Starting out somewhat on the green side, the flavor quickly takes on a sweet-natured chocolaty quality, punctuated by subtle spikes of acidic lemon and light almonds, orange and cherries simultaneously, an explosion of sunny weather in the mouth that only gets brighter yet more chaotic as the length continues. Nothing truly harmonizes, just zips by at random, pulling you along capriciously but with a texture that eases the ride with a sophisticated gloss.

Despite this rambunctious act, Jembrana is actually a low-key, somewhat mild chocolate similar to a Seurat painting that up close appears as a collection of random colors but further away reveals itself to be a coherent, almost ethereal picture. Indeed, at first glance nothing really seems to work in tandem, instead merely coexisting out of chance and doing the best with what its got, but in fact clarity is simply a matter of perception and in the end appreciating is only half the enjoyment.

Starting bold and deep like many Ecuadorians do, the chocolate is actually off to a great start, enriching its tone with cream, a subtle acidity, and a slight undertone of raisin and blackberry the entire length. As rich and pleasing as it is, though, the flavor has a serene, passive feel due to its relative lack of vigor and distinct highs and lows in the profile.

Not building upon its base flavors makes Guayas very much an inert chocolate as well, which isn’t always a negative trait but serves as one here since—as mentioned—the flavor is fairly level and tame overall. Amano is usually good at hitting the mark on most origins, but it is a bit off-kilter on Ecuadorian turf. The origin can be tough to consistently produce good results with, and Guayas has certainly furnished several challenges the company needs to overcome to make Ecuador a capable option in its roster of bars.

Continuing outside the realm of convention, the chocolate tastes almost entirely like Early Grey tea infused with the floral essence of lavender. Turned ecstatically to 11, the volume of these inherently docile flavors is blistering, almost taking center stage completely if not for the piquant and spicy undertones that contribute much needed balance and contrast, until things end decidedly fruity, namely blueberries and something red.

Amano has done a good job at highlighting the intensity of the chocolate, both in terms of chocolatiness and flavor volume, making it clear they were proud of the quality and wanted everyone to take note as well. Despite this, though, the texture is noticeably grainy and slightly below par of industry standards. Although it does take the sheen off an otherwise brilliant flavor the chocolate as a whole is still a resounding success as it not only differentiates itself from everything else on the market but also strengthens the distinction and prominence of the Dominican origin. Applause goes to Amano for creating such a wonderful chocolate.

First taste is that of a Bonnat bar, somewhat nutty like soy, and then whirlwinds of a dark roast take over, suggesting rather aggressively that Hachez was not afraid to crank up the heat here. Ash supports that notion, but luckily the fruitiness of the beans is present as well, first blueberries, then strawberries, and later (towards the end) melon, which leads to a somewhat dry and bitter finish, imparting dry cocoa on the tongue as the lasting memory.

Intensity, however, is where this bar falters and coming from Hachez this does not surprise. Although the chocolate has some classic Venezuelan flavors, the intensity is not at a level to make the bar stand out or to best exemplify the origin and the beans. The company may be struggling to find that balance, and at 70% the bar is far more along the lines of what a typical chocolate offers by way of cocoa butter. With 17g of fat per serving its flavor is not nearly as muted as its 77% and 88% stablemates (which contain 22-23g of fat per serving) yet it melts with excellent, though not as superb, texture comparable (again) to a Bonnat bar. Although a decent effort, it still suggests that the more things change the more they remain the same.

Flavor, however, makes minor amends but ultimately leaves one wanting more. Floral is the key to this chocolate, one-sidedly so in fact just like the aroma but a lot less powerful and more difficult to pick apart. Orange blossom and something pink, both refreshing and highly appealing, dominate, but the lack of intensity and general mildness of the chocolate do little to support their presence.

Valrhona shines with the texture, as it typically does, but only to further emphasize the already timid and partisan nature of the chocolate. Indeed, Alpaco is a bit flat and deficient in character to make it remarkable, unlike similarly flavored chocolates such as Guittard’s Chucuri or even other Ecuadorian Nacionals, where there is at least some cocoa intensity or additional flavors to fill in the gaping holes that Alpaco leaves vacant. In short, the chocolate simply lacks substance to flesh out its good, albeit mild, flavor.

At first glance such a potently aggressive theme may seem uncommon for a Dominican chocolate but keep in mind that Domori’s Chacao line was similarly outfitted in its day. Although that line has been defunct for several years, Valrhona has a reasonable facsimile in its roster, unleashing a dark cranberry-cedar-sharp flavor but, comparatively, with a less-than-polished feel. Tainori is indeed rough around the edges, but it’s also intensely chocolaty and aggressive yet delicately nuanced with apricot, soft spice, and even a bit of banana.

The end result is a chocolate that recalls the greatness of Chacao, so make no mistake, Valrhona has picked up where Domori left off, although with a less urbane feel but definitely in a promising direction if the bar can be fine-tuned over the years. Tainori is indeed a welcome addition to the somewhat limited vignette of Dominican chocolates, and it also shows that Valrhona still maintains a firm footing during its meanderings into the darker side of chocolate.

Tasting a lot like a cherry cordial and then simply cherries, the flavor is, you guessed it, an explosion of cherries, with some burnt notes occasionally that—like the aroma—blend in with the fruit seamlessly. There’s also a moderate acidity that makes the flavor pleasantly sharp, not prickling or assertive, just tart enough to leave your mouth watering once the chocolate is gone.

Texture is thick and smooth somewhat like peanut butter but not too bad, actually, probably slightly below average, which in fact is exactly how I feel about this chocolate in general—it’s a good effort but not a world-beater. It reminds me of Lindt’s Excellence 70% but not nearly as good, falling short on the intensity contained therein, as well as possessing that burnt quality that still suggests careless roasting regardless of how well blended in it is. So, while it could be better, it could also be much worse. Quite simply, it is what it is: an average chocolate.

Flavor is slow to develop, building up some great chocolaty backbone, and then raw tones emerge, expressing banana and rum, with plums strumming along deeply in the background like a bass guitar. Mellowing out now, turning to brown sugar, the flavor ends on an herbal note, almost woody maybe but roasted in some ways like tobacco.

The thick, slightly fudge-like density of the texture doesn’t win any brownie points, but at this point I’d be picking hairs. Overall, Finisterra is a very commendable blend that does justice to its commemorative purpose. Despite its mighty fine flavor, though, noticing every note is a laborious task. The chocolate is subtly nuanced and soft-spoken at all times but distinctly so nonetheless which certainly makes the effort worthwhile, and also gives us another reason to continue our faith in the Limited Series line.

Flavor is very pinkish, like a pastel version of the 70%, very much muted and bled into the canvas with brown sugar and sweet spice, notably nutmeg. The bean blend appears to be almost exactly the same (but I could be wrong), the difference here being higher sugar content, which highlights the caramelized tones and mollifies the flavor, making it soft and affable.

Compared to the 70%, this one is painted in subdued colors, with gentle strokes in the early Rembrandt style, as opposed to thick and dramatic like Van Gogh. It’s a very fruity yet caramelized flavor with an artificial density courtesy of the fudge-like, almost chewy texture, which really should be corrected to bring the flavor up to a more urbane level. Still, with a pleasing intensity and soothing flavor, the chocolate is probably more accomplished than its 70% brother and definitely a worthy contender in the semisweet category.

Starting off somewhat raw as most Domori bars do, the flavor quickly matures. It’s a carbon copy of the aroma, launching cream and a pleasant tanginess that emphasizes bitter almonds with specks of black pepper. Nutty, too, the chocolate as a whole is very pleasant and slightly light but rich at the same time. Charming and quaint, it’s a flavor to be enjoyed in moderation to extend its elegant appeal.

Domori, of course, nails the texture, and thankfully so since anything less than super smooth would be heresy to such a well-dressed flavor. As lovely as it is, though, it does run the risk of becoming too heavily geared towards a “tan” orientation such as Valrhona’s Palmira or Dagoba’s Milagros, without any fruit or dark notes to counter the relative linearity. Perhaps it’s the creamy, buttery quality that helps, but surely we can sleep better at night knowing that after four years following its inception Carupano has remained virtually unchanged and overall an excellent chocolate.