by Heidi Buyak
Somewhere in North Carolina, ice cream is being made and poured into containers. It’s the end of the day and the filled tubs and cartons are stacked in the freezer ready to ship out in the morning. The workers have gone home, each with a pint of their favorite flavor. The factory is quiet.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” calls a small but sweet, milky voice from inside the freezer. “I can’t sleep.”
“What do you want, Sugar? You want me to sing you a lullaby?” asks a voice that’s dark and strong, intimidating, even.
Flustered, she says, “No, I – I don’t need… Do you know to where we are being shipped?”
Imitating her, he says, “To where we are being shipped? I think I heard one of them say Cary, wherever that is. What’s it to you, sweetie?”
“Oh, Cary must be lovely. As the most popular flavor, I’m looking forward to making everyone there quite happy.”
“Yeah, right,” he laughs. “Who do you think you are? Everyone knows no one’s more popular than me! So, give it a rest, cupcake.”
She waits for him to stop laughing then informs him, “I’ll have you know, I am none other than Vanilla Planifolia — Vanilla for short. I am the most popular…”
From the other side of the freezer, the voice bellows, “BOR-RING! You’re so boring, I’m falling asleep!”
“Excuse me? Let me tell you, mister, there is nothing more exotic than me! I come from a long line of orchids that, centuries ago, were only found in Mexico and used by the Totonac Indians and then the Aztecs. Eventually, my kind were introduced to the Spanish court by none other than Hernán Cortés. Unfortunately, our precious pods were initially unable to survive outside of Mexico. We missed our little bee — he was called Melipona and he was the only one in the world who could pollinate the Vanilla Planifolia…”
Loud snoring from the other side of the freezer interrupts Vanilla.
Indignant, she chides, “How rude! Now it’s my turn. Just who do you think you are?”
“I, my precious Vanilla Plain-Flower, am the one and only Theobroma Cacao, Food of the Gods. My friends call me Chocolate. Like you, I’m also from Mexico but I have been around for thousands of years, as far back as the Olmec people and way before the emperor Montezuma was drinking up to 50 cups of chocolate – a day! The Aztecs and Mayans both used cacao beans as currency. It was the height of civilization and culture…”
Clearing her throat, Vanilla says, “My dear Theo, let’s not forget that cups of chocolate were also given to human sacrifices before, well you know, they were sacrificed. Just thinking about it makes me wilt.”
Now Theo is flustered. “That’s just propaganda, fake news, bad press. But what can I say? Chocolate makes people feel really good! As a matter of fact, those feel-good chemicals have my name written all over them. Theobromine is a stimulant that gives you energy, and Anandamide, which could be my middle name, makes you joyful, blissful and relaxed.”
Warming her tone, Vanilla says, “That may be, but have you forgotten that when chocolate was first brought to Europe in the 16th century, no one liked it? It was too bitter. Sugar or honey, and even vanilla, was added to make it more palatable.”
“Yeah, well, that was before. Right now, romantics everywhere are giving each other heart-shaped boxes of chocolate and planning decadent desserts like lava cakes with molten chocolate oozing out, or one of them fancy chocolate soufflés. I bet you’d like one of those; they’re so much more interesting, and therefore more popular, than poor plain Vanilla.”
“That’s what you think!” Vanilla argues. “Do you know what those boxes of chocolates are filled with? Vanilla cream, or vanilla-infused caramel, or maybe vanilla-raspberry liqueur. And you can keep your lava cake when there’s vanilla cheesecake on the menu. As for soufflés, they come in vanilla, too. Not only that, I have a quality you don’t, something alluring and mysterious.”
“And what’s that?”
“Fragrance. Especially my sweetly aromatic Tahitian sister. I’m talking perfume, lotion, soaps, candles — all set the mood long before your little chocolate cake gets to the table.”
“Mexico? Tahiti? I thought all your kind came from Madagascar?”
“Well, around 1793 we were smuggled from Mexico to Reunion Island off the coast of Madagascar, but without our little Melipona bee, we almost didn’t make it. Then, in 1836, a Belgian botanist named Charles Morren came along and learned about our little bee. But it wasn’t until 1841 that a nice man named Edmond Albius figured out how to hand-pollinate our orchids. Now, we thrive in all the beautiful places — Mexico, Madagascar, Indonesia, Tahiti, and even in Uganda, where we have two growing seasons!”
“You are some high-maintenance blossoms, aren’t you?”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it! Let me tell you…”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Shhh! Don’t interrupt. Our blooming season is only two to three months long and each blossom only opens for one day, and that’s it! Then our seed pods sweat it out in a special sauna and then we’re off to sunbathe until we’re nicely fermented which can take anywhere from three to six months. It can take us as long as 18 months just to get ready to go to the market.
So yes, my dear Theo, we are high maintenance…and expensive. We’re the second most expensive spice in the world, but we are worth it. Like I always say, accept no imitations! Maybe we should be currency.
Now, you’ve been so nice to have listened to me, what about you, my friend? You seem like a pretty tough nut to crack.”
“Yeah, maybe, but we don’t take nearly as long you and we’re nowhere near as dainty and fragilean as your little orchid blossoms. Our pods grow on trees and when they turn yellow they’re harvested and opened up. Inside are seeds covered with white slimy stuff which usually goes with the seeds and helps us ferment into the great flavor that makes us, well, you know, Food of the Gods.”
“Oh brother!” Vanilla sighs.
“Now who’s interrupting? I’m a food and you’re a spice. What of it?”
“Fine. Go on. How long does it take for you to become you?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Our seeds get put into wood boxes outside to ferment for about a week, then we get to bask in the sun, just like you. When we’re dried up, in a good way, we’re roasted until those shells from the nuts fall away and what’s left are cacao nibs. And those nibs, my dear, are where the cocoa butter is. After that, the nibs are ground into a paste called chocolate liquor or cocoa mass.”
A little bored, Vanilla asks, “So, just a few weeks then?”
“Hang on! There’s another step called conching and that’s the constant mixing of the powder. It can take a few hours to a few days, until our gritty paste turns smooth and silky. After that, we get tempered, which involves cooling and heating to stabilize our oh-so-good cocoa butter crystals.”
“And you call me high maintenance!”
“Yeah, well, I guess we’re both pretty special in our own way. Maybe you’re not just Vanilla Plain-Flower but Vanilla Pretty-Interesting-Flower. You know what, Buttercup? You’re alright.”
“Oh, Theo — you’re making me melt! You work a lot harder than I do to get here. I’m impressed. But we haven’t arrived at a conclusion, have we? Which one of us is most popular?”
“Well, Sweets, that’s a tough question. You’ve made some very good points. You definitely have a charming way about you when you are added to other flavors, and you smell nice. So, if it means anything to you, you’re popular with me.”
“My dear Theobroma, thank you! And if I’m being honest, I admire your strong, robust presence. I think we make each other better, especially when we work together.”
“Aw, thanks, Vanilla. You can call me Chocolate…”
Vanilla yawns. “I think we’d better get some sleep. We have a lot of happiness to share with our fans when we get out of here.”
With that, Vanilla Planifolia drifts off and dreams of paper cups tucked in a heart-shaped box…
Oddly enough, so does Theo.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
