TCHO and the chocolate factory

I recommend, when you visit any city, to get out and walk around, with no fixed goal. Or hire a bicycle, and go where the fancy takes you.  You will probably find most unexpected things of interest, great cafes, fascinating neighbourhoods with distinctive personality. You may get chatting to friendly strangers, who will point you in the direction of  a landmark or restaurant only the locals know about.  You may even cycle along the Embarcadero, whilst watching for the Golden Gate Bridge to step out from the fog in San Fransisco, and happen upon a whacking great chocolate factory.  Upon entering the factory store, you may have a chat  with a member of staff who informs you (whilst you are taking full advantage of the free samples) you can enjoy a free tour of the premises, if you feel so inclined.  But you can't book it there.  Oh no, you have to go all the way back home and book it on the Internet. I'm not sure the idea of going on-line and booking one of the two, daily free tours would have got Mr Roald Dahl inspired. The notion is profoundly dull and uninspiring, in comparison to the fervent chocolate bar buying that Willy Wonka incited. But hey, let me tell you, I found it just as exciting AND stressful gaining access to the shrouded world of TCHO's chocolate making machines.

Stressful because when I booked, the first time, and began my bike ride from the Mission District. Grabbed my bike from the basement to peddle like a tornado was nipping at my heals.  Down Valencia Street, took a right onto Market and down to the Embarcadero. Lands end.  My ETA was off by three minutes. THREE. ONLY 3 minutes, and my place was nabbed with breathtaking swiftness, by another ardent fan of the cacao.   I couldn't believe it.  Just three minutes and I'm out.  I was deflated, dejected...and very sweaty. But my mind, Exocet on getting behind the big willowy curtains blocking my view from the chocolate making, I went home, got on the Internet and booked again. I returned a week later. Hardly learning from my mistake and arriving at four seconds past the tour start time. I ran in, again sweaty from cycling like the clappers down Market Street, and rugby tackled Iris, the tour guide, shouting my name to announce my arrival, as I flew through the air to grab at her heels. I was in!

TCHO (the phonetic spelling of the 1st syllable of chocolate) is, in their words, 'New American Chocolate'.  They are a local chocolate factory, housed somewhere in between the Ferry Building and Fort Mason.They claim to go beyond fair trade when sourcing their beans and buy and collaborate direct with their growers.  They improve the growers production from planting to the racks the beans dry on.  An interesting fact I learned is that most growers from the cacao producing countries TCHO source from (Peru Ghana Ecuador Madagascar....ALL on my bucket list BTW) haven't even tasted chocolate as we know it! They just grow the beans to feed the market.  Timothy Childs, ex NASA Space Shuttle contractor and co-founder of TCHO, built laboratories on sight so the growers get to taste the chocolate that their beans will produce and understand more of the process of fermenting, roasting, conching and tempering.  TCHO seem to be as obsessive about chocolate as I am about anything vegan. Karl Bittong, the other founder, has been so consumed by cacao that he moved to Ghana live next to a plantation.  Between them they've literally bodged together the laboratories and the San Franciscan factory with a hotch potch of retro machines and futuristic technology. 

 

A DVD injected a quick information download. Once that was done, finally, we were guided through the 40ft gossamer curtain to behold the world of the crazy chocolate makers. Strips of clear plastic separated the machines from the packing area where conveyor belts transported of cooling confection. I kept pushing one of the strips to let in the noise of the motors, so tickled I was by the effectiveness of their sound proofing qualities. Huge silver vats held tonnes of roasted cacao nibs. They were being ground to a liquid. Another belly of steel was tempering the chocolate. Heating it to encourage the molecules get in an orderly line, to help create the satisfying 'snap' you get when breaking a piece  from a bar. It's then freed from the heating process, along tubes and down into the final moulds, in rods of warm, fluid chocolate. Crazy technology means Tim can crawl out of bed, grab his iPhone and adjust tempering times or roasting temperatures, without even changing out of his pyjamas, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and driving to the factory. The influence of the CEO and the President of TCHO, Louis Rossetto & Jane Metcalf who founded digital culture, Wired magazine?

Natty head-gear

brightly coloured cacao pods

the white gloop that covers the beans.  This is what ferments the bean.

roasted cacao beans

the happy growers

Aztecs believed that wisdom and power came from eating the fruit of the cocoa tree, and also that it had nourishing, fortifying, and even aphrodisiac qualities. The Aztec emperor, Montezuma, drank thick chocolate, unsweetened - sugar was not yet found, apparently he drunk a whopping 50 goblets every day! 

Standing there, albeit looking silly in a flimsy white paper hat.  The rich evocative smells dense in the air. I got it. Theand smooth? Pre-tour, one might think it a bit 'poncy' to imagine flavours and 'top notes'. It's chocolate, right? But the earth, the plants, the air, the roasting times, how the beans are dried...they all influence the flavour and impart the memory of where the bean originated. Honestly, I could taste citrus. I detected berries. I acquiesced, yes, indeed I could discern a suggestion of floral notes, when all the disc of chocolate contained was 80% cacao and a little sugar.

Just over an hour later I emerged back out from the hanger and into the strong sun.  I untwined the bike lock from the park up and went off on my merry way. Chocolate powered.  Shaking ever so slightly from too much sugar and theobromine. Next stop to hunt down a huge concrete organ built into a tiny promontory in the Marina, that shoots musical notes into the air at high tide, in the name of art.