It's the purest chocolate in the world...or so I'm told

I don’t normally fall for TV programmes that are cunningly disguised as an extended advert for a new product. I say normally because recently I did. The programme in question was Willie’s Wonky Chocolate Factory. Over four weeks, it followed the trials and tribulations of Willie Harcourt-Cooze, whose ambition in life is to establish a genuine independent chocolate factory in Britain that sells 100% bars of cacao – which are, essentially, chocolate in its purest form, according to Mr Harcourt-Cooze.

From Venezuela (where he owns a farm that grows the beans) to Devon (where he owns the factory that makes the bars), the show followed Harcourt-Cooze and his wife and children every step of the way. Like all reality TV shows, it was nail-biting stuff. Would the banks lend him enough money? Would he get the antique 20th century machines up and running in time? Would he get to the end of episode two without a request for a divorce from his wife? The drama, as expected, was relentless.

As with all these shows, however, the real cliffhanger – and in a sense the reality – is whether the public will go and buy the product afterwards.

Unsurprisingly, in Harcourt-Cooze’s case, they did. He’s blessed with the kind of infectious, lively and often infuriating personality that would enable him to sell you your own left arm. For those who didn’t watch the show, his product, Venezuelan Black, went on sale in Selfridges shortly after the series ended – a handy coincidence giving that most episodes saw him plead with the London store’s buyer in a sort of inverted Oliver Twist way: “Please sir, can I give you some more.”

Initial runs, made by Harcourt-Cooze and co (his family) at his Devon factory, were snapped up like hot chocolate cakes. It seemed that people couldn’t get enough of his infectious, lively and…well, you get the picture. I found this out when I went down to the store myself to purchase a bar only to have an ashen-faced assistant tell me that, “We’re all out at the minute.”

“When will you be getting some more?” I asked. “In about two weeks,” she replied, the pound signs with little images of Willie on scrolling in her eyes.

Over the following four weeks, I returned to Selfridges most Sundays. In fact, I became such a regular that either the same assistant was waiting for me next to the empty shelf or the same security guard was waiting to usher me out. Thankfully, with legal prosecution and a restraining order looming, last Sunday I got lucky.

I’m now looking at the bars as I write. They’re cylindrical, immaculately wrapped with shiny black paper and gold foil but, worryingly, are still unopened. The closest I’ve come to sampling the product was when I peeled back some of the foil for a sniff. It smelt funny though. Quite pure – he did say it would – and a bit pungent – I don’t remember him saying that. I wrapped it back up, neatly trying to retrace the faultless folds.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased I got my chocolate – all fourteen pounds of it - the only problem is, I don’t know what to do with it. I certainly remember seeing the fantastic recipes that were so cleverly embedded in the documentary about Willie’s chocolate dream, but I don’t know whether I can be bothered to actually make one. And his website might tell me that “Venezuelan Black can be used in a multitude of ways, enriching anything from aromatic truffles, cakes and creamy hot chocolate to dark savoury sauces, gravy and casseroles,” just to entice me a little bit more, but coupling chocolate up with most of those products just sounds wrong.

The latest on Willie Harcourt-Cooze's Venezuelan Black is that his product line is now available in 120 Waitrose stores across the UK. I can’t help thinking, however, that, like me, a lot of other people will get no further than sniffing their purchase. Either that, or a lot of mothers will find themselves adding 100% cacao to the gravy at Christmas. I know mine will.