Cocoa Beans

Sacks arrive smelling like earth and fruit. We sort, rest, and listen. Ghana and Ecuador keep separate shelves like guest rooms.
LIVE PROCESS BELT
Seven stations. Slide sideways. Watch the gears. This is how a bean becomes a bar with a name.

Sacks arrive smelling like earth and fruit. We sort, rest, and listen. Ghana and Ecuador keep separate shelves like guest rooms.

Heat wakes the flavor. Too little: grassy. Too much: ash. The roast curve is a recipe as careful as caramel.
Nibs become liquor — a word that here means thick, dark, unstoppable cocoa paste. Nib pieces sometimes escape into crunch bars on purpose.
Sugar, milk, cocoa butter, mischief. Conching polishes the mass until it feels like fabric, not grit.

Crystal architecture. 31.5°C for many of our darks. Shine, snap, no sad bloom. Lina does not accept dull bars.

Long, mini, square, chunky, heart, layered. Fillings are piped like secrets. Vibration tables knock out bubbles that don't belong.

Foil, paper, ribbon, joke on the inside flap. Gift chests are packed by people who still get excited. Then the conveyor carries them toward you.