If You Love Chocolate, You’ll Want to Know This

It’s milk chocolate—smooth and silky, not too sweet—with little shards of caramel that crunch like well-made nut brittle. There’s a buttery snap to them, almost like they’ve been toasted in sunshine. Then, just when you think it’s all indulgence, the sea salt hits—tiny flakes that wake everything up and keep you from drifting into sugar oblivion. It’s a perfect balance: creamy, crispy, salty, sweet.

But the real dream?
That this bar was made without exploitation. That the hands who harvested the cocoa weren’t those of children. That the farmers who grew it could afford books, medicine, and dignity.

That’s why I usually buy Tony’s Chocolonely—it’s one of the few brands that’s serious about ending exploitation in the cocoa industry. My friends Fuzz and Carolyn Kitto at Be Slavery Free have been advocating in this space for years. And they’ll tell you: 25 years after chocolate companies promised to end child labour, it’s still happening. Cocoa prices are rising, but most farmers remain in poverty. It’s an unjust system—and we can’t fix it with guilt, only with action.

If you’re curious about who’s doing the right thing, the Chocolate Scorecard is a free resource that ranks companies on ethical sourcing, transparency, and climate resilience. It’s released every year around Easter, but it’s good all year round.

Yes, it costs a little more.
But that’s what it takes to pay people fairly and treat them justly.

My dream chocolate? Crunchy. Creamy. Ethical.

Late at night unwrapping chocolate, you say
this one tastes like the sea met a bonfire—
salt and smoke and something gold beneath.

We don’t speak of price yet. Just texture.
The brittle snap of caramel like
a cathedral’s stained glass shattering
into butter.

It’s sweet, you say,
but not stupid.

We trace the salt with our tongues.
Salt, that old truth-teller.
Salt, that keeps the memory
of sweat and oceans
and minimum wage.

And who made this? you ask.
Not the brand.
The who who bent down and picked the pods,
machete in hand. The who who stayed
when the rain came too soon, or not at all.

They say only 16%
earn enough to live.
Sixteen.
The number leaves a bitter edge
that sugar cannot fix.

But this bar—this one—
it’s different, you say.
Ethical. Traced. Transparent.
It cost more.
You say that like it matters,
and it does.

We don’t touch the topic of guilt.
We touch foil. We break squares.
We let them melt,
thinking of children
who should be learning fractions,
not harvesting them.

The caramel sticks in your teeth.
You grin.
It’s okay to love something
and still want it to be better.

Even chocolate.
Especially chocolate.

You pass me another square.
Still warm from your hand.

We eat it slow—
as if sweetness
should always be savoured
with justice
on the tongue.