There are days when you surrender to your senses, and mine began in the smooth embrace of chocolate. Soft, melting, and layered with fruits from the southern Indian land. Each bite was filled with memory and curiosity.
We tasted chocolates infused with frozen fruits — chickpea, jackfruit, mango, and banana. Each added something unexpected, brightness, chew, and a fruity familiarity. I found myself making little mental notes about how much it reminded me of coffee tasting. The same fruity, fermented notes that only careful craftsmanship can bring.
The chocolate farm is owned by Mayoor, a passionate chocolatier whose love for cacao runs deep. He greeted us with a warm smile and infectious excitement, leading us through a modest yet beautifully curated tasting room. On the table lay rows of handcrafted chocolate bars, each wrapped simply, letting the flavors do the talking.
Tucked between gentle hill slopes and fringed by cacao trees, this place has nurtured chocolate for over 150 years. Mayoor, the 6th generation chocolate producer, traces his roots back to the 1880s. The Sadhu farm is named after his great-grandmother, Sadhu, whose resilience and care for the land still ripple through the trees and the people who work them.
Then there’s the factory filled with temptation. Here, Solmelu Chocolate is born! Mayoor’s specialty brand that celebrates cacao, and the generational knowledge behind it. Tasting Solmelu at the source is something else entirely.
Just a short walk from the tasting room, Mayoor led us to the heart of his farm. The fermentation area, where the magic truly begins. Under a shaded shed stood rows of wooden boxes, each filled with fresh cacao beans still wrapped in their sticky pulp. The boxes were stacked neatly, each one numbered by batch and date.
Marking the beginning of a transformation that would turn raw, bitter seeds into rich, nuanced chocolate. The scent hit us first! The sweet, tangy, and slightly alcoholic aroma controlled the chaos. Microbes were at work. Fermentation in motion.
We stepped back into the AC room, it felt cool, quiet, and filled with the rich aroma of chocolate. It was the kind of scent that was so intoxicating. You could close your eyes and swear you were standing inside a melted chocolate bar.
On one side of the room stood a fridge, inside, neatly stacked rows of chocolate bars, each bar looked like a promise. Some bars had simple labels hinting at the experiments from fermented pineapple to chewy jackfruit.
Then there it was a massive, unassuming block of dark chocolate resting on its own pedestal. It was so dense and so unapologetically dark. There was no distraction of fruit or sweetness here: just pure, unadulterated cacao, powerful and rich, lingering long after the bite had melted away. It was as if all the subtleties of the smaller bars had been distilled into one statement of a block.
I walked through rows of slow-drying beds where cacao beans rested in the sun, developing flavor over days. Under shaded canopies, I could imagine the careful layered beans and the delicate dance between heat, humidity, and airflow each variable sculpting the chocolate's final taste.
Mayoor slipped on a pair of gloves, his every movement seemed deliberate and practiced. He lifted the stack of simply wrapped bars from the fridge, placing them on a chilled steel trays. One by one he peeled back the parchment.
He tapped the edge of the dark bar, the clean “snap” echoed in the cool room and we scored imperfect tasting squares. He gestured for us to take a few bites.
All of us picked up the pieces of dark, tracing the glossy ridge with our fingertip before tasting them. The deep cocoa, a hint of bitter, something almost creamy lurking beneath.
Caitlin, the bright-eyed intern whose palate had been honed on wine flights rather than chocolate bars. She guided us through the bars from a vintner’s perspective. “Notice the acidity in the 65% dark?” she asked, tapping the parchment wrapper.
As we listened, I realized how fermentation connected these worlds. Just as grapes evolve in a barrel, cacao beans aged in numbered wooden boxes developed their own “terroir voice.”
Just beyond the numbered wooden boxes, we noticed stacks of broad, glossy banana leaves, vibrant green against the weathered wood. The leaves trap just the right amount of humidity, helping the beans ferment evenly without drying out. Their large surface area creates a temperature steady environment inside the box as the pulp breaks down.
As the leaves warm and release their own vegetal aromas, they impart tropical green notes to the beans. It’s barely perceptible, more of a seasoning than a seasoning, but it becomes part of the chocolate’s signature terroir.
Later, we sat down and Caitlin introduced herself as she's from France, Maurice. She shared that she once lived in Mauritius, and in my hand was the coffee wine I wanted her to taste. She smiled as she looked with curious eyes, saying, “I’ve never tasted coffee wine before. It reminds me of lychee wine from Mauritius.” Caitlin insisted I must try lychee wine someday. “It’s soft, fruity…” she added with a grin. It made me imagine balmy island evenings and the scent of lychees in the air.
I ended the day with a glass of Bacco Spirit’s Nina — a smooth, clear spirit that surprised me with its tender banana note. Not the artificial kind, but something real, like biting into a ripe fruit. There was a soft warmth on the finish. The kind of drink that doesn’t shout, but lingers.
And just like that, my day moved from nibbling cacao to sipping banana-kissed spirit! The day was indeed filled with a gentle arc of flavors, textures, and fermentation magic.
About the Author
Lynn Mascarenhas
A creative soul with a passion for photography and crafting exquisite Fine Robustas, I am your dedicated coffee planter, processor, and event planner.
As a qualified wildlife expert and coffee enthusiast, I have embarked on a journey to implement eco-friendly and sustainable practices at the estate while exploring the world of specialty coffee.
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