Undercover Oompah Loompah

Undercover Oompah Loompah
Inside New York’s Sweetest Factory
by
Brad Lockwood

2,400 graham crackers, each encased in dark chocolate; 8 dozen boxes of hot fudge, 7 oz. jars individually labeled; 500 gift boxes of assorted bon bons, 25 candies per – All packed and ready for shipping. In 8 hours or less...

My lifelong fantasy has proved utterly flawed. Prior to working in a chocolate factory my vision included churning waterfalls and a river of dark decadence – ignorantly overlooking labor – now, after experiencing the world of handmade chocolates, I will take smaller bites. And at last appreciate those who make each succulent delight, understand those behind the glass, working from dawn to dusk, mastering the delicacies that we take for granted while devouring then feel guilty about when the box is empty.

Making New York’s finest chocolates is hard work, it’s no wonder why Roald Dahl invented the Oompah Loompahs for Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory – such a sweet science requires a fully dedicated, on-site and focused workforce – just like at Jacques Torres Chocolate.

"You have to go to France to become a chocolatier..." mentions Joe as we unpack and prep boxes that will soon be full of Love Potion #9, PB&J and other tempting treats. Sold locally and shipped afar, these won’t last long, all we make today will be gone by tomorrow. Yet the devotion to detail each bon bon requires is extraordinary. Joe knows this all too well after over 3 years at Jacques Torres, adding, "It takes up to 15 years to become a chocolatier."

Joe is well on his way, achieving a Zen-like approach to his creations: his calling. In a prior life he was a professional photographer; some day soon he will be a master. Like the others: Ana bustles about prepping for the holiday rush, she’s one of the most experienced in the factory, estimating ingredients and barking orders in English and Spanish, so busy that she’s already forgotten my name and is introducing me to everyone as "Brian." Nearby Paul trains Simon, a new-hire who’s already sore after his first full day on the job. I would understand why all too soon...

In the next room Marie and her sister (who doesn’t speak English and my Spanish is shoddy – which partially explains why I missed her name) insert four graham crackers coated with dark chocolate into packages, four at a time but inspecting every one with fine cotton gloves on our hands. Ensuring each is perfectly square, and those with broken corners set to the side, inspect, insert, tape, label, pack, repeat... We change our gloves often as I stand between them, racing to keep up, knowing that these are the same graham crackers I removed from packaging this morning, handed to Jenny to put on the conveyer belt for coating, and now sorting and packaging, again. "Rapido, rapido!"
All told, I will handle these 2,400 graham cracker squares twice: unpacking, breaking, coating then packing again – 4,800 total graham crackers processed today... Admittedly, the select few being discarded are driving me a bit mad (knowing that I checked each before coating) but we get to eat them so it’s a strange, satisfying ire. Someone hands me a truffle; without hesitation, involuntarily really, it is soon melting in my mouth.

Around 50 kilograms of ganache will be used today (equating a pudgy pre-teen or slight wife) and that doesn’t include the chocolate for the outer shells. "Ganache" is the seductive center of a bon bon ("good good" en Francais) and this and other terms are standard – leaving me amazed at how infrequently the word "chocolate" is used in a chocolate factory.
Indeed, the multi-room Jacques Torres Chocolate factory on Water Street in Dumbo has a mystique, mixing antique and state-of-the-art machinery, old-time craftsmanship, hard labor and assembly lines. A staff of under a dozen churns out thousands of finished masterpieces, satisfying tastebuds here and abroad. Anew each day, stock shipped as soon as it’s created, keeping up is all import, as is quality.

It’s apt; Brooklyn was built on hard work, and Dumbo (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge) fed the city, unloading and warehousing incoming goods along the East River. High-end candies and addictive "wicked" hot chocolate may serve the current affluent and artistic local community, but this factory is both the evolution and embodiment of Brooklyn. It’s comforting to know that artisans and laborers are still toiling until the job is done here in this major hub of the city.

"Lunch everyone!" Ana yells, but we can’t quit until the task at-hand is completed. It’s after 1:30pm, a late lunch, and our counter must be cleared before eating. Good riddance, all of those graham crackers at last packed and gone to wherever, we gather in the lunchroom to eat together. The factory is a team and it is Marie’s birthday, so we all partake. Even I’m invited, obviously a "trial day" worker, but still made to feel most welcome.

Though friendly and a new challenge every day, from conversations between bites I know that turnover among workers is brutal here. Long days, hard labor, heavy lifting, a half-hour for lunch, the "trial day" that gained me access to this factory – to live my fantasy and write this article - is a prerequisite. This is a calling. Most would mistake this is an easy job, surrounded by sweets, but making handmade chocolate is a (pun intended) a bittersweet business. Humbling, trial and error until mastering individual tasks, ingredients and final product, people are hand-picked to cook and churn the ganache only after months of proving themselves.

Holiday season upcoming or not, this factory is rarely idle. Orders ever arriving, from the retail store next door, the other outlet and factory on Hudson Street in Manhattan, hotels across the country or via Worldwide Web, Jacques Torres is a diabetic’s Hades. Chocolates so tempting that demand perpetually outstrips supply: In order to ship a single bon bon, hundreds even thousands must be made at a time; dark chocolate from Belgium arrived yesterday, cut and readied for tomorrow; ganache continually in-process, this is a place even Dante couldn’t envision. Maybe Homer Simpson, but only in fiction and film could a serious production plant appear like a wonderland. Here, however, Willy Wonka is a French master named Jacques Torres – no hermit but a highly public chocolatier with a penchant for natural ingredients and perfection, as well as soft spot for needy charities – and the Oompah Loompahs have been replaced by eager apprentices and immigrants. I am constantly reminded that this is a factory, first: Chocolate is the product but onus is on production.

The afternoon is spent assembling assorted candies – 25 per box, 500 boxes total. Lucille Ball stuffing candies in her blouse isn’t so far fetched; I fall behind until Ana stops the assembly line and shows me how to work faster, more efficiently. Jenny rolls her eyes... More quality control, Ana tells me to check each bon bon to ensure it’s properly aligned in its tiny compartment, changing our gloves we continue and I get the hang of it. Handling three boxes at a time my fingers fly, grabbing several Creamy Raspberries and Golden Espressos, eyes inspecting, arms flashing.

And then the line yawns to a halt. No more boxes, 500 done, we’re done at last. These are ready to ship to wherever but another 500 will have to be made tomorrow. A sigh escapes, I know it’s over, and peer outside. It’s now dark, the day done, and then I notice something in the window.
A face, a young hipster is peering back, inside at us. Staring from Water Street into the factory, entranced at the line of treats, eyes unblinking, his tongue involuntarily extended... Not mocking but drooling. I smile back but he doesn’t see me, the candies have him hypnotized. Removing cotton gloves I then leave the line and him in the window, longing, tongue wagging.

Wiser now, back aching, rethinking my fantasy, I thank the staff for tolerating me and offer to maybe come in another day, "I can’t do this full-time but..."

"Sorry, we need full-time." Ana refuses with a smile, the stressed scowl she’s been wearing all day now dissolved, orders fulfilled, shelved stocked, she can at last smile. Still, "We need people dedicated to learning. We’re a team, sorry, no, you can’t do this part-time..."

I would like to but know that she’s right. Starting at 9:30am, my mission of working in a chocolate factory is mercifully completed by 6:30pm. So I retreat into the Dumbo night, knowing that I will return. Not as a worker but witness – in the retail shop, browsing, buying, or staring through the factory window – not drooling but smiling, and respecting.