Not long after compiling the two installments of the World’s Worst Chocolate Bars, I realized there are other bars on the market that didn’t make the cut the first go around. I based my list purely off of ordinal rankings from Seventypercent without considering certain subjective values that, as it turns out, are more important than I realized. I also revisited several bars, reviewing and re-scoring each one as they stood at the time of tasting.

The result is, you guessed it, another wonderful list of bars that I personally cannot tolerate one way or another. Actually, I lie; I’d probably revisit several of these chocolates to sate a craving (such as the Pralus lot) but I would definitely avoid others because they’re just so frustratingly bad. Enjoy the update, and feel free to let me know about any chocolate you think should be here. Bon appétit!

Hachez Cocoa d’Arriba 77% (7) – Hachez, the cocoa butter king, has found its niche in creating sublime texture, but in so doing, sacrifices flavor despite having some good quality beans. At 77%, power should preside at every turn, but what we get is a flavor so muted and washed out that tasting the chocolate is like staring at a beautiful painting through foggy glass.

Pralus Venezuela 75% (6.9), Colombie 75% (6.8), Equateur 75% (6.6) – The cacao used to make each bar is bold, deep, and delicately flavored, yet the dark Pralus roast deflowers any manliness these bars once possessed. Instead of being the strapping powerhouses they could have been, they all taste flat and flavorless, overcooked and too well done. The problem is that, as implied, the roast flattened just about every characteristic of the cacao and made the chocolate listless and dull, about as monotone as Ben Stein’s voice.

Lindt Excellence 85%, US (6.6) – Lindt was once on top of the chocolate world with this mega-powerhouse of an 85% but suddenly calamity struck and the bar sunk to miserable lows. The addition of cocoa powder hints at much of the problem, as well as probable variations in batch quality. All these factors bring the bar at pretty much an even keel with the UK version, which has historically performed at this level of mediocrity.

Hachez 88% Cocoa Premier Cru (6.4) – Given the poor performance at 77%, you’d think that a Hachez bar at 88% would at least have some heft in its flavor, some striking characteristic that slaps you in the face at the very least. Alas, there is none, except maybe for some ugly bitterness that, despite the thick barrier of cocoa butter, is just as offensive as an ethnic slur. The bar, in fact, contains about 55% cocoa butter, which only leaves a skeletal amount of 33% cocoa particles, an amount comparable to most 70% bars. Hmm, do you see a problem here, too?

Green & Black’s Dark 70% (6.5) – It’s probably not necessary to include the 85% on this list because I think I made my point with the two Hachez entries. However, G&B’s other “pure” bar, a 70%, is ironically more intense but also plagued by bitterness and musty notes that suggest problematic beans. There are plenty of good qualities as well, namely the intensity and berry-centric flavor, but the overall balance of flavor is what really counts and this one falls off the beam one too many times.

Bonnat Porcelana 75% (5.4) – My bar tasted strong and overpowering, burnt and bitter, a result of poor beans and poor processing decisions, so naturally, I didn’t think too fondly of this chocolate. There have been other people who apparently tasted an entirely different chocolate than I did, so I would be more than happy to try another bar to clarify things a bit. However, at a whopping $18.50 per bar, I’m afraid I’ll have stick to my guns until fortune smiles upon me another day.

Lindt Excellence 85%, UK (5.4) – At one time, the UK and US versions of this bar were as different as night and day, but now they are almost exact clones. The reason for the initial disparity probably related to the fact that the cocoa liquor was manufactured in one central location and then shipped to various parts of the world, whereupon production variations would occur to reflect local taste preferences. All this has evidently been eliminated, and now Lindt has two horrible 85% bars in their roster, instead of just one.

Usually, a bar of good quality chocolate is smooth and well-rounded, its flavors controlled and modified to fit a maker’s idea of what he believes to be the ideal flavor profile for an origin or blend. Taza, however, has a different approach. They want to leave the intrinsic qualities of the beans in a more pristine form, as unprocessed and unrefined as you can get without being unpalatable.

This doesn’t mean they’re simply crushing beans in a basement and molding the pulpy mass into crude tablets. No, Taza still utilizes many of the same steps most other makers employ, but they have their own twist on the processing, such as using traditional Mexican molinos (stone grinding mills) to crush and grind the cacao beans. Once ground initially, the beans are sent through another set of grinding mills (refiner) to reduce the sugar particle size.

After this step is complete, that’s it. The cocoa mass is molded into bars, and then wrappers are applied once the chocolate has formed. Most chocolate bars end their processing days at the conche to receive a finishing touch. A conche reduces the size of the cacao particles (which makes the texture smooth) and mellows out the volatile components (which makes the chocolate more palatable). Taza says, “no way, Jose,” to that and stops at the refiner, which yields some rustic results that may give us a sense of what solid chocolate was like before Rudolphe Lindt invented the conche.

As a result, there’s quite a bit of grit to the texture, but if you’ve ever eaten a Hershey bar and actually liked it, then there isn’t anything to complain about here. It’s definitely the first thing you’ll notice when tasting the chocolate. The granular consistency melts much more readily, I think, which exposes the flavor quicker as well.

Speaking of flavor, it’s lighter than most chocolates, and also bright, ardently flashing red sirens all over the place. Taza roasts their beans for a much shorter timeframe than most makers to preserve as much of the beans’ natural fruitiness as possible. Another key aspect to the flavor is sourness, which results from a lack of conching. It’s a peculiarity not found in chocolate that has been refined more thoroughly.

The 70% Dominican Republic bar, in particular, showcases Taza’s roasting style really well. It’s a bright red chocolate, flashing strawberries at full volume, with a lovely bitter almond counter. It gets playful at the midpoint as marshmallow shows up, then the chocolate turns spicier and darker the more it melts.

By contrast, the 80% Dominican Republic bar is noticeably darker but still very light, intensely conveying cherries and a slightly less complex flavor overall. In my opinion, this flavor and darker nature balance out the high acidity, which makes the bar more manageable than the 70%, and very approachable on its own.

The intense fruitiness and high acidity level impose a delusion of sweetness, thus obviating the need for extra sugar, which makes the bar a perfect low-sugar, high cocoa content selection without requiring much adjustment. The texture is also not as grainy either, striking a better balance for most Western folks, so all in all, this is Taza’s most accessible and pleasing offering.

In a sense, Taza’s chocolate is so retro it’s modern. Even the packaging sports a color motif common of the 1970s but updated according to modern sensibility.

Overall, the company just may have found their own cozy niche with this brand of chocolate, without even throwing in weird flavor combinations such as cumin-lavender-coffee to make their chocolate unique and exciting. I’d say that’s quite an accomplishment in the ever-expanding market of bean-to-bar makers nowadays, and I’m looking forward to what else the company has in store.

In my first Askinosie post, I focused on the two unflavored, single origin bars currently in production by Askinosie. Now, I want to turn my attention to the Nibble Bars, which are basically the same chocolates but studded with nibs on the surface. Normally, I don’t care for such bars, but the Del Tambo bar was just too addictive, while the Soconusco bar, rather mysteriously, was very disappointing.

I say “mysteriously,” because I was impressed thoroughly by the plain Soconusco bar. Its deep chocolaty flavor and subtle but bold cherry undertones were very alluring and sexy in many ways, but the Nibble Bar is, by comparison, deflated. It’s rather boring and lackluster, delivering only half the chocolaty flavor of the original bar and more characteristics from the nibs that I prefer. In other words, it’s too one-sided.

Explanations for this disparity can vary. My theory is that maybe the nibs are just too strong for the chocolate, which in itself is actually subtle and requires some patience to enjoy. This would make sense because Del Tambo is sharp, loud, and assertive, like an aggressive salesman with a booming voice. Its intense flavor pairs well with the nibs and never gets drowned out. The two are a great match, and the bar as a whole is a tag team of that insistent salesman and a Southern Baptist preacher.

Also, you may have noticed in the picture above that the nibs are spread out across the surface of the bar rather than mixed within the chocolaty matrix, which is a technique I like a lot. It immediately exposes you to the contrast of jagged but brittle nibs against the smooth chocolate underneath, and also allows you to taste everything all at once, rather than wait until the chocolate thoroughly melts.

Eating a Nibble Bar is like an explosion in your mouth, all flavors and textural sensations hitting you immediately, at full force. Other nib bars are more akin to a windy day, where the ebbs and flows of the chocolate’s characteristics are more consistent, and at times understated, in their bumpy procession.

I suppose, then, that here is where my preference for assertive flavors and extreme contrasts is really made evident. If you lean towards subtler flavors, less contrast, and more peace in your chocolate, then maybe you should stay away from these bars, or if you absolutely insist on getting these, then perhaps try the Soconusco bar first. Definitely, though, if you’re new to nib chocolate, then I would recommend trying another brand first, perhaps Scharffen Berger or Dagoba, just to get acclimated to the nib flavor.

The letter A is becoming quite heavily populated among the artisan bean-to-bar makers nowadays. First Amedei, then Amano, and now Askinosie (all of which end in vowels, by the way). Named after its founder, Shawn Askinosie, Askinosie is just one of seven companies in the USA that produces small batches of chocolate bars straight from the beans.

So far, Askinosie makes two single origin bars: Soconusco from Mexico and San Jose Del Tambo from Ecuador, which are also available with nibs, called Nibble Bars. These chocolates also come in one-kilo (2.2lb) blocs, and for those who wish to taste the bean and the bar side-by-side, Askinosie makes 160g (6oz) canisters of cacao nibs.

Soconusco 75%
This is the first bar I tried from Askinosie, and I loved it because it reminded me of the brooding nature of Pralus, courtesy of indiscriminate dark roasting. The chocolate is bold and powerful yet the cherry notes are subtle and understated, not in your face, which adds a lovely depth of flavor. I was also impressed to encounter a chocolate that reflects favorably on an origin that rarely, if ever, receives the limelight.

I gave Soconusco a good review on Seventypercent.com and although I still hold it with high regards, I think perhaps Askinoise could have injected their own touch to the bar to make it distinctly theirs. Amano can be criticized for the same with their Ocumare bar as well, but both companies delivered awesome flavor in the end, and that’s what counts.

San Jose Del Tambo 70%

This one is definitely unique among Ecuadorian bars because it’s the lightest and sharpest one I’ve tried. Usually, bars made from these beans are powerful, chocolaty, and heavily redolent of blackberries. The origin has lots of potential, yet many mediocre interpretations exist, presumably because makers focus too much on rectifying the bitterness and dryness of the beans. Invariably, success with this origin is a hit or miss.

Askinosie hit the nail right on the head with this bar. In some ways, it resembles a Madagascan more than an Ecuadorian because it’s sharper and brighter than it is deep and bold. It is chocolaty, though, and blackberries (and plums) are in your face all the time, so you’ll never forget the geographical constituency of the bar, that’s for sure.

It sort of tingles in the mouth, which is a special feeling reminiscent of Valrhona’s Manjari. It’s a cheerful Ecuador Nacional, not a serious or feminine one, which I suppose could be equated to Santander’s interpretation of Colombian Nacional.

I’m also a huge fan of their mission to promote the financial viability of the farmers who grow their beans. It’s refreshing to pull up Askinosie’s website and see pictures of the farms and read commentary on the company’s relationship with the farmers rather than a minimalist layout and poetic embellishments that could just as fittingly describe a rear fender. (Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with those websites. I just find no value in them if I can’t learn a thing or two.)

Overall, I’d say that Askinosie has a capable foundation with these two bars. Not only are they vastly distinct from each other, but they also offer characteristics that you can’t easily find in similar chocolates.

When I heard of TCHO (pronounced “choh,” the T is silent), I was quite excited to learn that a new bean-to-bar operation had decided to ply its chocolaty wares in the quickly growing arena of small-scale artisan producers. In a little more than three years, seven such companies have sprung up (DeVries, Amano, Askinosie, Patric, Taza, Rogue, and now TCHO) with such a speedy inertia that England is now getting in on the fun.

Surprisingly, TCHO is the first company since Scharffen Berger to make California its home base. What’s also a surprise is the origin they chose to represent all their hard work thus far: Ghana. That may seem like a dirty word to most connoisseurs, but thanks to such makers as Theo, Ghana is slowly becoming an origin to be reckoned with.

Apparently, TCHO sees the viability in the origin as well, and with their beta bar, coaxes out some mighty good flavor that needs only a slight bit of tweaking to perfect. Unlike most Ghana chocolates that are shallow in flavor, TCHO has captured plenty of fruitiness, namely citrus and plums, and never compromised the strength of the chocolate either.

TCHO did, however, go a little too crazy on the vanilla, so much so, you’ll be wondering if they modeled the bar after a Lindt Madagascar or Ecuador bar. This flavor I can do without, so it would be nice to see TCHO omit the vanilla altogether because as many makers are proving nowadays, it certainly is a superfluous ingredient.

The texture isn’t up to snuff either, melting with a negligible amount of grain that can be overlooked, but it’s definitely something that needs to be ironed out.

Overall, the chocolate is bold, fruity, yet somewhat cookie-like with its heavy emphasis on vanilla. It wants to be serious, but it’s still trapped in childhood. I think this is a good start for the company, and in some ways it’s comparable to Jacques Torres’ entry as a bean-to-bar outfit. Both chocolates are promising, but definitely reflective of makers who are trying to get things right.

Although these remaining bars are pretty bad in just about every way imaginable, I have a confession to make. The quality of these bars can, and probably will, change over time, so I’m not making any guarantees that this list will be valid next year, next week, or even tomorrow. Valrhona’s Le Noir Extra Amer 85% might actually be pretty good in the future, and Venchi may have even developed a taste for dark chocolate.

I don’t like to think of this list as a cheap shot against chocolate makers who have different tastes than me or are a victim of circumstances outside their control because that simply isn’t fair. Nor will I refrain from picking up another one of these bars at a later time, because I want to see how it will evolve throughout the years and what those changes can infer about the challenges a maker experienced with an origin, a percentage level, or a blend.

Before we get on with the list, if you can think of a bar that’s just as bad or worse than these fine specimens, then please let me know. I’m always open to new chocolate no matter how bad it is! Not only should one have an open mind but an open stomach as well!

6. Slitti Gran Cacao 82% (4.1) – If ash and bitterness were in style, Slitti would be the bon vivant of all chocolate companies. This is just one of three bars where these traits run rampant, and though quite offensive at this level, much worse is in store. It seems what happened here is that Slitti’s cacao supply was of such poor quality that he was forced to over-roast as compensation. Unfortunately for Slitti, two wrongs don’t make a right.

5. Weiss Grand Noir 57% (4.1) – Weiss is a respected name in the chocolate world, and I really expected more from them than this, even if the semisweet range can be a hit or miss category. This one really pushes the limit and reminds me of those wasteful hot cocoa mixes sold at grocery stores. Weiss apparently forgot to use more assertive beans for this bar, or perhaps forgot to put them in altogether.

4. Slitti Super Novanta Amazzonia 90% (3.6) – Slitti’s other two 90% bars are unbelievably powerful yet palatable, so expectations for this one were naturally high, especially considering the origin of the beans. Unfortunately, the chocolate is as timid as a fawn, lacking roundness and any intensity whatsoever that if were present probably would not help because the chocolate is far too bitter.

3. Theo Venezuela 91% (3.2) – This high percentage is a difficult range to master, but this chocolate would be equally disturbing at any level. Problems in the ferment are probably what caused the flavors of rubbing alcohol and green tree branches to dominate so insistently, as well as a total lack of roundness in the flavor. This should have been scrapped long before it hit the production line.

2. Slitti Gran Cacao 100% (2) – The decision to offer this chocolate in unsweetened format is beyond human comprehension. The chocolate will literally make you cringe in pain as the bitterness rails through your spine, rendering nerves and shattering bone along the way. This truly is an unsettling chocolate in every way, arguably the most bitter ever devised and certainly one to be erased from memory.

1. Guido Gobino Trinidad 80% (1.7) – I don’t know what Gobino did to this chocolate, but I think the cold hand of Death was intimately involved. With absolutely no roundness, a disturbingly sweet flavor, and a texture that falls apart rather than melts, the bar is frail and soulless, having expired long before its expiration date. It truly is deserving of its lowly status.

We often speak of bars that enthrall the senses in ways that only a particular origin can; or those that deliver a breadth of flavor only achievable through a proprietary blend or a distinct set of processing standards. Dozens of these bars come to mind, and they indeed deserve praise and admiration, but now is not the time. Instead, I want to focus on the other end of the spectrum, the amazingly hideous bars that make you cringe at the mere thought of them.

You see, in our quest for the “best” chocolate we tend to forget about the bad bars, and in so doing, fail to acknowledge the courage and bravery of a chocolate maker who despite his reputable standing releases a bar so ghastly as to be unimaginable.

In some ways, these chocolates are so bad that you have to wonder if the maker was actually trying to achieve that level of mediocrity. It truly is mind boggling, but luckily we have been blessed with these gems to understand just how bad chocolate can be.

I based this list off my reviews on Seventypercent, and only bars with ratings of 5.9 or below qualified. (The number in parentheses indicates the final score received on the site.) I think this list is amazingly accurate, so much so that I’m quite excited to see that my opinions are consistent with the ratings. So, without further adieu, on with the World’s Worst Chocolate Bars!

13. Bonnat Madagascar 75% (5.9) – Bonnat has become synonymous with dark roasting and Madagascar with light and fruity flavors. Pralus, another dark roaster, showed that this combination can work, but Bonnat was apparently on a mission to prove him wrong. The chocolate starts off decent but takes a nosedive into mediocrity, turning bitter and devoid of any positive flavors.

12. Dagoba Conacado 73% (5.4) – I don’t know if this flavor was something Dagoba was aiming for but if so they need to realign their objectives and focus on quality rather than…this. Admittedly, the bar has improved since its inception but not enough to show that a promising future is in store. With a rough and grainy texture and a flavor that can best be described as “sweet earth” the chocolate perpetuates Western fantasies of grassroots appeal.

11. Scharffen Berger Kumasi-Sambirano (5.5) – What a disastrously one-sided and bland chocolate this is. Ghana is strong and chocolaty while Madagascar is light and complex, yet Scharffen Berger shamelessly blended the two origins and created a bar that delivers faint reflections of what these two cacaos could deliver on their own. This is proof that the two don’t blend successfully, or at least in the ratios Scharffen Berger had in mind.

10. Valrhona Gran Couva 2005 (5) – Gran Couva was once an impressive chocolate that demanded consumption but over the years it has denigrated to the ranks of a paltry pauper, flailing in the wake of its predecessors. Annual improvements have occurred, however, but 2005 was an abysmal year, showing only sweetness, brown sugar, and nothing else of notable merit. It was a deflated chocolate in every respect.

9. Kshocolat Single Estate 72% (4.79) – Without actually stating where this single estate is located, Kshocolat made this bar mysterious right from the outset. Since we now know from their website (Sao Tome), the remaining mystery is how a company can make such a bad chocolate from an origin that’s at worst average. Sweet vanilla is the prevailing flavor, as well as a droning flatness that evokes nothing but ire with each listless bite. You might be amazed at how “sweet” or calm the flavor is, but when an origin is already limited in scope, this is not a good thing.

8. Valrhona Le Noir Extra Amer 85% (4.7) – Valrhona is usually right on track with exceptional chocolate but this one must have slipped through quality control. The bitterness in this bar is nearly intolerable, and the notes of ash and iron don’t win any points either. This is enough to offend at any percentage, but at 85% it’s like a punch in the face…several times.

7. Venchi Cuor di Cacao 85% (4.6) – Ever wondered what a chocolate-covered steel girder would taste like? Here’s your answer. Not only is the bar littered with metallic nuances, but it also delivers an exceptionally high bitterness level for that added kick in the gut. No intensity either, and a flavor similar to Dutched cocoa powder continue the downward spiral into depravity.

Check back soon for Part 2. But in the meantime, get these bars to see what you’re missing!

Ever since I moved to New Mexico four years ago, everyone told me that chocolate and the desert do not mix. Although this is true for the most part, I think they forgot about such amenities as ice packs, air conditioners, and overnight delivery, which are formidable allies against the desert sun. As vital as they are, though, I had to say goodbye when I left New Mexico last week for overcast Oregon.

This part of Oregon is cool in temperature, frequently cloudy, and heavily wooded, which are all perfect for chocolate. So, although the climate is different the agenda remains the same: chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Portland is only one hour north and Seattle another three hours, so I definitely plan to check out those scenes once I settle into a reliable routine.

Before I end this post, I want to mention that during the hustle and bustle of planning, packing, and moving, I managed to piece together an article that I should have posted in the next few days. But first, a few more boxes to unpack!

Recently, a friend from Germany sent me a Porcelana bar produced by Bonnat. This bar has been circulating for a couple months now in Germany and only recently has it become available at Chocosphere in America. At a whopping 100g, the bar is larger than most bars of Porcelana composition, and the price certainly shows.

In Germany the bar is sold for €5.90 ($8.65) but in America for $16.95, which is almost double the price. Nonetheless, one bar costs less than two of Amedei’s 50g bars ($26 total), so the price really isn’t that bad. Besides, this is an affordable luxury, produced from one of the rarest cacao beans on the planet.

The pink wrapper looks almost silly, quite honestly, but the bar inside looks very serious. Its shade is perhaps darker than most Porcelanas I’ve encountered and has an aroma to match. It’s dark, similar to Amedei, showing raisins, woods, and mild red fruits as well. The flavor follows suit but suggests some issues in bean quality and processing. Coffee and raisin dominate in this roast-influenced flavor, with bitter surges underneath, apparently quelled by extra cocoa butter since the texture is by far Bonnat’s smoothest.

Many problems come to mind after trying this bar. First of all, bean quality is obviously very low, which is a reality evident by the high bitterness level and associated over-roasting (#2). Extra cocoa butter (#3) compounds the problem by relegating all flavors to the background and thus giving a muffled feel to the flavor. These are common problems experienced by many seasoned makers, but when you’re dealing with beans such as these, a little more precaution should be observed.

If there is a reason to complain about this bar, it has to be the substandard quality one pays for at an exorbitant price. With such a grisly outcome, Bonnat should have cut their losses and sold the bar for at least half the going price. I understand very well what kind of arduous labor goes into making a bar of chocolate, and I agree wholeheartedly that farmers don’t earn enough money for their efforts. But there really is no excuse for a chocolate maker to charge so much for a bar of such shoddy quality. As I said, the losses here should come at the expense of Bonnat, not the farmers.

I’m not shifting the blame completely off the farmers, though. They have been known to mix cacaos of various origins and still call it nominally this or nominally that, unbeknownst to the buyer. Obviously, there’s a bit of risk involved, but you have choices and when you do buy, the ball is in your court.

Chocovic’s latest entry into the chocolate world comes in four bars (or four couvertures—more on that below), but the white chocolate selection is what I want to talk about for now. Jaina, at 31% cacao, is unique among white chocolate bars in that it contains a curious ingredient that delivers a distinctly unusual flavor that many people may be unfamiliar with in chocolate. “What is it?,” you ask? “Yogurt powder,” I tell you. It may be meager in quantity but it has an enormous impact, adding an odd and seemingly out of place sourness that is more fitting in a Ritter Sport bar, to be sure.

Senses may be jaded among those well adjusted to the mellower dispositions of other white chocolate bars, but relax before deeming the bar a distasteful rogue. I was jaded, too, so take my advice. The first square will serve as an introduction. Once you’ve digested this piece and get to the second square, you’ll be acclimated to the sour yogurt-like flavor that is indeed the hallmark of the bar. Every other characteristic of a white chocolate is present, so the bar as a whole isn’t too divergent or wild. Just receive the bar with an open mind, and you will be fine. Trust me.

I thought the bar was a bit strange at first, but I quickly embraced it for what it is and not what it pretends to be. In this respect, the chocolate can only be admired, and admittedly I do enjoy Jaina quite a bit, maybe more than I should, but what can I say? Everyone’s a sucker for something.

Afterthoughts…

After tasting Jaina, I realized that Chocovic, it seems, is in the midst of an expansion phase, perhaps to bolster sales due to a relative stalemate in their product range, or to widen accessibility to their couvertures since the range to which this bar belongs (Selváticas) is also available in couverture format. After all, Chocovic’s retail presence has only been substantiated by three high quality bars and nothing else, so the company is definitely in arrears.

What I do find odd about this Selváticas range is that Chocovic never states where the cacao was sourced or what type of beans were used. Now, I don’t actually have the other three bars in my possession and thus cannot examine the wrappers, but Chocovic’s website makes no mention of that information.

So, naturally, I investigated the names of the bars online and found that Tarakan and Kendari are names belonging to Indonesia and Nayarit and Jaina to Mexico, which could reasonably be interpreted as the sources of the cacao used in these bars. In the future, I’ll make an effort to get them and then determine if the effort was worthwhile.