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“The inside of the van was warm, and I could smell the heat of it, mingled with that sweetness I could not quite identify; a sweetness like a childhood I only ever knew from books, a scent of vanilla and spices and cream, of bedclothes dried in the sunshine. And beneath it, a more complex scent of autumn leaves and petrichor, of forests that never see daylight, of sunken ships and pirate gold and fireworks and woodsmoke. 'What is that?' I said, looking back at the pile of boxes at the back of the van. Guy smiled. 'What do you think?' 'I can't quite place what it is,' I said. 'But it smells almost familiar. Is it some kind of spice?' 'Not quite.' He paused, almost reverently. 'These are roasted Porcelana beans, from Peru; a sub variant of the Criollo bean, maybe the best-- and the rarest-- cacao beans in existence.' 'Cacao,' I said. 'You mean---?' 'Chocolate.” — Joanne Harris