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Vanuatu Island aerial photo showing the wing of a plane
Photo: Gaston Chocolat

Vanuatu

Dreaming

An Origin at the Edge of the Map

Hessian bag branded with "Gaston Cacao Vanuatu" used for shipping cacao beans for Gaston Chocolat
Photo: Gaston Chocolat

Old World Charm

Beneath the merciless Vanuatu sun, linen shirts cling with salt and dust. In the scattered farms of the island’s jungle, along tracks hacked through thicket and mud, rides Olivier Fernandez of Gaston Chocolat.


With only his trail bike for company, he rides for hours along rutted tracks—no roads, just red dirt and the constant rumble of the engine echoing over distant hills. His canvas bag is heavy with coins, ready to pay for cacao pods the old way: farmer by farmer, hand to hand, in transactions that run on trust as much as metal. For many, paper money is suspect and banks a distant idea; here, the clink of coins is as real and welcome as the harvest itself.


This is chocolate at the edge of the map—a commerce of sweat and patience, where trading for pods means going the long way round, quite literally crossing the island one trail at a time.


Yet beneath that sunburnt, charismatic shell beats the analytic heart of a scientist. By day he’s all road dust and handshakes, trading for cacao pods with farmers perched on the edge of tradition; by night—or in the deep, shaded cool of the fermentary—he orchestrates the invisible microbial ballet that transforms mere fruit into chocolate worthy of the world’s best makers. Here in Vanuatu, he’s not just chasing flavour—he’s building it from the soil up.


Because bringing a new cacao origin to market takes far more than romance. It demands resilience, reinvention, and the kind of persistent, detail‑obsessed inquiry that would daunt lesser men. Over the coming pages, you’ll see the duality at the heart of this journey: a hero’s flair for narrative and connection, underpinned by the relentless, sometimes lonely work of making a dream both real and replicable. For anyone who’s ever wondered what it takes to put a remote island’s name on the lips of the world’s most exacting chocolatiers, this is the story—and the science—behind the magic.

Unripe cacao fruit on tree in Vanuatu
two ripe yelow cacao pods on a banana leaf in Vaniuatu close up
Photos: Gaston Chocolat

Vanuatu’s Signature

Vanuatu cacao wears its wild roots on the palate. Born of deep volcanic soils and a humid island climate, it offers a firm chocolate backbone sharpened by dried apricot and plum. Some tasters invoke leathery or tobacco notes—though, as Olivier admits with a smile, “I don’t really like using those terms for food. But the fruitiness—that’s real, and we’ve learned to coax it through careful fermentation and roasting.”

This distinct profile comes not only from the land, but from the people who shape every harvest. In wine, the French word terroir refers to a “sense of place,” born of soil, rainfall, and climate. In chocolate, it also speaks to culture and craft: farmers nurturing their trees, choosing when to harvest, fermenters coaxing out fruit notes, and processors drying and sorting the beans with care. In Vanuatu, those human choices are as much a part of the flavour as its volcanic soil.

The mainstay in Vanuatu’s groves is the hardy Amelonado cultivar, with traces of older Criollo genetics lending nuance. This simplicity is a strength: light roasts draw out citrusy brightness, while darker profiles build rich, malty depths. “That spectrum is what gives our cacao its edge,” says Olivier. “It lets makers play and experiment—unlike some origins, where the flavour target is so narrow you risk ending up flat.”

Whether destined for a single‑origin bar or part of a masterful blend, Vanuatu’s cacao thrives—and tells the island’s story, harvest after harvest.

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