How a Bitter Bean Became a Sweet Sensation

In a culinary world rife with strange pairings and cross-continental experimentation, few ingredients have had as tumultuous or transformative a journey as the humble cocoa bean. Imagine the scene: Spanish conquistadors, fresh from their campaigns, stumble upon this enigmatic seed. Little did they know, it would soon morph from an exotic curiosity into a beloved staple of both European courts and village kitchens, laying the foundation for one of humanity’s most delightful obsessions—chocolate.

When Hernán Cortés and his entourage first encountered the native peoples of Mesoamerica, they quickly realized two things: one, they were standing on lands rich with resources, and two, the locals had a taste for something rather peculiar—a bitter, frothy drink made from ground cocoa beans, often spiced with chili and flavored with maize. While this beverage may have initially baffled the European palate, the conquistadors were quick to recognize its remarkable energizing effects. Indeed, the anonymous chronicler of the time exclaimed, “...the healthiest and most substantial food known in this world,” and claimed that a single cup could sustain a man for an entire day. Whether this was early marketing genius or actual magic remains a mystery, but the soldiers were sold.

Before long, cocoa became more than just a curiosity; it was a resource. The conquistadors, sharp as ever, soon grasped its economic potential. After all, the indigenous people had been using it as currency long before gold coins jingled in European pockets. But cocoa’s worth extended beyond its transactional value—it was an elixir for both body and soul, a mystical beverage imbued with centuries of indigenous wisdom.

Once Spanish camps began to dot the landscape of their new territories, cocoa was solidified as a dietary staple. Though they first consumed it much like their indigenous counterparts—as a refreshing, slightly bitter brew—the European penchant for experimentation soon took hold. The first experiments with cocoa drinks were humble, adhering to native recipes, but the settlers couldn’t resist adding a dash of this and a sprinkle of that, much like culinary alchemists on a quest for perfection. It wasn’t long before cocoa, in all its forms, took its place at every table, from simple soldier meals to sumptuous colonial banquets.

In fact, when Antonio de Mendoza arrived in New Spain in 1535 to be welcomed by none other than Cortés himself, the banquet was an international affair with goblets not only filled with wine and water but also with this mysterious cocoa drink. From humble ingredients to golden goblets, cocoa had arrived in style.

The Birth of Chocolate

As with all things European, the transformation of cocoa was inevitable. By the mid-16th century, the New World’s bitter beverage had been spiced, sweetened, and stirred into something that would soon conquer the Old World’s taste buds. European settlers eagerly embraced the challenge of turning this earthy drink into something a little more refined (or, depending on your perspective, a little less shocking to their chili-averse systems).

One of the most pivotal shifts in the evolution of cocoa drinks was the addition of sugar—quite possibly the most significant culinary epiphany of the century. Native Mesoamerican drinks, which often leaned heavily on spices and maize, were reinvented with this new European sweetness. Suddenly, the thick, spicy concoction transformed into something altogether new, something far more palatable to the European tongue: chocolate.

From there, the floodgates of flavor experimentation burst wide open. In the centuries following its arrival on European shores, chocolate would be blended with a veritable spice rack of ingredients. Cinnamon, anise, pepper, and even flower petals found their way into these heady brews. Almonds and hazelnuts brought in nutty undertones, while eggs added richness and texture. New Spain became a cauldron of culinary innovation, where Old World and New World ingredients mingled freely to create an endless variety of cocoa drinks.

By the time the word “chocolate” began to make its way into European vernacular, derived from the Nahuatl "xocóatl" (originally a name for drinks made with corn), cocoa had well and truly transcended its Mesoamerican roots. In the 16th century, chocolate underwent a spectacular renaissance of recipe development, as eager chocolatiers and amateur cooks alike invented countless new ways to enjoy this exotic ingredient.

Some preferred to drink it hot; others, cold. Some liked to spike it with spices; others, with honey. The sheer variety of chocolate-based concoctions was astonishing, as cooks sought to harmonize the exotic flavors of cocoa with European and Asian spices that had made their way into Spanish markets. From sweetened chocolate drinks to medicinal brews, there was a chocolate for every occasion.

By 1585, this experiment reached its culmination: chocolate had evolved into something we would recognize today. Friar Antonio de Ciudad Real waxed poetic on the subject, writing of “many different types of very good drinks... among these there is one that is widely used which they call chocolate, made from ground cocoa and honey and hot water... this drink is very medicinal and healthy.” And with that, chocolate’s reign as the drink of choice for health-conscious, taste-savvy colonists was sealed.

The Trial-and-Error of Taste

When chocolate was first introduced to the burgeoning society of New Spain, it was an exotic drink, heavy with the aromatic notes of native American spices. Yet, through countless trials—some quite questionable, I imagine—the recipe slowly morphed into one that reflected the tastes of its new consumers. Like a symphony composed in the key of indulgence, the beverage began to feature more familiar European flavors.

Gone were the sharper, earthy tones of native ingredients, replaced by the delicate sweetness of sugar, the warm, spicy embrace of cinnamon, and the floral allure of anise. And yet, certain Mesoamerican staples held firm in this hybrid blend. Vanilla, for instance, stayed, offering a soft, creamy undertone, while achiote lingered—though now more as a coloring agent than a flavor. The star ingredient, of course, remained cocoa, whose role as the foundation of chocolate was as unshakable as its ability to inspire devotion.

By the early 1600s, New Spain’s chocolate was still a work in progress, a hybrid brew that could be as perplexing as it was indulgent. Consider one such early recipe:

For every hundred cocoa beans, mix in two of the large chiles, known as chilpadagua. Or, if you’re feeling more Spanish, swap those for the more familiar peppers from the Iberian Peninsula. Add a handful of anise, two small ears of hueynacazdi, and a pair of mecasúchil if your stomach feels constricted. From Spain, toss in six powdered roses of Alexandria, one vanilla pod from Campeche, two adarmes of cinnamon, a dozen almonds and hazelnuts, and a hearty half-pound of sugar. Oh, and just a dash of achiote—enough to tint the entire concoction.

An eccentric recipe by modern standards, this curious concoction offers a glimpse into the experimental nature of chocolate during its early days in New Spain. One wonders, with a raised brow, how such an eclectic list of ingredients came to pass—and more curiously, how often it might have resulted in culinary chaos. Perhaps it was not the taste, but the sheer audacity of the recipe that secured chocolate's early fame.

By the mid-17th century, chocolate had simmered down into something more universally accepted. The complex arrays of indigenous spices and herbs had largely disappeared from the formula, making way for a streamlined version better suited to European tastes. Now, it was a much simpler affair: cocoa, sugar, cinnamon, and occasionally a hint of vanilla. This refined recipe became the gold standard, one that remained consistent throughout the 17th and 18th centuries.

Giovanni Francesco Gemelli Careri, an Italian traveler and chronicler of oddities, captured this new development in 1697, remarking with authority:

"Cocoa and vanilla, as everyone knows, are the main ingredients of chocolate. Europeans put for each pound of cocoa the same amount of sugar and an ounce of cinnamon... the goodness of their chocolate consists of its good cocoa and the best cinnamon... The drink is very old and was used by the Indians before the Spanish conquered their country, but Spanish diligence has brought it to perfection."

Indeed, Spanish diligence—and perhaps more so their taste for indulgence—had transformed the indigenous drink into something widely celebrated, no longer confined to the far reaches of Mesoamerican tradition but embraced by every corner of colonial life. The "perfection" of chocolate, in Careri's view, lay in its balance: a harmony between the bitterness of cocoa and the comforting sweetness of sugar and spice. And perfection, it seems, was highly adaptable.

As chocolate spread throughout New Spain and beyond, the demand for cocoa naturally skyrocketed, and with this demand came a nuanced appreciation for different varieties. Cocoa beans, like fine wines or exotic silks, had their own hierarchy. The finest varieties came from Soconusco, Caracas, and Guayaquil, each imbued with unique qualities prized by different social strata.

According to the venerable Consulate of Merchants of Mexico City, the cocoa from Caracas was the crème de la crème—expensive, yes, but rich in flavor and prestige. It was said that Caracas cocoa fetched a higher price for its superior taste and health benefits, though some would argue that the more affordable Guayaquil variety was just as good.

"The cocoa from Caracas... is the first quality and most appreciated," the merchants claimed, but "the cocoa from Guayaquil is more appropriate for the taste of the poor people, first, because it is cheaper, and second, because it holds more sugar." Chocolate made from Guayaquil beans, with its higher sugar content, became the go-to for those with modest means, offering a more affordable but still enjoyable version of the beloved drink.

Where Was Chocolate Truly Born?

Historians and culinary sleuths have long debated the exact origins of chocolate. Oaxaca, Guatemala, and San Cristóbal de las Casas (in present-day Chiapas, Mexico) are frequently cited as potential birthplaces, each offering its own claims to the prized title of “Cradle of Chocolate.” These regions, home to the indigenous peoples of Central America, were steeped in centuries of cocoa cultivation and experimentation long before the arrival of Europeans.

Interestingly, the indigenous populations of Central America were already consuming something that resembled a primitive form of chocolate. In its earliest form, however, chocolate was neither a solid bar nor a creamy beverage, but rather a rich, frothy drink made from cooked cocoa. This culinary practice hints at the possibility that Guatemala may have been the true birthplace of chocolate as we know it, given the region's deep-rooted relationship with cocoa and the sophisticated preparation techniques of its people.

When European explorers arrived in the Americas, they were captivated by the exotic allure of cocoa, but the original bitter beverages were far from the indulgent treat that would soon sweep Europe. The indigenous people had been consuming their cocoa drinks cold, often in ceremonial settings and celebrations. An account from the 17th century vividly describes the native preparation method:

"The Indians use chocolate in their own way and drink it cold at their parties and banquets. They prepare it by dissolving a portion of chocolate with a few ingredients, and perhaps only cocoa. They beat it with a grinder, and after removing the greasy foam that forms—especially if it is aged cocoa and begins to mold—they place it on a plate. Sugar is added to the part where they have removed the foam, and the chocolate is drunk completely cold."

This meticulous preparation, with its careful removal of cocoa foam and addition of sugar, reveals a fascinating blend of traditional and European elements. The introduction of sugar to the native cocoa concoctions was a pivotal moment. Europeans, eager to tame the bitterness of the original drink, began experimenting with the addition of sweeteners and spices, thus laying the groundwork for the chocolate renaissance to come.

The cultural exchange between the Old World and the New did not stop with chocolate itself. The introduction of European ingredients into Mesoamerican cocoa-based beverages inspired the creation of a variety of unique drinks that continue to be enjoyed today. These colonial-era concoctions are a testament to the creative adaptability of indigenous communities, who skillfully incorporated foreign elements without abandoning their rich culinary traditions.

In Oaxaca, for instance, the drink tejate emerged, a frothy mixture made from maize, fermented cocoa, and fragrant flowers. In Tabasco, locals invented pozol or chorote, a cocoa-based drink that is still savored by the indigenous Chontal Maya people. Meanwhile, the Chiapanecan tascalate combined ground toasted corn, cocoa, and achiote (a spice with a deep red hue) into a vividly colored and deliciously spiced beverage.

These beverages were not merely culinary novelties; they reflected the merging of two worlds—European and indigenous—in a cup. The adoption of European elements like sugar and cinnamon into traditional Mesoamerican recipes allowed for entirely new drink genres to flourish. And while chocolate began to be consumed hot and sweet in Europe, many indigenous people continued to drink their cocoa-based beverages cold well into the 17th century.

The journey of cocoa from the tropical climates of Central America to the elegant parlors of Europe is a story of cultural exchange, adaptation, and creativity. The transformation from bitter ceremonial drink to the rich, velvety beverage we associate with chocolate today is as complex as the flavors themselves. Although the precise birthplace of chocolate may never be definitively known, its origins are undoubtedly intertwined with the lands and peoples of Central America.

In-text Citation: (González de la Vara, 2018, pp. 291-308)