Dopamine
Having recently participated in a food quiz run by The Independent and learning that The Fat Duck was named the Best Restaurant in the World by Restaurant in 2005, it was a pleasant surprise when I found myself (*wink*) at the Sloane Square premises of L'artisan du Chocolat to taste the exquisite creations so lauded by Heston Blumenthal and Gordon Ramsey. I shan't bore you with the intimate details of the experience, suffice to say that it was pretty similar to this chap's.
The chocolate was divine. An example: midway through the chocolate tasting, we were presented with a delicate disc of milk chocolate lightly adorned with a geometric pattern in pale green. Like every kind of chocolate we'd tried before that, we weren't told what it was, but were asked to experience it for what it was rather than what we expected it to be. It didn't take more than a nibble for us to identify its contents - Moroccan mint in a gorgeous shell of the smoothest milk chocolate that almost seemed to have a clean spice undertone of its own. After having drunk gallons of mint tea in Morocco - it after all is the ubiquitous national drink of the country - and we count it among our favourite memories of our time there, it was exciting to encounter the unmistakable unique flavour of Moroccan mint again, right here in England no less. With nary a whiff of marketing jargon - a relief! - he explained his secret: he'd simply used real Moroccan mint (it costs) and real cocoa butter (instead of hydrogenated vegetable oils that masquerade for cream/white chocolate in most other chocolates), married that with a good Criollo or Trinitario chocolate from a known plantation that best accentuated the accents of the infusion, et voila!
But it was more than just an excursion for the senses. What I came away with was respect for Gerard Coleman's uncompromising commitment to quality. He had refused collaborations after having been asked to switch to mediocre ingredients - his potential partners had suggested that "consumers didn't know the difference". He ensures everyone in his kitchen actually tastes what they create - after all, if they didn't want to eat it, nobody else would. Gerard Coleman not only makes wonderful chocolate, I suspect he sees himself as a sort of gastronomic missionary - and his message certainly resonates: we need to demand more accountability from our food suppliers. In an era supposedly distinguished by the accessibility of information, it is ironic that we almost unquestioningly eat what we're given. Free choice seems to be limited to the selection on the supermarket shelf. One may argue that 'choice' is a luxury reserved for the mega-rich - who else could afford Coleman's chocolates on a regular basis? - but consider how products ruthlessly marketed as deluxe - and sold at a price commensurate with luxury - very often consist of ingredients of a similar quality to their equivalent in the supermarket. How much do we really know about what we're eating? Are we capable of making truly informed choices based on the information available to us?
Take a moment today to glance at the label of that carton in your fridge, visit that little supplier on the street corner, grow your own vegetables if you have the time, and more importantly, vote with your pocket - and may fewer of you darken the doorways of my hypothetical clinic in the not-so-distant future.
