The launch of Choco Q

I was born a planner. I don’t mean the advertising kind, although I was that for a few years too, I mean the general life kind. I organise. It’s not something I like to do so much as something I have to do — I cant function without a plan. The very atoms of my being must have a plan. At night before I go to bed I plot out my following day, down to the half hour. Upon waking, I check-in with said plan and only then can I get out of bed. I use iCal on my MacBook which syncs with my iPhone so I have a calendar of events wherever I go, and the very handy teuxdeux.com plots my actionable items by day, week and even “Someday”. These digital plans are supplemented with hand-written shopping lists, city maps, and addresses just to keep my day, and therefore my sanity, on track. 

My two greatest fears are being cold and being hungry, and my third by a narrow margin is existing without a plan. My whole body trembles imagining the horror of lost productivity, missed deadlines, chaos, mayhem and an all-encompassing black void, where instead there could be the immense satisfaction of crossing something off a to-do list!   

I hear you loyal reader, you’re asking, “Q, if you absolutely must organise your life this way, why-oh-why did you move to Colombia?” 

Yes, well, that wasn’t part of the plan. And for deviating from the plan I am being punished, harshly. So far from the plan is this outcome, that I find my worst fears have been realised: I am incapable of planning! 

Despite rigorous organisation and to-do-list-ing, I'm unable to schedule even a coffee date in Bogotá. Not only does this city simply refuse to be planned, it actively thwarts all attempts at organisation. “Think you’re getting to the hardware store AND the market today?” it jeers. "Think again." Then it throws a lake of rain on the city just as I’m trying to find a cab. “You dare imagine you will get your delivery of couverture on time?” it bellows. Then it seizes the city in gridlock so tight, my chocolate delivery guy moves a mere three metres in three days.  

Bogotanos know this of course, which is why they never plan anything. They decide at any given moment, based on traffic conditions, weather, road closures, their location, the location of the friend/colleague/office/restaurant/store/government department, the "minutes" left on their pre-paid mobile SIM and the probability of getting a taxi, whether or not to celebrate a birthday, arrange a business meeting, catch up for drinks or go into labour. Elaborate parties come together in mere moments, complete with band, caterers, wait staff and decorators, who are all available at a minute’s notice, because nobody else dared to book them any earlier.  

Businesses, I discovered, emerge under the same principles. In late November I was a student of Ecole Chocolat, about to graduate from their Professional Chocolatier course. By December 9, the day before Latino Man and I left for Australia, I was the owner of a chocolate business, complete with logo, website, packaging and delivered Christmas orders. Amidst the December rain, holiday craziness, collapsing roads and Latino Man’s ridiculous workload, Bogotá let me start Choco Q. 

Now, if I could just figure out a way to schedule those last-minutes… 

Chocolate = Happiness

Making chocolates makes me happy.

Sharing those chocolates makes other people happy. 

I was priveliged to add a dash of this happiness at the happiest of events, the wedding of my little brother and his awesome fellow-foodie bride. 

Thanks Ben & Bek. It was an honour to be part of your happy day. 

Almond & Milk Chocolate Gianduja Truffles

Going Pro

Without consulting a dictionary, I can think of two definitions of the word "Professional". The first would be someone who has skills above and beyond the level of amateur. The other is a person who gets paid for what they do. I'm choosing to adopt the latter when I say I'm a professional chocolatier! It sounds even better in Spanish: Soy Chocolatera! 

Whilst my chocolate creations may not meet the visual standards of professionalism, they were tasty enough to earn some money! Yep, I've been paid to make chocolates. Even better than that, my first paying customer submitted a Christmas order! I don't have a logo, or even a company name as yet, but these are minor details, because soy Chocolatera! 

Gracias Clau. Tu apoyo significa todo!

Popped Amaranth Truffles, hand-rolled in 65% single-region dark chocolate from Tumaco, Colombia

Granadilla, house-made fruit jelly layered with milk chocolate ganache

Reunited

My beloved Minty Jr

Let's never part again.

Caramel Fail

Colombia puts Italy to shame when it comes to bureaucracy. In order to rent an apartment in Bogotá for example, we need two guarantors who own property themselves (and are financially on the line if we don't pay our rent), copies of their property deeds, copies of bank statements for the last three months (ours and theirs), letters from our non-existent employers, proof of our income, investments and coins fallen behind the cushions, and promise of a kidney should the landlady ever need it (which we offered instead of the contract-standard first-born — given my age, there may not be a second-born).

It's enough to drive a girl to eat an entire tray of caramel! If only I could make caramel.

Perhaps it was my incredibly frustrated state of mind, perhaps the stove which has only three heat settings, perhaps the pots with their thin bases that can't distribute said heat. Whatever the excuse, the sad reality at the end of that day was that I can't make caramel.

Three times I tried and three times I failed. I used three different recipes from very respected sources and somehow I was defeated by each of them. The first batch were so hard I couldn't cut the caramel slab with a knife, so teeth would have no chance. The second batch turned into a giant crystalised lump. The final batch showed such great potential, but at the last minute I was distracted by the looming need to plan a wedding, and I let the sugar burn. 

But, like the little engine that couldn't bear throwing away so much sugar, cream, butter, glucose syrup and vanilla, I kept trying. I figured if sugar could melt once, it could melt again, so I took Hard As A Rock and put it in a pot of boiling cream. After much stirring and hoping, Hard As A Rock became delicious Salted Butter Caramel Sauce. Then I used half the sauce to fill these chocolates. 

The other half of the sauce is in the fridge, waiting for that rainy day when we have to connect internet, water and electricity. Oh the joys that await!