Edouard Hirsinger has emerged from his
laboratoire to introduce me to the wonders
of the family business that was set up by
his great-grandfather in1900. Edouard is
the fourth generation and says he was born
with a cocoa bean in his head. So we are all
equals here.
He cuts the little tart in front of me into
cold, soft triangles. “Thepuit d’amour—it is
the well ofl ove,” he declares,
handing me the first piece, a
spiced, crisp layer of pastry
concealed by a chill ofcrème
pâtissièreabove.
We spend two hours
in the laboratory. I eat
chocolate from Venezuela
and Peru, and earthy
Valrhona from the
Dominican Republic.
Edouard’s favourite is his
banana with rum and tonka
beans—a bean from
Martinique that tastes of
bitter almonds and hay.
There is saffron in almond
paste, pistachio from the
slopes of Etna, quince with red wine, Jura
honey, chocolates scented with teas and
spices, fruits and flowers.
Edouard creates different chocolates
for each of the fourseasons, all from pure
ingredients, the best chocolate and local
unpasteurised cream.
InBritain,wemakechocolatesofilled
withsugar,lecithinandflavouringsandso
lowincocoasolidsthattheword“chocolate”
shouldn’tapply.It’sreallyasweet.
In my darkest hours I go to Gerard
Coleman’s L’Artisan du Chocolat. No one’s
chocolates this side ofla Mancheare
more beautiful, more comforting or sexier.
He isachocolate genius.
Recently, arguably as the result of harder
times and for someone special, I’ve been
calling him more frequently. “Business
is fantastic; we’re going flat out,” Gerard
says. “I wish times were tougher. People
cut back on other indulgences, but they
don’t skimp on small things that make them
happy. Chocolate is the last thing I’d give
up.” He’s just opened in Selfridges and is
heading for Dublin.
How does he stay passionate after
ten years?