Life by Chocolate

Just like any other Monday morning, the streets of Mexico City were coming to life. Little Miguel Santos walked rapidly beside his father, whose legs were long and lean. For every step Señor Santos took, Miguel took three.
Still, Miguel managed to keep up. He also managed to look at the old Spanish buildings towering around him. Ornate columns, carefully carved anywhere from five to ten centuries ago, stood tens of meters high. They shouldered the weight of old cathedrals, palaces, and skyscrapers.
Miguel and his father took the diagonal crosswalk across the busy avenue to a cafe on the opposite corner. The cafe itself was located in a row of newly built stores. Old wooden chairs gathered around fancy metal tables in front of a large curved window. It was a splendid mix of old and new. Red letters painted on the window spelled out what was inside: Churreria.
People waited in line for breakfast. Mr. Santos ordered a coffee and a churro while Miguel ordered a hot chocolate and a buñuelo. One server made Senor Santos’ coffee. Another made Miguel’s hot chocolate. She simmered milk in a saucepan until it frothed. She added chocolate syrup, stirring until the liquid was dark brown. When it was ready, she poured it into a tall glass, adding a squirt of whipped cream on top.
“Muchas gracias,” said Miguel.
“De nada,” she replied as she added the final touches on top: sprinkles of nutmeg, grated orange peel, and a cinnamon stick to stir it all.
After Sr. Santos paid for their order, Miguel started for the front door.
“Donde va?” asked father.
Miguel pointed to the front patio. His father motioned toward the patio in the back.
“Viene con mio,” said father: ‘Come with me.’
They walked through a long hallway to the back door. It overlooked an open garden patio. The brick-paved steps led down to a winding path. Twists of tree branches and palm leaves leaned over the path, obscuring Miguel’s view. Beyond the trees, he could hear a crowd of people chatting.
The garden patio sitting at the end of the path was filled with people drinking chocolate drinks and coffee, just like Miguel and his father.
Senor Santos chose an empty table. Miguel sat next to him.
“Are these cocoa trees?” asked Miguel.
Sr. Santos nodded. “See the cacao pods hanging from the trees?”
Miguel nodded.
“That’s where the cocoa in your hot chocolate comes from.”
Miguel leaned back in his chair, grasping the giant cocoa pod in his hands. It was over ten centimeters long.
“It couldn’t possibly come from this.”
“It’s filled with cocoa beans,” he said as he thumped the pod with his hand.
“That couldn’t be,” said Miguel.
Senor Santos waved at one of the waitresses.
“Please tell my boy that this is full of cocoa beans.”
“It sure is.”
“You’re just saying that,” replied Miguel.
“Wait here,” she said.
The waitress disappeared for a moment, returning with the owner. He carried a large machete in his hand. He plucked the giant yellow pod from the tree. Everyone in the garden patio grew quiet as they turned their attention to Miguel’s table.
“Let me show you where cocoa comes from,” said the owner.
He held the yellow seedpod at arm’s lengh. With one quick chop, he sliced the seedpod in half. The inside of the pod was filled with creamy white bulbs, which looked more like hard cotton balls than cocoa beans. The owner scooped a handful and rubbed the outer shell of the beans.
“Here’s your cocoa!”
He held a small brown bean in his hand.
“I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Miguel.
“Try it,” he said.
Miguel grabbed the bean in his hand. It was not what he expected. He took a bite off one corner. The taste was not what he had expected, either.
“It tastes like cocoa powder.”
“Chocolate comes from cocoa powder,” he said.
The owner continued rubbing the outer shell off each bean and handing them to the customers, who were already gathered around Miguel’s table.
“Cocoa is one of Mexico’s greatest treasures,” said the owner, “In fact, the Aztecs would trade the beans for valued goods. When the Spanish came to Mexico, they had never seen or tasted cocoa before. It was the Emperor Montezuma who introduced chocolate to the Spanish, who took it back to Europe. It helped build Mexico City.”
“Why doesn’t it taste like chocolate syrup?”
“It’s a very different process making chocolate. Originally, chocolate was just the drink the Aztecs made, not the candy. They added water, milk, and sugar to ground cocoa beans and warmed it over a fire to bring out the natural cocoa flavors. It wasn’t until much later that chocolate was refined and made into candy bars. That’s the contribution the Europeans made to our chocolate.”
“Why do you say our chocolate?” asked Miguel.
“It’s our chocolate because you cannot grow cocoa trees in Spain. In fact, the best place to grow cocoa trees is within the tropic zone, between the Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn, closer to the Equator.”
After the owner passed out all the seeds in the seedpod, he pulled a small chocolate bar from his pocket, handing it to Miguel.
“For me?”
“Of course, but before you take your first bite, read the label on the back. Chocolate bars. This is their chocolate.”
“How is it made?”
“First, they remove the shells, just like I did. Then, they often sit the beans in the sun, to help them get a richer flavor.”
The owner sliced open another cocoa pod. He rubbed the white outer layer off each bean and placed them on the table until he was finished cleaning every bean. He then pressed the flat edge of his machete against the beans, cruching them into small pieces.
“Do you want some nibs?”
Miguel nodded. He took a small handful and picked through the pieces. Each bite tasted like concentrated cocoa powder. He folded the aluminum foil back into place on the chocolate bar and placed it in his pocket. He took his handful of nibs and placed them in his other pocket.
“These nibs are laid out in the sunshine to enhance their flavor. Some chocolatiers will then put the cocoa beans into a cocoa press. It extrudes all the cocoa butter from the bean. The remainder is often used for powder. The cocoa butter, however, is combined with sugar and milk to make white chocolate. Sometimes, the cocoa powder is re-introduced to make milk chocolate.”
“That seems like a lot of work,” said Miguel.
“Good chocolate takes good work,” said the owner, “It’s why the Spanish were excited by the Aztec’s gift. The cocoa bean is what one of the things that helped build Mexico City.”
“Speaking of building Mexico City,” said Senor Santos, “We’ve got to get to the Government Building to file these blueprints with the city planner. Then, we’re off to the work site.”
Today, Miguel’s father was helping to build Mexico City in another way. He was the chief engineer for a Mexican automaker. He was, responsible for building new factories and launching new dealerships.
“Can I see the blueprints?” asked Miguel.
“You can see them at the city planner’s office.”
“Why do you have to file this with the city planner?”
“We’re building on a historical site, so we have to be careful to follow certain guidelines. We can‘t dig in certain places. There are underground tunnels and structures from previous civilizations.”
“Like Aztec ruins?”
“Among others,” replied his father.
Senor Santos finished his coffee and thanked the owner.
“Where are we going now?” asked Miguel.
Sr. Santos pointed through the canopy of cocoa leaves to the building overlooking the coffee shop. It was the same old building that towered over them earlier that morning. Miguel finished his chocolate drink and his bunelo, the crispy round doughnut that started his day.
Now, he was ready for work. Senor Santos looked at his watch. He was ready, too. Soon, they would take another step in rebuilding the city.