The Bitter Truth Behind That Chocolate Bar
I went to this geography conference and there was a fascinating panel on the geography of chocolate so I thought I would share the high and low lights as yet another example about how everything connects in this world.
You unwrap a chocolate bar.
It melts a little in your fingers. Smells good. Feels familiar.
You take a bite. Sweet. Smooth. Comforting.
But here’s the thing,
you’re not just eating chocolate.
You’re biting into three thousand years of history, and at least a few sour centuries.
This thing, this treat we love to death, it started in the jungles of Central America.
The Olmec, Maya, Aztec, they didn’t eat it the way we do.
They drank it: bitter, spiced, dark, maybe with chili, maybe with cornmeal.
No sugar. No gimmicks. You get a bit of this if you get mole sauce on your enchiladas today.
It was sacred. A currency. A ceremony.
Not a snack. Not a Valentine’s Day placeholder.
Then the Spanish showed up.
And like everything else they got their hands on,
they turned it into money.
They shipped the cacao tree across the Atlantic, dropped it into the rich soil of colonialism,
and surprise, cacao became empire fuel.
Sugar, tobacco, cacao: the holy trinity of forced labor and exported suffering.
Eventually, it made its way to West Africa.
Perfect soil. Cheap labor.
But not the good stuff, not the delicate, flavorful beans from Mesoamerica.
Too soft. Too high-maintenance.
No, they went with Forastero, a bean built for volume. Tough. Bitter. Boring.
Now here’s where it gets perverse.
Most of the high-end chocolate sold in Europe, the stuff wrapped in gold foil, lined up in Parisian shops like little jewels, comes from those very same bland beans.
Why does it taste amazing? Because Europeans process the hell out of it.
They refine. They conch. They stretch every ounce of flavor out of mediocrity.
Meanwhile, the Criollo beans, the real deal, the stuff with history and soul, often end up in the States.
We drown them in sugar, whip them through industrial processing, and turn them into…
well, brown wax that could survive a nuclear war.
A sugar bomb with a chocolate name.
So yeah, the better beans taste worse.
The worse beans taste better.
And the people who grow them?
Most have never tasted a chocolate bar in their lives, too expensive.
Some of them are kids.
Some of them are still working in conditions that would make your skin crawl.
And the place where cacao was born?
Central America?
It barely grows any of it now.
That’s the punchline.
But none of this is accidental.
It makes perfect sense when you follow the geography.
When you follow the money.
And when you realize this isn’t just a sweet, it’s a system.
Europe polishes.
Africa labors.
America chews and forgets.
What was once sacred is now sold in a plastic wrapper, five for a dollar.
But if you stop and actually taste it, really taste it
you’ll find something still there.
A trace of bitterness.
A whisper of history.
A story melting quietly in your mouth.
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