El Pais Del Cacao

It was Sunday, the day of chocolate. The smoke from the burning eucalyptus logs flowed through the whole house. There it was, the smell that drew me, full of anticipation and impatient expectation, into my grandfather’s kitchen early in the morning. This memory of endless pleasure and comfort.

It was Sunday, the day of chocolate. Carmela was in the kitchen, the undisputed matriarch of the house. She passionately supervised the ritual of making chocolate. The largest bronze pot was placed in the embers. Blackened with soot on the outside and gleaming clean on the inside, the dark pieces of cacao slowly melted in it over moderate heat. Little by little, water, goat’s milk and cane sugar were added and transformed into a thick mixture. It was refined with cinnamon and vanilla sugar.

The most important task, the slow and steady stirring and beating of the mixture in the pot, was carried out by Carmela with a wooden whisk. Hypnotized, my eyes followed her hands. The foamier the tempting mixture became, the more I knew that the long-awaited moment of enjoyment was approaching.

In a large ceramic pan, corn tortillas were baked, delicious with the hot chocolate and delicately seasoned with anise because, after all, it was Sunday. Not only we children, but the whole family gathered around the long table. Everyone waited for the moment when the bronze pot and the tortillas wrapped in white cloths were brought to the table. Bowls made of walnut wood were carefully filled with the delicious chocolate. The first sip was pure, endless pleasure.

The rhythm of those summer Sundays is among my most intense childhood memories. I sat there with my mouth covered in chocolate foam, feeling the warm, sweet chocolate slowly flow through my body. Those summer Sundays in my village in Ecuador are unforgettable memories. Through this project, I invite you to share in my memories.

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