Everything is ready in Still life with ebony chest by Antonio Pereda to begin the spectacle of a 17th century Spanish aristocratic tea party. With American chocolate as the undisputed protagonist, and in an almost theatrical display, the distinguished cast for this social event parades before our eyes, which also demonstrates the extensive commercial networks of the Spanish empire: the hand-held chocolate maker and its grinder, the large sugar cube, a tray of biscuits, three gourds from Delft, China or Manises, the Talavera jug, a vase (perhaps from Tonalá) or a vessel with silver settings of European manufacture. All this paraphernalia is displayed before the eyes of the spectator, who is fascinated to the point of not noticing a significant detail: where is the protagonist of such a spectacle? Where is the chocolate?
The answer, almost certainly, is locked away in the drawers of the delicate chest that is the centre of the composition and that reveals as much as it hides. It might seem to us an allegory, so common among Baroque artists, and yet everything points to the fact that this painting is more of a document than a metaphor: it was precisely the jewellers of the Spanish court who, as the historian Carmen Simón has shown, first treasured the shipments of this “food of the gods” in Europe. Thus, together with precious stones and jewels from the West Indies, this product was preserved, which arrived from America and which, for decades, only left Spain on rare occasions, sometimes in the hands of the daughters of kings who married in foreign courts, such as Maria Theresa of Austria, daughter of Philip IV, who sweetened her unfortunate stay at Versailles with Louis XIV with the chocolates prepared by her lady Molina and thus introduced the drink to France.
But, in addition to the zeal of its owners in Spain, another reason may explain Pereda’s omission: the fear of explicitly showing a food that generated controversy, if not rejection, within the Church. Since this product had become known in American lands, the clergy was concerned because the dark concoction seemed to incite the faithful to commit two capital sins: gluttony, given its excessive consumption (even within churches), and lust, due to its invigorating character since, as Bernal Díaz del Castillo confirmed, Moctezuma himself consumed it “to have access to women.” However, what most worried the Church was the possibility that the devotees would break the Catholic fast by consuming it under the pretext of being a drink. Far from being an anecdote, this controversy caused rivers of ink to flow and the fathers of the Church were invoked to justify positions, until Cardinal Brancaccio, in a Solomonic decision, sentenced that of liquidum non frangit jejunum and appealed to the consumer’s conscience to decide whether what they were drinking was a beverage or food.
A good proof that these misgivings could have influenced the elimination of chocolate not only in Pereda’s painting, but in practically all the representations of this theme in the 17th century, is that, precisely, once the controversy was over, the still lifes began to be filled with the product, either in the form of bars, as in the Still life with chocolate and pastries (1770) by Meléndez, overflowing in sensual cups, as in the Still life with strawberries and chocolate (ca. 1775) by Juan Bautista Romero. His proud diners also appear for the first time, and without remorse, they allow themselves to be photographed enjoying their favourite snack.
With the arrival of the 18th century, its consumption soared and, to meet the demand, ambitious measures were taken, such as the creation of the Guipuzcoana de Caracas Company (1728-1785), founded by Philip V with the aim of consolidating the business of colonial products and ending smuggling, which resulted in an absolute monopoly on the Venezuelan cocoa trade for the 57 years of its existence and a constant supply to the Peninsula.
But the widespread consumption of chocolate did not mean that all social classes consumed the same product. While the cups of the wealthiest were filled with the most select cocoa from the ports of Venezuela and Guayaquil, popular chocolates were frequently adulterated throughout the 19th century, in order to reduce costs and sell a cheaper, but lower quality product. There were numerous studies published at the time that warned about the manipulations that this food suffered and that included the addition of substances foreign to the recipe, such as starch and potato starch, to animal fats and various types of flour, whose whitish colour was fatally concealed with minium, red ochre, cinnabar, the so-called “pavonazo” (a dark red iron peroxide) and even ground brick.
The second threat to Spanish chocolate in the 19th century came with the imminent loss of its American colonies and, with it, a large part of this lucrative business. But Spain, like other powers, already had its sights set on a land that promised to be a second home for cocoa: Africa. Thus, the Spanish territories in the Gulf of Guinea began to host the first plantations around 1850 and, in a few decades, its fruits became not only the main product exported by Guinea, but also the basis of the thriving Spanish chocolate industry. Spurred on by the technical advances of Van Houten, Robert Lindt and Henry Nestlé, the sector was rubbing its hands.
However, the poor infrastructure in the colony, the dramatic lack of labor and the constant dispute between the different people involved in the business, reduced the options for local chocolate. To make up for the endemic lack of quality and promote its consumption, the nascent mass media came to the rescue, first in the form of advertising posters and then with jingles radio and television advertisements that still hover over the Spanish collective imagination (it’s hard not to start humming “I am that little black boy from tropical Africa”).
With the independence of Equatorial Guinea in 1968, Spain was finally stripped of its leading role in the history of chocolate. This was not the case with other powers, such as France, England or Belgium, which, despite the respective independence of their colonies, turned the African continent into a tireless supplier of cocoa. At least, until now. Because the news coming from that continent in recent months is worrying for lovers of this food. Factors such as speculation, the climate crisis, the complex situation of producers and the growth of demand in Asian countries have increased the price of the product by more than 250% in the last year, thus becoming a true brown gold that, perhaps, if no one does anything about it, we will have to keep again as a treasure in our precious jewel boxes.
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