Scott A. Mori, Ph.D., Nathaniel Lord Britton Curator of Botany, has been studying New World rain forests at The New York Botanical Garden for 35 years. From 1978 to 1980 he took a leave from the Garden to serve as the Director of the Herbarium of the Cocoa Research Center in Bahia, Brazil.
A close-up of pods of a chocolate tree. The fruits can also be red at maturity.
On a previous blog, I covered the natural history of chocolate but failed to admit my addiction to this melt-in-your-mouth delight. This problem of mine has reached the point where I have asked my wife to hide it from me, and then only dole out small portions on special occasions. Nevertheless, I still scheme to get more chocolate from her. But she has become familiar with my tactics as the years have passed, making extra rations almost impossible to get my hands on.
Of course, chocolate doesn’t begin as the confection we know and love. The fruits of the cacao tree produce two edible treats for humans–the first is the pulp that surrounds the seed and the second is the bitter seed that, after processing, becomes the source of our favorite chocolate. Although the pulp can be made into a delicious juice, I usually open the pods and suck the pulp from the seeds to quench my thirst and boost my energy when I am collecting plants in the field. The pulp is the reward given to monkeys and other animals in exchange for disseminating the seeds, carrying them from the mother tree to a place where they have a better chance to germinate and escape predation. On the other hand, animals do not eat the seeds because they are too bitter.
An ex-girlfriend once observed in my presence: “Chocolate and men… some things are just better rich.” Understandably, she didn’t last long. Between the basic cable package and my favorite old jeans with the hole in the knee, I figure our relationship was more than her soul could endure. But let’s be honest–you don’t have to be a millionaire to make your significant other truly happy this Valentine’s Day. Money may not buy love, but–and it pains me to say it–she was right about one thing: the chocolate. Go ahead and upgrade the cable package, because you’ll be spending plenty of time on the living room couch if you forget to pick up the good stuff.
Once you’ve secured a delicious prize for your sweetheart, what better way to accumulate a few extra points than regaling them with the epic story of chocolate; its fantastic history and that mysterious process by which cacao makes its way from the deepest rain forests to that cellophane-wrapped, heart-shaped box gathering dust on the shelf of your local drug store? The object of your desire will undoubtedly wonder at your knowledge of obscure things and immediately find you more intriguing. You’re welcome in advance, friends.
It’s not ready to make its way into a batch of s’mores just yet, but I’d say our cacao fruit is looking more and more delectable each day. You can catch it now in the rain forest of the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory.
Did you know the main ingredient in chocolate comes from the fruit of the cacao tree? Perhaps you read our earlier article on “cauliflory” in trees like this one. Lucky for us there are cacao trees (Theobroma cacao) thriving in The New York Botanical Garden’s tropical rainforest, a part of the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory. In fact, two of our cacao trees now have cocoa bean pods growing on them, each one about six inches long and dark brown.
Scott A. Mori, Ph.D., Nathaniel Lord Britton Curator of Botany, has been studying New World rain forests at The New York Botanical Garden for over 30 years. As part of The Edible Garden, he will hold informal conversations about chocolate, Brazil nuts, and cashews—some of his research topics—during Café Scientifique on August 13.
The chocolate that we eat and drink is one of the most complicated foods utilized by mankind. Not only did it co-evolve in the rain forests of the New World with still unidentified pollinators and with the help of animals that disperse its seeds, but it also undergoes an amazing transformation when it is processed, going from inedible, bitter seeds to the delicious chocolate products that most of us enjoy.
I became fascinated with the natural history and cultivation of chocolate while working for the Cocoa Research Institute in southern Bahia, Brazil, from 1978 to 1980. I directed a program of plant exploration in what was then, botanically, one of the least explored regions of the New World tropics. During those two years, I made 4,500 botanical collections, including many species new to science and many from cocoa plantations.
The scientific name of the chocolate tree is Theobroma cacao L. Theobroma means “food-of-the-gods” in Greek; cacao is derived from the Aztec common name chocolatl; and “L.” is the abbreviation for Linnaeus, the botanist who coined the scientific name of the chocolate tree. The genus Theobroma includes 22 species.
One of the unsolved mysteries of the natural history of chocolate trees is its pollinators. Most varieties of chocolate are self-incompatible, which means that pollination of the flowers of a given plant with pollen from the same plant does not yield fruit. There are, however, some varieties that are self-compatible—the single tree growing in the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory at NYBG is proof, because it sets fruit. Nevertheless, for most chocolate trees to produce fruit, pollen has to be moved from one tree to the next. This does not happen frequently in plantations, because the average tree produces between just 20 and 40 fruits each year from the thousands of flowers that open on the tree.
Thus, a limiting factor in the production of chocolate is successful pollination, and because this has economic implications there has been considerable research about how to increase the production of chocolate by enhancing pollination. Some researchers believe midges (minute, mosquito-like flies) are the pollinators of chocolate trees. But the complexity and relatively large size of chocolate flowers in comparison to the size of midges indicates that they might be occasional visitors rather than the true or only pollinators of chocolate.
It’s cliche, but it’s true: If you can’t celebrate your love with crystallized carbon, you can always celebrate it with the fermented pit of a South American fruit. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Why chocolate of course! Too trite? Not how we do it!
