Simple Pleasures: Chocolate and Conversation
It wasn't a long ride to the chocolate factory, unfortunately. I know I wasn't the only one itching for any down time we could get. Fifteen minutes at least allowed for a solid zone-out session accompanied by almost sarcastic complaints about the weather and the exercise. We aren't that spoiled, it’s just fun to pretend.
We arrived, though, as you usually do when traveling from point A to point B. The building itself was almost intimidating. Almost. The fear instilled by the overwhelming size was basically automatically nullified by the stereotypical villa decor. It reminded me a bit too much of the new Cali N Tito’s on the east side of Athens, right across from Cedar Shoals High School. I felt fourteen again and got weird flashbacks of walking past the stucco building with a Monster energy drink in one hand and a stolen Newport in the other. Memories can take away the beauty of too many things, but they can also add a frighteningly familiar flavor to the unknown.
Walking up the stairs made me nervous. I felt ridiculous in my bike shorts holding a news pad and a pen with the message “DO NOT STEAL THIS PEN!!” pasted on it. I was instantly put at ease by the chalkboard menu posted up outside the door. Who knows why, but it helped. Perhaps it was the “Death by Brownie” text, such a comfortingly cliche name. Then across the counter I spot the man himself, Chocolate Bob. Salt and pepper oozes from his head and blends with his grey monotone outfit. He looks like Jeor Mormont from Game of Thrones, an ultimate father figure.
The first thing I can hear in my recording of that day is “Alright, my name is Chocolate Bob, let’s go this way” amongst ambient chatter, and then Erin Benson interjecting with “You go, Marygrace!” I remember her face at that moment well. It’s rare to come across someone whose feelings and genuine care so effortlessly radiate from their expressions.
I nervously shuffled as close to Bob as I could and certainly freaked him out by moving to his side every time he crossed the room. He was in the zone, though. Once the history of the cacao started pouring from his mouth it was obvious he wasn’t talking to us. He was in a history book; he was in a Cacao Tree grove; he was in another place shouting back what he saw to anyone that would listen.
Before explaining the history of chocolate production Bob thought it most important to uncover the flaws of large chocolate corporations. “Most cocoa is harvested in South/Central America and Africa, yet chocolate is only produced in North America, Western Europe, and Australia.” He spoke about how big corporations are making bad chocolate because they're using people in underdeveloped countries to harvest cocoa beans. “For example, workers in Ghana and Nigeria — that have little to no education — have no idea how to properly harvest and dry cocoa beans, and they aren’t trained how to either.” So, not only are impoverished people being taken advantage of, but this process allows larger chocolate producers to trade quality for quantity.
Bob continued on this subject for a while, taking moments to inform us about the different types of cocoa beans as well as diseases that had plagued them. There wasn’t a moment he was more worked-up. What was funny to me, though, was that what was bothering him wasn’t the monetary inequality or use of untrained laborers. He was utterly offended that chocolate would be mishandled in such a way. There were often times he would get flustered; he would close his eyes and shake his head, his face a little red.
Chocolate Bob then led us around the room in a circle, working his way through history. We began in early Mesoamerica, starting around 1900 BC. A stone grinder sat in the corner next to a poster showing ancient uses and preparations of cocoa products. Cocoa beans were used for culinary purposes, but much more frequently in rituals and medicine. By the time of the Aztec empire, cocoa beans were so highly valued they were used as currency.“There was a point when counterfeit cocoa beans were a huge problem!” Bob slips in with a small chuckle and then composes himself, looking slightly embarrassed for being amused.
“Cocoa was always drunk, never eaten, because the temperature in Central and South America wouldn't allow for solid chocolate. The drink was usually very bitter, and would be seasoned with things like cayenne, vanilla, and honey, and thickened with maize.”
“Then, in the 1500's, conquistadors arrived.” We slid around to the next corner of the room where Bob told us about the introduction of cocoa to Europe, as well as the inclusion of sugar in the production of chocolate. As he stood behind the roaster and moved to the juicer, he described Victorian hot chocolate cafes, drifting in and out of thought as he juiced the beans and put them in a blender.
He poured milk, vanilla, and sugar in the blender and then poured its contents into 14 tiny paper cups. We passed them around— they were delicious, of course — and he began to make another batch. “This one will be a little different. I’m going to add some cayenne and hot pepper flakes.” No lie; these were way better. I was one of the first to drink, so I got to sit and watch each person one by one sip and make a face: the face where you furrow your eyebrows and frown but with open and surprised eyes, like “dang, I thought that would suck.” I specifically remember Joe Youorski’s face. I think he’d been feeling claustrophobic (understandably, in this hot tiny room) and had been moving in and out for fresh air. He had just returned from taking a breather when he was handed his cup — whether the first or second I don’t recall — but I felt some concern ease in my chest when he made the same face as everyone. Even when we don’t feel well we are all still the same species with these universal expressions. A moment, if brief, of returning to the present!
We moved to our final stop, the chocolate-stained drying table. Bob had been melting chocolate for a while so that we could create our own little marshmallow truffles. There was a tray of dark chocolate sitting on the table, and Leah Nelson leans over and whispers to me, “I’m gonna get some of that somehow.” Of course I replied, “Hell yeah, girl — get it.” I’d like to imagine we fist pounded.
After taking turns dipping our marshmallows, Leah made her move. “So, can I have this instead of my truffle?” she asked, getting right on top of the tray. Bob was definitely taken aback by her straight-forward manner (one of my favorite things about her) and had to acquiesce. “Well, I mean, it’s not tempered but sure.” Tempering was a process that simply made the chocolate look smooth and glossy. Leah was unperturbed. She had succeeded, it was a good day.
We began filing out of the small laboratory-factory hybrid and working our way to the counter to buy our fill of sweets. Some people stuck around and spoke to Bob about his past, where he was from, where he went to school, etc. “Well, I graduated from Amherst with an English degree. Then I went back a few years later and got a degree in Biology because I couldn’t get a job.” We all laughed at our imminent joblessness, but there was nothing bittersweet about it.
After buying a chocolate frog and some whiskey truffles for my new love Becca Baskam (a Communications major and Earth Fare book-keeper with the intimidating beauty of Elvira), we said goodbye to Bob and hello to a rainy and windblown walk home.
