Newfoundland Bean-to-Bar Chocolate

When people think of Newfoundland and chocolate these days, their minds automatically go to Newfoundland Chocolate Company, which reached the height of its popularity and brand visibility just before the Covid-19 pandemic started. They had expanded into Nova Scotia and became known in particular for the colourful sayings that they printed on their bars, as well as a line of row house bars. Far fewer people will know that there is a bean-to-bar chocolate company in Newfoundland called Jacobean. Indeed, a few of my closest friends in Corner Brook had never heard of them before. I discovered them two summers ago while visiting Rocky Harbour, though the company is based in Mount Pearl. This summer, I made a pilgrimage to Woody Point to buy a few bars to try.

Jacobean is, dare I say, a more sophisticated chocolate company. This is not "industrial chocolate." They don't trade on sterotypes; rather, they meld local ingredients and flavours with chocolate in small batches. For example, the first bar I tried combined Newfoundland juniper berries with 70% dark chocolate. 

(Side note: This is the type of direction that I proposed in my business plan during my professional chocolatier program, though I had no intention of getting into bear-to-bar production.) 

Tonight we decided to try the limited edition English Oats Breakfast milk chocolate bar, with oats, maple sugar, and cinnamon. At only 8.79%, it's possibly the "blondest" milk chocolate I've ever tasted. The bar was in perfect temper, with a beautiful, smooth surface. Check out that sheen in the photo below! 

This is a subtle chocolate bar. It's warm and gentle, with the cinnamon lingering on the palate. If you "crunch" through the bar, the flavour is easily missed, but if you let it melt on your tongue, the complexity comes through. And the milk chocolate is so "milky" that it is reminiscent of breakfast cereal.

There's no question that this is a delicious bar. Personally, I would have liked a slightly more robust chocolate flavour in the mix, but I entirely understand what they were going for and achieved with this bar. It was a pleasure to try such a unique flavour profile in chocolate. 

And so I highly recommend seeking out some Jacobean chocolate to try! This is truly craft chocolate and worth the extra effort. (Says the girl who convinced her father to drive 120km to purchase it...)

Is there a chocolate that you'd drive 120km for? Comment below! 

Skilled Labour

Several weeks ago, I did some research on Moir's Malted Graham Sandwich Bar in an effort to recreate it. In the process, I stumbled upon a few theses that have been written on the Moir's candy plant that existed first in Halifax and later in Dartmouth. I printed off both to read at a later date and what better time to read them than now, while I'm on vacation! I started with "Femininity and the Factory: Women's Labouring Bodies in the Moir's Candy Plant, 1949-1970" by Margaret Anne Mulrooney (2012). 

This thesis offers unique insight into the Moir's candy factory, as well as the gendered division of labour in this industry, through the personal experiences of eleven women who worked at the Moir's plant. I learned, not surprisingly, that in the post-war era, men held the higher paying jobs of skilled labour (making candy), while women held the lower paying jobs of unskilled labour (packing candy). With this dichotomy established in the introduction, I was surprised about ten pages later when I read that women were responsible for dipping prepared centres in chocolate.

According to Mulrooney, despite the availability of enrobing machines, "Moir's maintained the tradition of hand dipped chocolates well into the 1960s" because a machine was not capable of producing the same appearance (2012: 36). Mulrooney further observes, "Women were responsible for all of the hand dipping at Moir's and were paid at a piece rate" (2012: 37), which at one point was 17 cents for one tray of centres, though there is no indication of how many centres constituted a tray (2012: 45).

And so the neat dichotomy of skilled and unskilled labour, of men's and women's work, becomes messy. Mulrooney suggests that a continuum existed: "These women were considered skilled-labourers but their skill lay somewhere between the unskilled labour of a female packer and the highly skilled work of a male candy-maker" (2012: 37). I suspect the reality, however, is that women occupied positions requiring skilled labour, but they didn't get the recognition or the remuneration for their work that their male counterparts did. 

In my opinion, dipping a centre in chocolate and achieving a perfect finished appearance requires far greater skill than making a centre by following a recipe. 

If you've ever tried to coat a centre of any size, shape, or texture in chocolate using dipping forks, you know that this definitely requires skill. Skill to get an even coating, skill to tap off the excess chocolate, skill to have the coated centre release from the tines of the dipping fork, skill to place it neatly on a tray, skill to have as little "foot" as possible, skill to not have marks from the dipping fork on the bottom of the chocolate. 

Hand dipping chocolates requires superb dexterity and technical skills in addition to perfectly tempered chocolate, or it's a total disaster. And I should know -- I struggled with it during my chocolatier training and to this day I force myself to dip centres a few times a year just to keep up what little skill I have. I would need to be dipping centres on a daily basis to really get good at it -- just as these women did in the Moir's factory. 

Of course there are many other interesting aspects of Mulrooney's research beyond discussion of skilled and unskilled labour, including the way in which some women skirted dress codes (pun intended) and engaged in pranks or sabotage to get relief from working conditions. While a gender study of chocolate production isn't in my future, there were many useful facts about the history of the Moir's chocolate factory peppered throughout the thesis, which I'm sure will prove to be valuable for a future project that I hope to share at some point in the future. How's that for a vague cliffhanger‽

Until then, do you remember the Moir's Pot of Gold chocolates? Which was your favourite? 

Perfect Spheres of Joy

I'm actually writing this entry while sailing to Newfoundland. It's finally that time of year when I make my annual summer pilgrimage home. Traditionally, I would take a night crossing over, picking up a Big Mac combo for the road (or the ocean, if we're being literal), and then a day crossing back, with a bologna sandwich as my traditional meal. Things are a bit different this year because I rescheduled my original booking due to an important milestone deadline for a project I'm working on. Consequently, I find myself on a day crossing with a packed lunch.

What's in that lunch? Well, first, let me tell you that it isn't nearly as spectacular as most of the packed lunches that I saw in the queue waiting to board. You can tell the Newfoundlanders from the visitors by the size and contents of their cooler. Actually, probably the presence of a cooler at all is a tell. I watched as one lady assembled her lunch for a family of three right before boarding started. She filled a large shopping basket with crackers, cheese strings, beef jerky, small bags of chips, pudding, fruit, beverages... There was no end to the snacks! My sister would applaud her style and efforts, and tell me that I'm never prepared.

I am a Newfoundlander though, so you won't catch me on a ferry without a lunch. Complaining about the food prices on Marine Atlantic is a sacred tradition that must be upheld. I have a peanut butter and jam sandwich (which I affectionately refer to as a PBJ), a bag of Cruncheez from my favourite Old Dutch dealer, and two Lindt truffles, with a can of diet ginger ale (Canada Dry, just as BNL would want it). 

Until recently, Lindt truffles were 100% a Christmas thing for me. I would mark the start of the festive season with a Festive Special from Swiss Chalet, which includes a box of five, and I would have a few on Christmas Day from my stocking. (Truth is, I was devastated when Swiss Chalet replaced the Toblerone bar with Lindt truffles. I still wish they would switch back. But I digress...)

The truffle flavours, of course, were pretty standard -- milk, dark, white, caramel... Dependable, for sure, but predictable.

Imagine my surprise, then, the first time I went to the Lindt store in Halifax. I'd heard from a friend that it existed, but my trips to Halifax tend to centre around the downtown core, so I had never visited the box stores that developed on the outskirts of town. That is, until two years ago when my boyfriend and I made our first trip to Halifax for a weekend getaway. I was on a waterslide for the first time in maybe 30+ years, we ate at my favourite Halifax restaurant, and we made a pilgrimage to the Lindt store. 

I had never seen so many different flavours of Lindt truffles before. Naturally, I wanted to try them all and it's easy enough to do exactly that because you can pack your own gossamer bag full of truffles. We decided to get two of every flavour so that we could sample them together and then fill the rest of our small bag with our favourites (like dark chocolate sea salt). We did this again the following year, but got smart and bought the larger bag of 75 truffles. 

Now, not surprisingly, there have been a few flavours that I am more jazzed to try than he is. Among them on the last trip were coconut, mango, and matcha. And it's the coconut and matcha ones that I have here with me now. 

The matcha was of interest to me because I tried making my own a few months ago. While I was happy with the flavour, the texture wasn't ideal. The Lindt version was, of course, incredibly smooth. With a white chocolate shell and ganache, it was overly sweet and the matcha flavour wasn't as prominent as I would have liked it to be. It was just too subtle for my taste. (And what's with the air bubble in the centre?)

The coconut, however, was perfection. It had a milk chocolate shell with a white chocolate ganache that was so creamy it was hard to believe it was made with chocolate. The coconut flavour was present but not overpowering. It was a silky smooth, perfect sphere of joy. 

It would be impossible for a hand-rolled truffle to be so perfectly formed and have such a silky ganache filling (it wouldn't be firm enough to shape and dip in chocolate). But it may surprise you to know that you actually can make a Lindt truffle dupe at home. You see, you can buy trays of pre-formed truffle shells to speed up production. You simply fill them with the flavoured centre of your choice and then cap the little opening with some tempered chocolate, creating a sort of belly button. In most cases, a chocolatier would then roll or dip these in another coating of chocolate, but it isn't necessary (and isn't done with Lindt). 

One tip on the Lindt truffles though: like the chocolate I referenced a few weeks ago, the shells soften in the heat and the centres will actually become liquid. If that appeals to you, then you can stop reading right now, but if you prefer the snap of the shell and the creamy centre, then store them in the fridge in an airtight container during the summer and pull them out for a half hour to come to room temperature before eating them. 

So far, I think my favourite Lindt truffle has been the caramel and sea salt one. How about you? What's your favourite Lindt truffle flavour? Share it in the comments below!

Chocolate Inspiration

About a month ago, I saw a several of my coworkers leaving campus with beautiful gift boxes that smelled heavenly -- presents from a partnership meeting that occurred earlier in the day. I admit I was mildly jealous. I'd been in marathon meetings for what seemed like weeks, but there were no presents to be had. Then, just as I was packing up for the day, a colleague popped by my office and gave me her gift box. I was thrilled -- especially when I opened it to find inside a selection of beautifully aromatic spices. I promised that I would put them to good use making curries. I had one particular curry in mind -- Restaurant Style Egg Masala Curry (do yourself a favour and make this -- watch the video here). 

What my colleague didn't know was that only a week earlier, I had been at Bulk Barn looking at spices and was utterly horrified by the price of cardamom pods. I knew I was getting low, but decided to take a pass in the hope that I would find a more economical source (knowing, of course, that I'd likely end up back at Bulk Barn in a few weeks buying them there anyway). 

Only I didn't! Inside this beautiful gift box were cardamom pods, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and black peppercorns. The scent was magnificent. 

It took me a few weeks to get some new spice jars for my growing collection and then I set about separating the peppercorns from the cloves, since they had mingled during transport. And as I stood there engaged in some aromatherapy, my mind wandered from curry to chai. And then it hit me. Sure, this spice stash promised many delicious meals and beverages in the future, but it also could serve as chocolate inspiration. 

"Think. Think. Think," I urged my brain, channeling my inner (Winnie the) Pooh Bear. Clove would be overpowering. Usually pink peppercorns are the preferred pairing for chocolate. Cardamom...

Cardamom! Member of the ginger family. I was sure I'd seen a cardamom praline before and so I took to Google to confirm. Sure enough, several chocolatiers offer cardamom chocolate combinations in a variety of forms -- bars, drinking chocolate, pralines. And given that these warm spices are so closely associated with Christmas, my mind leapt to the idea of using this flavour combination for my annual four-piece box. 

And so the die is cast. It's now my goal to develop an orange cardamom truffle this fall when my chocolate laboratory reopens. While I've seen a few recipes that call for Grand Marnier with cardamom, I suspect that the boozy flavour might overpower the delicate spice. Instead, my plan is to infuse cream using the cardamom pods and some orange zest, and then prepare a dark chocolate ganache for hand-rolled truffles. 

One piece down, three to go!

Climate Change and Chocolate

With a title like "Climate Change and Chocolate," you might expect this blog to be about the growing and fermentation conditions for cacao -- and that would be an interesting post, I'm sure. But tonight, knowing that vacation is nearing, my reflections are much closer to home. Since doing my professional chocolatier program in 2018, I have noticed the impact of hotter summers in my apartment, not only because of the impact on my own personal temperament, but also the temper of my chocolate.

Chocolate is sensitive to heat. Consequently, during summer in Canada, shipping chocolate becomes more complicated, requiring more expensive two-day shipping and the inclusion of ice packs to ensure it doesn't melt. While chocolate that has melted is still perfectly edible, when it re-solidifies, it is no longer in the ideal crystal structure and so is no longer "in temper." It will likely lose its snap and develop bloom. To avoid the additional shipping expenses, I tend to order my chocolate for the year in February before shipping restrictions come into play. While I don't keep a massive supply of chocolate on hand, it wouldn't be uncommon for me to have between 15 and 20 pounds at any given time.  

Now, in previous years, this wasn't an issue. The building I live in doesn't have central air conditioning. To cool my apartment, I have developed a system of opening windows at night to cool off my apartment and then closing them during the day to try to keep the heat and humidity out. I have three fans that I prop in the windows to facilitate air flow. And using this method, I have generally been able to keep the temperature in a safe zone for chocolate and my temper. That is, until last year.

Last summer, I struggled to manage the heat in my apartment and for the first time ever, the temperature rose above 26 degrees Celcius. In fact, I installed a portable air conditioner and MacGyvered a way to connect it to my bedroom window, which cranks open at the bottom. It's not practical, however, to run one of these units night and day throughout summer, so it couldn't solve the issue of chocolate storage. Finally I gave in and did the thing you shouldn't do: I put the chocolate in my fridge. 

A fridge is not an ideal storage location for chocolate. First, it is too cold. Chocolate is best stored between 16 and 18 degrees, and it tastes best between 12 and 20 degrees -- which is why you should always let it come to room temperature before eating it if you have refrigerated it. Second, there is too much humidity in a fridge, which can lead to bloom. Chocolate with bloom is still edible, but not particularly attractive. And third, chocolate stored in a fridge could lose its flavour and/or pick up smells from other items. When you store your chocolate in the fridge, then, you flirt with danger! But, for me, its better to wrap it properly and store it in the fridge than to leave it out and potentially have it come out of temper. (The chocolate, of course, could be re-tempered, but for small production without a tempering machine, it's easier to start with tempered chocolate that can be used for seeding. The chocolate could also be used in other applications, like ganache truffles.)

I don't anticipate that the summers will get any cooler; rather, I expect that they will only get hotter as time goes on. And so as I shut down chocolate production for the summer and prepare to go on vacation, preparing my chocolate for storage is mission critical. If the chocolate were still in an unopened Callebaut bag, then I would put that inside an airtight container or bag and put it directly in the fridge. But because my chocolate has already been opened, I emptied the bags into airtight containers (Carlisle 6 quart) and then, as a backup, wrapped that in a plastic bag. Then I put them in the very back of the fridge, on the bottom shelf. It takes up a lot of real estate in there, but it's a necessary evil.

[The other option, of course, would be to purchase a wine fridge and set it to 16 degrees. Believe me, I've thought about it! But I'm already running short on space in my apartment, so I'm not sure exactly where I could put it.]

And with the installation of the chocolate in my fridge, the chocolate factory is closed until September. But the chocolate adventures will continue, for while I may not be able to work with chocolate, I certainly can taste it and study it.