reveal the juicy white cacao fruit inside.  Scooping out the fruit with his hand, he stuffed it right into his mouth--I was shocked! His cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, he chewed carefully. I followed suit-- what a glorious taste!  I let the bitingly sour and simultaneously sweet taste of the fruit take over my mouth. No wonder almost half the cacao pods are bitten into by birds and ants before they even reach ripeness.

Then Eddy turned and spit into the empty bucket. With juice running down my face, I did the same.  Like magic, there lay a pile of light brown, slimy cacao beans-- the first of the day’s harvest.
It took four people and all afternoon to emerge with two half-buckets of cacao beans.  If we hadn’t eaten the fruit and instead lugged around the cacao pods all day, we would have ended up with a quarter of our yield.

Step three: drying the beans.

Our day’s work was done, but Eddy told us the next step-- spread the beans over a tarp to dry, so the flesh of the fruit could be removed.  Then they were either sold as beans or ground into cocoa powder.

Later that night, one of the farm chefs in residence, Jannine, made brownies from an earlier harvest of the farm’s cacao.  They were phenomenal--a melting bite of warm, vibrantly fresh, chocolatey richness that begged the senses never to forget it.

And I didn’t!  In fact, from that day forward the mere sight of chocolate induced a flood of questions-- Where did this chocolate come from? Had it been purchased as powder or as beans? How much did cacao beans sell for? How were the beans transported? Who were the largest world-wide buyers of cacao?  Had I ever eaten chocolate from Belize before, without knowing it?  Was white chocolate really chocolate? Is there a definitive difference between fudge and brownies? What was it about chocolate that made it healthy? Why do we associate chocolate with Valentine’s Day?  ...you see? The nagging chocolate voice in my head is completely tireless!

So here in Chicago, five months later, I realize the only way to eradicate this incessant interrogation is to start investigating chocolate. I don't know where this journey will lead, but it will be an intellectual adventure as well as a sensory one.  So... get ready to follow me as I chase chocolate throughout Chicago and beyond!