Golden Bean

by High Integrity
Info Details
Country USA   
Type Brut   (~70%)
Flavor Earthen   
Style Rustic      
Karma-logically pure; organileptically evolved among those chocolates from the sadical "raw'-food tribe, which rates about the same as saying after a sentence in Abu Ghraib, serving another in Gitmo feels OK. Torturous enough, right up there with spending your desert vacation lost in Death Valley without water or GPS, & the iPhone desperately losing signal.
Appearance   3.8 / 5
Color: almost so black nothing comes back
Surface: clean mold of a cacáo branch w/ heart-shaped pod (ahhhhhh)
Temper: oily; fudge density
Snap: low-lying (requires sonar to detect); crumbling edge
Aroma   6.1 / 10
flat-liner: woolly old lady dressed in scrofulous cotton beard left under cobwebs, spiders, & dust in the attic; agave (used to sweeten this bar) its only saving grace springs up dragonfruit (another cactus plant w/ light melon scent )
Mouthfeel   4.9 / 15
Texture: powdered dry mudslide... worried about "unclean creeping things" prophesied in Leviticus
Melt: frail & just caves
Flavor   26.3 / 50
hopeful beginning on black cherry chocolate (nice indeed) -> soon wears the fabric of our lives - cotton -> next caught in cobwebs, the bar breaks apart, moaning then droning -> viscous cactus sugar + vanilla-tar fight to hold it together under the promise that once paved it'll spring back to life... but their weight only contribute at mid-palate to chocolate's collapse -> cactus juice & dragonfruit, a little fiberglass & bee spit hits the floor too -> the enema within goes into the ground a super-buggy death pit - clumps of fudged brown dirt, dried palmettos, compost - &, lurking in the depths, earth worms & fungus
Quality   9.7 / 20
Crudely stratified on a corpse of bedrock sacraments to the raw-food cult. Their creed: for the body temple, sugar from cacti is all OK; salt from the Himalayas is less sodium crystals / more etherically mystical (soon there may be Himalayan Sea salt due to the rising magic of global-warming oceans & receding glaciers). No chocolate per se but analogues, signals, semaphores channeled from the embalmed bean that makes it, in the eyes & on the lips of the cult, "live".


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