The flavour is about as much of a revelation as may be possible for Jamaica origins. It starts out with a nice strawberry, then moves towards melon and cream before finishing on hazelnut with some smoky notes. The evolution is particularly smooth, logical, and harmonious: a demonstration of how to manage an origin. It’s hard to imagine how they might have done any better.

Texture, too, is about as good as can be achieved, perfectly smooth, perfectly creamy, simply awe-inspiring. L’Artisan has had some winners before but this is perhaps the first time one feels they’ve produced the definitive article. If the Jamaica origin is of interest, this is clearly the bar to try, a textbook exposition of the origin and the art of chocolate making.

The flavour does manage to capture the raspberry fruitiness of Sao Tome, but all too briefly before cocoa and coffee take over and an earthy background appears. This is clearly the result of the Tanzania. Meanwhile, the typical woody bitterness of Sao Tome also rears its head in the finish, not exactly a sparkling finale to a bar at once predictable and somewhat harsh.

Texture is also a problem, being rather dry and dusty – in this case more cocoa butter would probably help, not to mention smoothing out some of the rough flavour notes. Granted, the chocolate reveals all the typical characteristics of its origins, but it must be said, all the negatives as well as the positives. Furthermore a choice of these 2 to blend is misconceived: against the aggressive brighness and tannins of the Sao Tome there is a need for something softer, like a Colombia; to match the brooding, dark characteristics of Tanzania requires a lively varietal like a Carenero Superior. Galler’s experimentation with blending origins seems to be very noncommittal, as if they aren’t ready to put the effort into it enough to achieve successful results.

The flavour more or less confirms this impression. The upfront note is a powerful, almost overwhelming citrus, but this immediately disappears behind an ashy and coffee cloud, an obvious indicator of very excessive overroasting. Very slight brown sugar hints seem to be what is left of the Ecuador trying to make an appearance, but it can never struggle above the leaden dark flavour.

Texture is likewise well off the mark for a high-percentage chocolate, dry and dusty, leaving a pasty feeling in the mouth. It’s all a big disappointment, especially coming from a company whose “”normal”" high-percentage blend – the 85% – is actually very good. Obviously when blending couvertures it can be difficult to have complete process control, but really, Galler here should have been more selective. Nothing in this chocolate suggests origins, indeed, it has all the characteristics of a cheap entry into the high-percentage market. Blending origins is an inspired idea, but Galler needs to try harder than this.

But there was one further event I felt I couldn’t miss: Pacari chocolate at Melt. Pacari is an Ecuadorean producer who does it all: growing, processing, manufacture, in Ecuador. It’s a nice way of keeping chocolate profits in country of origin and, I think helps to build local expertise which could mean both more of these ventures and better overall cacao, as the growers benefit from direct feedback and understanding of what they’re producing.

Santiago gave a talk that really gives hope for the future. He’s got what I think is exactly the right attitude and strategy for chocolate production. In a word, obsess. Pacari looks at bean types, fermentation styles, drying methods, roasting times (or indeed if there should even be a roast), conching times, you name it. They experiment with everything, perfect everything. This is the way chocolate should be done; not only does it help them zero in on an ideal process from bean to bar, while they’re doing it they’re learning how the various factors interact, probably finding out things that the industry doesn’t even know. I’m particularly impressed at their bean selection methods: they’re isolating the trees that produce the best-tasting and best-producing, most disease-resistant beans. This is how you build an industry, and how you set the stage for generations of quality cocoa production. I think this is an ideal model for countries like Venezuela and the Dominican Republic, where the quality is there but local infrastructure is sparse, farming knowledge and skills vary wildly, and indigenous production minimal. It’s thinking into the future as well as the present.

Pacari really engage with the communities they work with, encouraging development, education, long-term infrastructure improvement. Just one example: after a surprising discovery determined that many communities were spending money and effort, as well as unintentionally endangering childern, to bring batteries in for the season, they created a programme that gives the farmers access to solar-powered torches, saving all that expense and danger on toxic, non-degradable batteries. I suspect this is an important aspect of local production that pays unexpected dividends: because the manufacturers are so much closer to the farmers, and embedded in the same overall culture, they can see and understand the issues farmers face on the ground.

That Pacari is organic is yet another feather in their cap, and because of their research methods I think they’re also at the leading edge of developing cacaos that are viable in organic production. Too often organic faces the tradeoff between iffy quality and microscopic yields. Santiago’s philosophy on organic production is even more enlightened: from his point of view, he said he couldn’t imagine endangering the life and health of the farmers by exposing them to poisonous chemicals. It really puts into perspective the reality that so many companies are doing organic mostly for the market position rather than the social benefits, in much the same way that many consumers buy organic more for their own potential benefit than to benefit the wider world. Not that there’s anything wrong with this: indeed, every time a consumer or producer makes an organic choice many people benefit. But we can also take heart in what it means to the farmers upstream from the products that grace our shop shelves, and spare a thought for them as well as us.

The chocolate itself is a quantum leap above what most country-of-origin producers achieve. There’s still room for improvement: tasting a whole bar in either the Manabi or Los Rios reveals an ashiness in the finish that didn’t come through in the obviously smaller samples we tried at the event itself. There the chocolates seemed very nicely interpreted with lots of upfront fruitiness. A shorter roasting time might be in order. In fact, perhaps no roast is the ideal. The raw 70% bar was simply fantastic, either in the small sample or as a full bar. This is nothing at all like the “typical” raw chocolate, usually crudely processed to emphasize its “rustic” nature, often not made with the best beans, frequently packed with other unusual ingredients that mask the chocolate taste and turn it into a confection rather than a chocolate bar. No, Pacari’s is a full-fledged classic chocolate bar, the only difference being that it’s unroasted. Not only is it a spectacular achievement in its own right, it competes with Pralus for the title of best organic bar on the market, and with Domori for the best organic bar ever (Domori’s Chacao is still a chocolate much lamented since its disappearance).

Pacari also enrobe various things: the winner is the chocolate-covered banana bits. Why do so few people combine chocolate and bananas (a natural combination if ever there was one)? It doesn’t seem to find favour with good chocolatiers. Pacari’s got an addictive, irresistible snacking food with this one.

Melt also got in to the act, offering a Pacari Manabi chocolate truffle. It’s interesting what different chocolates can do. This truffle had a flavour very reminiscent of creme fraiche, along with earthy characteristics that avoided being flat and dull. Texture was good if quite fluid. Might Melt venture to produce a Pacari raw chocolate truffle? You could do it by very gently melting the chocolate over absolute minimum heat, then stirring in cream matched in temperature. It would require some careful work, but I for one would be very interested in it.

As for Pacari, overall, a firm with a total vision.

A surprise entry – Complete Cooking, turned out to have the best brownies I’ve had other than my own: they were dense and very soft, with a near-ideal balance of chocolate and brown sugar. They might be a little too far on the fudgy side to be ideal for me (I prefer a little more structure), but this is a quibble. These turned out to be a great success later on when I brought them round to friends.

In contrast Paul Young‘s I think push over the edge into fudgy terrritory. They’re just too soft, almost unbaked. The version they had also had nuts, which personally I prefer without: nuts interfere a bit too much texturally and flavour-wise with the brownie’s essential denseness. Young does, however, produce a nutless version, just no samples available, which comes back to the problem I found yesterday at many tables, only selected items available for sampling.

The winner of the day was Paul Wayne Gregory’s mint chocolate (small confectionery, not chocolate bar flavoured with mint). Quite simply put, this is the best peppermint chocolate anything I’ve ever had. Usually producers overdo the peppermint, leaving something harsh and biting. Not Paul. These precisely balance mint, chocolate, and sweetness, leading to something incredibly addictive and remarkably refined. Manufacturers seem divided between peppermint and spearmint for mint chocolates; usually the less-assertive spearmint is the choice for high-end chocolatiers. Paul Wayne Gregory shows that it’s possible to create a peppermint with the same level of sophistication. Actually, I think chocolates should be called “peppermint” or “spearmint” as 2 separate categories; now we have a winner for each. For spearmint, Theo chocolates has long set the benchmark. Now Paul Wayne Gregory establishes the peppermint chocolate to beat.

I did go to the afternoon talks in spite of doing the rounds at the tables. The Askinosie talk was actually by their Swedish? (I think) distributor. The language barrier proved to be something of an issue. I think the rep genuinely didn’t realise the Lost in Translation problem involved when the opening screen features a large caption “For God Smak”. (Although those unfamiliar with Alice in Chains might not realise this phrase carries a rather different meaning than the one intended!) Language aside, he knew his stuff. The chocolate, it must be said, is much improved over Askinosie’s earlier experiments but still needs work. The Soconusco (Mexico) still has a VERY suspect earthy/mushroom component to it, and on the whole they still need to back off on the roast.

Mestizo (an “authentic” Mexican restaurant in London) gave a brilliant talk on Mole. Typically including chocolate as an ingredient this paste in a thousand different variants is a near-staple in Mexican cooking. I didn’t know it can take hours to make done the traditional way! Still, I’m surprised that some members of the audience had no idea mole is central to Mexican cuisine.

In a rather macabre tradition, apparently Mexicans give each other chocolate (or sugar) skulls for Dia de Los Muertos. They showed us a picture of piled chocolate skulls that rather recall images from Pol Pot’s regime. Bizarre. I’m reminded of the talk by Warren Laine-Naida: like the associations with a chocolate gun, what are the associations with a chocolate skull?

The mole (poblano) they sampled for us was absolutely definitive. I think this is something you have to try to appreciate. As it happens Mestizo will make that easy for all of us with a mole festival at the end of this month and beginning of the next – timed to coincide with Dia de Los Muertos. Will they have chocolate skulls?

Last “event” of the day was the live feed at the SeventyPercent table from Ecuador. It was jerky but it worked, and now perhaps this opens the door for farmers to interact directly with consumers. For instance, I was able to ask about cocoa bean selection, and perhaps hint to them about the prospect for careful selective breeding.

One overall theme that came out of the whole 2 days I can’t resist commenting on. Time and again chocolatiers commented on the idea that there is “chocolate for special occasions” and “chocolate for everyday” – to make a broad generalisation of various comments. They often took pains to emphasize their own liking, in the appropriate time, for ordinary confections such as, e.g. Mars bars. However, I find it striking that such confectioners don’t really attempt to make similar such confections themselves. What could we get with a Mars bar made with first-rate ingredients and according to careful craftsmanship, rather than turned out by the millions from bulk chocolate?

The problem here, I think is with consumer perceptions. Good chocolate carries with it a strong scent of snobbery. It’s laudable that chocolatiers don’t subscribe to such snobbery themselves, but to what extent does extolling the simple pleasures of a Mars bar perpetuate the problem? It’s a question of identifying what is better than what. The essence of snobbery is not in making distinctions in level of quality, but in believing that being discriminating makes you a superior person. This is obviously untrue: it’s merely a case of different people with different needs, desires, and priorities. If, then, we compare a Mars bar against a Curley confection, let us be clear: it is not the people who eat the Curley who are better, it’s the chocolate!

But this plays out in the consumer sector in strange ways. First, it means that from a market-position point of view it’s effectively impossible for quality chocolatiers to make Mars-bar-like products profitably, because people simply won’t buy them. Second, it puts a lot of ordinary people off buying good chocolate, even occasionally, because of the stigma of snobbery that might then be attached to them. Third, it places into peoples’ minds again, this rigid distinction between “chocolate for everyday” (i.e. mass-produced confectionery) and “chocolate for special occasions” (i.e. “fine” chocolate).

The best example, perhaps, of this is a simple phenomenon, prominently on display at the show: the prevalence of assorted boxed chocolates among quality chocolatiers. Assortments are frustrating for almost everyone, because you always know there will be some chocolates you don’t like, and some you really like and wish there were more of. Why, then, do they prevail? If I (or most people, I think) go into a chocolate shop to buy chocolate purely for my own enjoyment, I’m going to do it piece-wise, selecting each individual chocolate according to my own preferences. I know what I like. The same is true when buying chocolate for someone I know (say, a loved one). I again will know what they like and select accordingly. Thus the boxed set seems basically designed for a very specific purpose: as a present for people you don’t know especially well. Look at what this says: if most of the quality chocolate is being bought as rather impersonal presents for rather distant acquaintances, how much of its value is being squandered – in missed enjoyment on the part of the recipient (who, we can infer, will have the same frustration with the boxed assortment that we all get), in missed enjoyment on the part of the giver (who if they are buying mostly for others are not actually buying for themselves, or even for people they’re close to, very much), in the sheer sterility of giving something precious over which someone laboured lovingly to someone anonymous? The net result is that quality chocolate is something people buy more to convey an image rather than to enjoy or give enjoyment to others for its own sake. I would like to see this change, because until it does, snobbery will prevail, and good chocolate will be wasted on vanity.

I’ve generalised here a lot, and certainly deliberately exaggerated the scope and class of the problem in order to make a point. No doubt furthermore that I have my own snobbery to deal with. Please don’t interpret what I’ve said as a blanket, categorical statement applying to all people in all situations, or to any given individual in any specific situation. I use Mars and Curley as examples, but please understand that I am not singling them out in any way other than to provide examples which hopefully most people are familiar with. If I manage to offend I am sorry. This just falls into the category of “things that need to be said” for me.

In upcoming months I’ll be creating a new serial blog “In Search of the Ideal” detailing my quests for the ideal chocolate items in a variety of categories (with possibly some non-chocolate digressions), and you’ll see more comments on the whole Chocolate Week experience and my personal chocolate ideology in there. But for now, I’ll stay with my impressions of the Week itself.

So we start with Day 1: Saturday, 10 October. The big thing of course is the new major event; “Chocolate Unwrapped”. But I got in some other chocolate activities as well. I decided to go to Demarquette first thing off the train. They’ve got some new bars to pick up (even though they’re really only remoulded couverture from companies like Felchlin and Cluizel) and it was about time for me to refresh my impressions of their confections.

Demarquette is big on not using liquid sugars but rather honey. It does give a subtle additional flavour – does this interfere with the pure sensation? Not to the extent that it’s problematic, but you can certainly tell it’s there. The plain truffle I had had something of a bizarre, gelatinous texture to it; you get this occasionally in truffles and now I suspect it comes from the honey. The flavour, though, was very nice, nutty and tobacco. It could perhaps have used a bit more intensity, but Demarquette’s firm ganache style already has a higher chocolate ratio than the more typical (and in my view less desirable) very fluid ganaches you find in others, and this high ratio means the intensity is still vastly better than most truffles.

I also got a coffee, a lemon, a plain ganache square, and a Tunisian Bharat. The last is a rose/cinnamon combination: as you can see perhaps Demarquette has a slightly Arab slant to his chocolates. Of these the winner is the lemon; a brilliant, very fresh lemony flavour coming straight from zest. The lemon zest in the chocolate itself meant the texture was a bit bitty but otherwise fine. The rest were nice, but other than the good firm texture nothing really to effuse over.

On to Chocolate Unwrapped. Once you found the salon in the warrenlike maze of rooms underneath the May Fair hotel, there was quite a lot to see. It’s nice also to see plenty of chocolate newcomers, people who either must just have wandered in or who got excited by the press. On the other hand, some of the chocolatiers there weren’t exactly prepared; 2 were unable to provide samples of certain products they had on sale. In my opinion you can’t just offer selected items for sampling; the overall effect of one chocolate doesn’t necessarily reflect what you’ll get with a different one. Another more universal problem was that few of the chocolatiers seemed set up to offer piece selection; most things were pre-boxed assortments. That may be fine if you’re completely new to good chocolate but it’s frustrating if you know what you’re looking for and/or have particular likes and dislikes. Admittedly this is logistically difficult to do for the chocolatiers but my feeling is that it could have been thought out a bit better.

Chococo had a good idea: a molasses truffle. The molasses flavour really stood out, although perhaps overpowered the chocolate a bit. I might use an Ecuador chocolate for this pairing; if I remember correctly they were using a Sao Tome. Still, an inspired idea. Why can’t more chocolatiers find classic, basic truffle flavours like this?

Then there were the 2 talks in my “session”: Paul Young and Warren Laine-Naida. I’ll talk about Paul Young first. High energy; you could see he was excited and in particular really chuffed with his new book which had just been released. Most of the talk, though, was on 2 simple messages: Do it all by hand, and don’t be afraid to experiment. They do all their chocolates without machinery; an amazing (labour-intensive!) achievement in this age of mechanisation even in small-scale production. It might not be the most pragmatic approach for a commercial chocolatier, but it does mean he probably has more valuable advice to offer the home experimenter, who must typically do without expensive gadgets. I’m not convinced, however, that his claim that anything can be made to work with chocolate; what about, for example, onions? Or saffron? In the end, however,  the most convincing demonstration was an absolutely stunning Los Ancones truffle that he sampled to all: water based, and with an intensity that even Michel Cluizel himself might envy. I personally found the texture to be a bit too fluid but you can’t argue with a flavour like that.

Warren Laine-Naida talked to a conspicuously emptier room that Paul Young’s packed talk. Lack of samples probably has a lot to do with that. However, as much a factor might be his own comment that people looking at his work tended to comment that it was ugly. Not, perhaps, the most ringing endorsement for an artist! In spite of that, however, he gave us a thoroughly enlightening examination of the development of chocolate as art. Perhaps his central point; that chocolate art should challenge one’s preconceptions as well as excite interest is well taken, but it’s not exactly original, is it? However, ideas such as “what is the message of a chocolate gun?” are thought-provoking. It also seems clear that his philosophy is that art should represent a repudiation of cultural norms. I’ll come out and reveal my own position: I can’t agree with that assessment. Rejecting common beliefs very quickly becomes making art only for yourself; a narcissistic exercise that conveys little. Not that I’m even remotely implying he’s narcissitic as such, but my view is that art should rather try to find and bring to our attention human universals that find expression in the cultural milieu we inhabit.

I also think that art should embody the intrinsic qualities of the media it uses. Thus, for example, a painting “exists” to be seen. Therefore something of visual beauty and intelligibility should emerge; I can’t find much either beautiful or intelligible in, e.g. Jackson Pollock. Chocolate, again, “exists” to be eaten. Thus a chocolate work that cannot and must not be eaten sort of defeats the purpose of its existence. In like manner another artistic medium typically in my view often poorly interpreted is computer art. Computers, again, “exist” to compute; this is a dynamic process and so a static computer image doesn’t capture the potential of the computer, which could be “multimedia”, interactive, a constantly changing experience. I’m not saying that artistic vision must always emphasize the intrinsic qualities of the media but I do think too often artists working in modern media limit themselves subconsciously to paradigms of “classical” media: Warren Laine-Naida I think may be thinking too much in terms of sculpture rather than chocolate as art itself. It’s clear from his talk, though, that there are other artists who aren’t limiting themselves with chocolate.

Tomorrow: more talks, more philosophies. Lots more chocolate.

Nothing to worry in the aroma either: fairly typical Ghana with a mix of earthy and brown sugar along with traces of molasses and bread. Not revelatory by any means (see Theo for that) but perfectly acceptable. Sadly, the flavour isn’t particularly acceptable, even if it starts with an initially promising rich brown sugar cast. The problem is that the flavour suddenly implodes into bland cocoa and coffee with hints of nuts and toast. It seems as though Valrhona has badly misjudged the roast, a very atypical move for a company known for a light touch.

Mouthfeel is also decidedly poor, dry and dusty, and this does nothing to relieve the already astringent qualities in the flavour. Has Valrhona had a change of leadership at the roaster? Several recent efforts have been darker than usual – not necessarily to bad effect but a clear break with their past. This chocolate, however seems like an even more clear break with traditions of uncompromising quality. What are they trying to achieve? Valrhona already have a clear presence and widespread distribution in the consumer sector, with far better chocolates like Guanaja and Manjari, to which this adds nothing. It doesn’t really broaden their style choices because it just doesn’t work. This is a misfire: a chocolate best withdrawn and rethought.

The flavour briefly gives hope, flowering into a nice blackberry, but then rapidly turning to very bitter earthy mixed with molasses, and ending in aggressively bitter coconut. If the initial taste could have been sustained this would be a reasonable bar but as it is the bitterness engulfs completely, rendering the bar increasingly distasteful with each bite.

Texture is likewise completely off the mark for a 100%: instead of the smooth and silken mouthfeel one expects there is instead a dry and gritty pastiness that further exacerbates already astringent qualities. In simple terms, what Dagoba has here is unrefined chocolate liquor. The conclusion that a greater conching time would improve things dramatically is inescapable: as is the bar is too raw and too savage to command interest. Prima Materia indeed – but in the context of a raw material ready for future processing rather than a chocolate essence.

But then, the sure winner trips and falls flat on its face. The collapse is so inelegant that one really wonders what happened. A brief hint of strawberry almost immediately gives way to creamy and vanilla, mixed with caramel. The taste is in fact reminiscent of many high street chocolate bars, with a disturbing cardboardy hint to further complete the ignominious defeat. At the end a last-gasp attempt at flavour tries to rescue things with nuts and honey, but it’s too little, too late. The flavour just never arrives.

Texture, as well, is a fumble, decidedly waxy and rather coarse, as if one were eating a simulation of chocolate rather than the real thing. However, this also points squarely at the problem: not enough defatted cocoa solids, too much cocoa butter. It’s difficult enough at 30% to make much of an impression but this bar seems skewed entirely towards cocoa butter and the results are dramatic. It’s truly unfortunate, for in the dark version Amano shows that they can do great things with the bean, and with the Ocumare milk that they are likewise capable of near-miracles with low-percentage milk chocolate. Here, however, the formulation needs a complete rethink and increase in percentage, along with a systematic reduction in cocoa butter. As it is it doesn’t do justice to Amano’s otherwise exemplary reputation.

Aroma is interesting but slightly disturbing. The initial impression is fairly standard: cheesey and buttery, but then more interesting citrus and almond aromas emerge. Earthy hints ring true to the Ocumare origins. But lurking in the background is a disturbing whiff of toluol – processing problems perhaps?

Luckily the flavour doesn’t hint at any further difficulties. Starting with a melon and chile initial bite, it progresses to smooth and sweet grape and almond before surging into one of the most intense and obvious honey flavours a chocolate bar has ever had, completely characteristic but not heavy-handed. A nutty finish rounds out an outstanding progression. Texture, unfortunately, stumbles badly, being fudgy and coarse, although these problems are easily set aside with a taste this good.

Perhaps the lone unfortunate quality is the low percentage: the result is inevitably very sweet and one wonders how much better this might be upped to a higher percentage – 50% or so. At that range it might compete with Cluizel’s superb Mangaro, still unassailable among milk chocolates. Nonetheless, this is a very fine chocolate indeed and a realistic option for those who prefer very mild milk chocolates.