The house
Why melt?
Because it’s the whole point. Everything before the melt — the roast, the grind, the temper — is just a long way of preparing to disappear well.
The first batch
The first batch was made in a home kitchen on a stove that ran hot on one side. It seized, it bloomed, and it tasted — against every visual signal — extraordinary. We ate the evidence and started again, this time with a thermometer.
The first real machine was an 18-kilo stone melanger bought secondhand from a spice grinder in Jodia Bazaar. It runs all night. If you visit, that low rumble under the floor is the sound of tomorrow’s chocolate slowly forgetting it was ever gritty.
The first big order we turned down was a wholesale contract that wanted a year of shelf life. There is a way to do that. It involves things we don’t keep in the building. We said no, went home early, and have been small on purpose ever since.
- Droplet one — a home kitchen, a crooked stove, a lucky accident.
- Droplet two — the 18kg melanger that never sleeps.
- Droplet three — the wholesale “no” that kept us small.
Small batches, on purpose.
72h
The conche runs three days, until the grit is a memory and the pour is silk.
18kg
One melanger, one batch. Small enough that we taste every single one before it leaves.
31.5°C
The temper point. Half a degree either way is the difference between dull and glossy.
Named sources
We can tell you where everything came from.
Cacao
Single-origin beans from family farms, bought at a price we’d be happy to say out loud.
Peanuts
Sindhi peanuts from growers we can name — small, dense, sweet after the second roast.
Dry fruit
Almonds, pistachios and cashews from Karachi’s old dry-fruit market, picked by hand each season.
The meaning of melt
Cocoa butter melts at 34°C — just under body heat. Chocolate is the only food designed by nature to disappear the moment you pay attention to it.
We named ourselves after the ending, because everything we do is aimed at those few seconds.