Chocolate by Candlelight

One evening in the early 16th century, a warm glow flickered in the kitchen of a Spanish monastery. A Cistercian monk in coarse robes bent over a heavy clay pot, stirring a dark, fragrant liquid by candlelight. The rich aroma of roasted cacao wafted through the stone-walled kitchen, mingling with hints of cinnamon and vanilla. Moments later, he poured the steaming concoction into earthenware cups for his brethren. In this quiet corner of Aragon, within the Monasterio de Piedra’s ancient walls, Europe was about to taste hot chocolate for the very first time. The monks sipped in wonder: the drink was exotic and invigorating, a gift from distant lands. Little did they know, their midnight experiment was a milestone in a journey that had begun centuries earlier in tropical groves across the ocean. It was the humble start of a chocolate tradition that these monastic orders would safeguard and refine for generations.

Thus unfolds the remarkable saga of chocolate by candlelight – the tale of how devoted monks and friars helped carry cacao from the temples of the New World to the monasteries of the Old. Spanning continents and centuries, this history weaves through jungle missions and Baroque abbeys, binding together the sacred and the culinary. Monastic orders such as the Franciscans, Jesuits, Benedictines, and many others played unlikely but pivotal roles in preserving cacao’s ancient legacy, even as they transformed it. In their cloisters, chocolate found new purposes: as spiritual sustenance, medicinal remedy, economic lifeline, and subtle indulgence. Through engaging storytelling and historical fact, let us journey alongside these robed guardians of cacao traditions, whose quiet zeal kept the flame of chocolate burning through the darkest of ages.

Sacred Origins: Cacao in Ancient Rituals

Long before chocolate warmed any European monastery, cacao was revered in the sacred rituals of Mesoamerica. In the lush rainforests of what is now Mexico and Central America, the Maya and Aztec civilizations cultivated the cacao tree and extolled its beans as holy. According to their ancient myths, cacao was a divine gift: the Aztecs said it was given to humans by Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent god, and the Maya revered a cacao deity of their own. Cacao beans were so valuable they served as currency in local markets – one could buy food or cloth with just a handful of beans – yet their worth went far beyond commerce. They were, quite literally, the “food of the gods” in these cultures, used to bridge the earthly and the divine.

In Aztec and Maya religious ceremonies, chocolate drinks played a central role. Far from the sweet confections we know today, these drinks were often thick, bitter infusions of ground cacao sometimes blended with chili pepper, maize, or aromatic flowers. They were consumed by priests and nobles in elaborate rituals. Maya priests performed baptismal ceremonies sprinkling new initiates with water and cacao. At weddings, couples exchanged sips of cocoa as a sign of union. During annual festivals to honor the cacao gods, the air filled with the smell of spiced chocolate as offerings were prepared for the deities. The indigenous peoples believed cacao had a deep connection to the heart and to blood – symbols of life itself. Aztec sacrificial rites even included cups of chocolate dyed red to resemble blood, offered in homage to gods of fertility and war.

Such ceremonies could be intense – replete with incense, chanting, and sometimes even blood-letting – all centered around cacao as a sacred substance. The importance of chocolate was also personal and daily: Aztec warriors drank it for strength before battle, and Montezuma II, the great Aztec emperor, was said to consume dozens of golden goblets of chocolate a day to sustain his vigor. To him and his contemporaries, this stimulating elixir was far more than a treat; it was a potent medicine and a spiritual potion. Cacao could heal ailments, invigorate the weary, and perhaps even kindle passions (as Montezuma believed it to be an aphrodisiac). In every sense, chocolate in the New World was a drink of power – economic power, medical power, and spiritual power.

Imagine the scene as Spanish conquistadors and Catholic missionaries first encountered this phenomenon in the early 1500s. Here was a simple bean that local peoples treated as treasure, crafting it into a bitter brew frothed to a foamy head and served with the gravity of a sacrament. To Europeans accustomed to wine and ale, the initial taste was puzzling – “loathsome” to some at first sip – but the effects were undeniably energizing. More startling, however, was cacao’s spiritual status among the natives. Friars fresh off the galleons found themselves witnessing cacao rituals that challenged their understanding: frothy chocolate offered up to pagan idols, or used in place of wine in indigenous feasts of the dead. For these missionaries, charged with converting souls to Christianity, the ubiquity of cacao in “heathen” rites was a concern. Could something so tied to non-Christian worship be safely embraced, or was it an infidel brew to be purged?

Despite their misgivings, the Spaniards could not ignore cacao’s importance. Pragmatism and curiosity prevailed. The invaders learned that without cacao, local economies faltered and social bonds strained; even colonial authorities and clergy began using cacao beans to pay workers or purchase supplies in regions where coin was scarce. And many a missionary, after long days of preaching and travel under the tropical sun, was grateful for a cup of the locals’ chocolate to revive his strength. Little by little, the Spaniards came to appreciate cacao’s allure. Some dubbed the drink “the Indian nectar,” and one early adventurer even extolled it as “a manna from heaven.” If this mysterious beverage could win over hardened conquistadors, perhaps it truly was a gift from God – or at least a gift worth bringing back home. And so the journey of chocolate from Aztec altars to Spanish abbeys quietly began.

From Aztec Altars to Spanish Abbeys

In 1521, the Aztec capital Tenochtitlán fell to Hernán Cortés, and with its collapse, the Spanish gained not only an empire but also an introduction to chocolate. Cortés and his men had seen firsthand the reverence with which the Aztec court treated cacao. They observed Emperor Montezuma’s court rituals and tasted the strange spiced cocoa that was served in ornate cups. While some Spaniards recoiled at its bitterness, others developed a curious taste for the brew – especially after learning to temper it with sugar or honey. Stories spread of chocolate’s fortifying properties. As the Spanish established themselves in Mexico (Nueva España), a few enterprising souls began experimenting: what if this bitter potion could be made sweeter, more suited to European palates? Colonists’ wives and local nuns in Mexico City’s convents started blending chocolate with Old World ingredients like cane sugar, cinnamon, and almonds. A new, hybrid form of chocolate was quietly taking shape in the New World, even as its fame began to trickle across the ocean.

The first major transfer of cacao tradition from indigenous to European hands came through the Catholic missionaries and explorers. Friars of orders like the Franciscans and Dominicans were among the earliest to live among Mesoamerican communities, learning their languages and customs. These learned men documented everything – from religious practices to recipes. One Franciscan friar, Bernardino de Sahagún, compiled an encyclopedic account of Aztec life (the Florentine Codex) in which he described cacao trees and the preparation of chocolate drinks. The friars were fascinated by how something as simple as a roasted bean could be ground and whipped into a potent, foam-topped beverage with spiritual significance. They carefully noted the indigenous methods of toasting cacao beans on clay comals, grinding them on stone metates, and mixing the paste with hot water and spices. Some of these missionaries grew to appreciate the taste themselves and began to wonder: Could chocolate be a bridge rather than a barrier between cultures?

Legend holds that not long after the conquest, around 1544, a delegation of Kekchi Mayan nobles traveled from Guatemala to Spain, escorted by Dominican friars, and presented the Spanish court with jars of foaming chocolate. The exotic drink caused a sensation among the Spanish nobility, who found it intriguing if not immediately delicious. Whether or not that particular event is true, we do know that by the 1540s and 1550s, cacao beans and recipes were making their way to Europe, often in the hands of traveling monks or colonial officials. One pivotal figure was Friar Jerónimo de Aguilar – a Spaniard who had lived among the Maya as a castaway before aiding Cortés. Aguilar, having acquired a taste for chocolate in the New World, is said to have brought cacao beans and an authentic recipe back to Spain in the early 1530s.

Those precious beans found a receptive home in the Monasterio de Piedra, a secluded Cistercian abbey in northern Spain. There, in 1534, the abbot and his monks conducted a culinary experiment that would change history: using Aguilar’s Aztec recipe as a base, they prepared the first hot chocolate ever made on European soil. One can imagine their initial brew, faithfully following the New World style – ground cocoa mixed with hot water. The result was a dark, bitter tonic, rich in caffeine and theobromine, unlike any European drink of the time. The monks, determined to adapt this “sacred drink” to European tastes, soon began to tinker. They had on hand the fruits of Spain’s burgeoning global trade: cane sugar from the Caribbean, cinnamon and vanilla from the Indies. Stirring these sweeteners and spices into the cacao, the monks transformed the austere Aztec beverage into something new: silky, sweet hot chocolate – at once a medicine, a delicacy, and a source of wonder.

Word of the monks’ chocolate spread quickly through ecclesiastical and aristocratic circles. Spain’s elite were enthralled. By the late 1500s, shipments of cacao beans became a regular part of galleon cargoes from Vera Cruz to Seville. But for a time, the secret of preparing chocolate remained largely confined to Spain – and often specifically to monastic kitchens and apothecaries. Spanish monks, by virtue of their literacy and cross-ocean connections, became early transmitters of cacao knowledge. A monastery might receive a crate of dried cacao beans sent by a brother stationed in Guatemala or Peru, along with instructions on roasting and brewing. These monks would then introduce the drink to visiting dignitaries or fellow clergymen. In an age when monasteries were hubs of learning and hospitality, a new recipe could travel far along monastic networks. Through the 1570s and 1580s, delegates to church councils, traveling priests, and envoys carried tales of a marvelous chocolate drink from Spain to Italy, to France, and beyond.

Indeed, a Spanish princess is credited with bringing chocolate to the French court in 1615, but behind that diplomatic marriage gift lay decades of monastic experimentation and refinement. The Cistercian brothers of Zaragoza, and other Spanish religious orders, had by then truly mastered the art of chocolate-making. They taught others how to grind the roasted beans to a fine paste, how to foam the drink with a carved wooden whisk (the molinillo), and crucially, how to balance cacao’s bitterness with sugar and spice. This monastic innovation had monumental effect: it turned chocolate from an acquired indigenous taste into a seductive European treat. What began as a sacrificial beverage in an Aztec temple had become a coveted treat in Spanish abbeys – and soon in royal palaces. A new chapter in chocolate’s history was opening, and at its heart were the quiet, candle-lit laboratories of monks.

The Monastic Chocolate Revolution

As chocolate took root in Europe, it was the monasteries and convents that often nurtured its growth. The drink’s rise in popularity during the 17th century owed much to the Church’s enclaves, where innovation met tradition. Monks and nuns were among the first Europeans to consume chocolate routinely, and in doing so they spurred a revolution in taste and practice. Inside monastery refectories (dining halls), one might find the unusual sight of robed ascetics enjoying a steaming cup of rich cocoa alongside their morning prayers. What made this permissible? For one, chocolate was seen as a form of medicine and nourishment – and importantly, it was liquid. According to the prevailing interpretations of religious fasting rules, liquids did not break the fast. This technicality made chocolate especially attractive in monasteries, where many days were set aside for fasting or abstinence. A cup of cacao offered both comfort and calories on those austere days when solid food was limited. One observer wryly noted that in certain Spanish cloisters, monks would practically live on “chocolate and bread” during Lent, considering the former not only allowable but divinely fortifying.

The practical benefits of chocolate did not go unnoticed. Replacing a meal with a hot, frothy cacao drink gave weary monks the energy to carry on long chants and manual labor without “technically” violating any rules. It was, as the Cistercians of Piedra put it, “the perfect monastic drink” – sustaining yet allowed. Naturally, this practice raised eyebrows and soon sparked debate within the Church. What started as a quiet monastic custom was about to become a full-fledged chocolate controversy. By the early 1600s, questions swirled through theological halls: Was drinking chocolate during fasting days a loophole or a lie? Did adding sugar or milk turn it into a food, thus breaking the fast? Different orders took different stances, and the issue became surprisingly heated.

In Spain and its colonies, opinions split sharply among religious orders. The Jesuits, ever pragmatic and worldly, generally approved of chocolate’s use. Jesuit missionaries had spent time in the Americas and knew the value of cacao; many of them enjoyed chocolate and encouraged its moderate consumption. They argued that as long as one did not add meat, egg, or too much milk to it, chocolate remained a drink – essentially an energizing “tea” or “broth” – and thus posed no violation of fasting. On the other hand, the Dominicans – known for their stricter outlook – voiced strong objections. Some Dominican friars thundered from the pulpit that chocolate was an indulgence, a luxury that had no place in the refectory on fast days (or perhaps any day, for truly ascetic souls). They warned that chocolate’s rich taste could tempt one into gluttony or distract from pious focus. In their eyes, sipping sweet chocolate was a slippery slope towards worldly excess.

It did not help matters that the Jesuits had a clear economic interest in chocolate. By the 17th century, the Jesuit order had acquired or developed cacao plantations in parts of South America (notably in Amazonia and coastal Brazil). Their missions oversaw the cultivation of tens of thousands of cacao trees, yielding beans that filled the coffers of Jesuit schools and churches. Critics – including some Dominicans – whispered that the Jesuits defended chocolate’s pious status mainly because it lined their pockets. The Jesuits retorted that cacao was a gift of God’s creation and that they managed it responsibly for the good of their communities. This war of words played out in sermons, letters, and even academic tracts dedicated entirely to the morality of chocolate.

By the 1630s, the debate had grown so intense that learned men felt compelled to weigh in with formal treatises. In Seville, a scholarly cleric published a 238-page dissertation in 1636 pointedly titled “A Question of Morality: Does Drinking Chocolate Break the Fast?” After much reasoning, he concluded that drinking chocolate was acceptable, albeit with a caveat: it should be taken only once a day when fasting, not to become a feast unto itself. Yet not everyone was convinced. A few years earlier, in 1591, a physician (aligned with more conservative churchmen) had argued the opposite – that chocolate, being made from a bean (a foodstuff), certainly broke the fast and even posed health risks if abused. Meanwhile, another voice – a former cocoa planter turned historian in 1609 – extolled chocolate’s health benefits and suggested it was too useful to ban. The arguments ping-ponged through ecclesiastical courts and social circles alike.

Church services themselves became a stage for the chocolate drama. In the colony of New Spain (Mexico), attending Mass could be an hours-long affair, and wealthy parishioners were accustomed to bring along refreshments. It became fashionable for ladies in church to sip hot chocolate during the sermon – ostensibly to prevent fainting in the stifling heat. In one famous incident in the 1640s, the Bishop of Chiapas grew outraged at this practice. Scandalized that his flock was treating the Holy Mass like a café, he banned chocolate in church outright and threatened to excommunicate anyone caught drinking it during services. The high-born women of Chiapas, who adored their “medicinal” chocolate, were not pleased. According to legend, their retaliation was swift and deadly: the Bishop was soon found dead by poisoning, and rumor swirled that a cup of chocolate laced with venom had been his last indulgence. The phrase “Beware the chocolate of Chiapas” entered folklore – a cautionary tale of how dearly people would cling to their cup of cacao, even over the decrees of a bishop.

Shocking anecdotes aside, the question of chocolate and fasting ultimately reached the highest authority in Christendom. In the 1660s, Pope Alexander VII took it upon himself to settle the matter. The story goes that the Pope, after hearing endless petitions and perhaps after tasting chocolate for himself, declared with Jesuitical precision: “Liquidum non frangit jejunum” – “Liquids do not break the fast.” With this subtle ruling, a cup of plain chocolate (made with water, not with fat or meat) was officially deemed permissible on fasting days. Alexander VII’s pronouncement (echoing a common saying of the time) finally gave the monastic chocoholics the Church’s blessing. Of course, there were qualifiers: if one added things like milk, egg yolk, or bread to the chocolate – common enrichments by the 17th century – that crossed the line into nourishment and would break the fast. But a straightforward hot cocoa-water drink was allowed, much to the relief of monks and nuns across Europe and the Americas.

Not all discipline was relaxed, however. Even after the Pope’s decision, individual orders maintained their own rules. For example, the reformed Carmelite monks, inspired by St. Teresa of Ávila’s ascetic ideals, initially allowed their nuns to take chocolate as a consolation. Carmelite nuns in Spain were known to enjoy a cup to stave off the rigors of their penances. But conservative members of the order grew uneasy with the practice. In one Madrid convent, the monks in charge imposed a ban on chocolate for the nuns, considering it a frivolous pleasure. The dismayed nuns actually petitioned the Spanish queen, Margarita of Austria, in hopes of reversing the ban. The Queen – herself a chocolate lover at court – sympathized and attempted to intercede on their behalf. Yet even royal favor could not overturn the ruling of the Carmelite superiors. The Pope (likely hearing one more chocolate-related request with exasperation) upheld the monks’ decision. The nuns would have to relinquish their cherished cups in obedience. Such episodes show how contentious chocolate had become within holy walls – straddling the line between necessity and luxury, between piety and indulgence.

By the late 17th century, the dust had settled: chocolate was here to stay in Christendom, not only as a secular delicacy but as a common part of monastic life. In Spain, Italy, France, and beyond, one could find devout monks and nuns quietly whisking their morning chocolate or offering a cup to visitors in the parlor. Far from eroding discipline, many argued, chocolate had helped monks persevere in their devotions. As one cardinal in Rome openly wrote, chocolate could be a “food” if taken thick with additives, but in its pure liquid form it was a “drink for fasts and feasts alike.” This tacit acceptance allowed the traditions around cacao to flourish further. The controversy had, in a sense, legitimized chocolate, sparking even more interest in obtaining the best beans and perfecting recipes. And that, in turn, meant cultivation and supply had to increase – a mission field where monastic orders would again play a starring role.

Missions, Plantations, and the Cacao Economy

Even as debates raged in European chapels, across the seas in the tropical Americas a more practical task was underway: growing the cacao itself. Demand for chocolate was exploding among Europe’s elite and within monastic communities, and the supply of wild or cultivated cacao in Mesoamerica could barely keep up. So, throughout the 1600s and 1700s, Catholic monastic orders became deeply involved in the cacao economy – as planters, producers, and exporters of the precious beans. This involvement is a complex chapter, blending uplift and exploitation, but one thing is clear: without the organizational skills and global reach of these orders, cacao might never have spread as widely as it did.

The Jesuits, in particular, distinguished themselves as pioneers of cacao cultivation outside the traditional growing areas. In the Amazon basin and parts of coastal South America, Jesuit missionaries established large missions that were both spiritual communities and agricultural enterprises. Along the great rivers of the Amazon and Orinoco, they encountered wild cacao growing in abundance. Seeing an opportunity, the Jesuits began to domesticate those wild cacao trees, setting up plantations on mission lands. By the 1690s, reports from Jesuit superiors noted tens of thousands of cacao trees flourishing under their care, tended by indigenous workers who had been converted and, in theory, protected within the mission system. The fertile soils of the Amazon and the Jesuits’ rigorous approach to agriculture yielded cacao of fine quality. These beans were harvested, fermented, and packed into sacks emblazoned perhaps with the IHS emblem (the seal of the Society of Jesus), then sent downriver to coastal ports. From there, merchant ships carried the cacao to Spain, or sometimes overland to Lima and on to other colonies. Profits from these ventures helped fund Jesuit schools, churches, and charitable works across the Americas. In essence, the Jesuits became major cacao exporters, their networks spanning from the jungle mission stations to the trading houses of Cádiz.

Their involvement was not purely mercantile; it also had the effect of transplanting cacao to new regions. Jesuit botanists studied the plant closely and shared knowledge about its cultivation. They experimented with planting cacao in regions like the Philippines – another Spanish colony where Jesuits and other orders had a presence. By the late 17th century, cacao trees were growing in Asia’s soils as well, introduced via the Spanish Manila galleons. It was often missionaries or friars who carried a few seedlings or sacks of beans to plant in the Philippines, hoping to provide local Christian communities with a source of income and a taste of a drink that reminded them of home. Thus, chocolate’s realm quietly expanded to the islands of the Pacific, again with monks at the helm.

Other orders took part in the cacao boon too. The Franciscans, who had been early evangelists in Central America, encouraged cacao planting among indigenous villagers in Guatemala and Nicaragua, teaching cultivation methods to ensure a stable local supply. In parts of colonial Mexico, Franciscan and Dominican friars acted as intermediaries in the cacao trade, helping native growers get fair prices for their crops (at least in the ideal telling) and ensuring the church received its tithes in cacao beans, which could be traded onward. Even cloistered nunneries in Mexico City became small-scale entrepreneurs: some convents were famous for the chocolate confections their sisters made and sold to support their charitable works. For example, the convent of Santa Clara produced such renowned spiced cocoa tablets and cookies that “Clarissa chocolate” became a byword for quality in New Spain.

Yet the Jesuits remained the most globally influential cacao custodians. Not without reason did some skeptics jest that “Jesuits would argue chocolate’s sanctity even if it were poison – for they grow rich on it.” Setting aside the cynicism, it’s true the Society of Jesus leveraged its far-flung network to turn cacao into a global commodity. They negotiated with Spanish governors and Portuguese colonists alike to acquire lands ideal for cacao trees (shaded beneath banana and cedar canopies). In what is today Venezuela, Jesuits helped manage plantations that supplied the lion’s share of cacao consumed in Spain by 1700. When the order was abruptly expelled from Spanish territories in 1767 (due to political conflicts with the Crown), their estates – including thriving cacao farms – were taken over by local authorities or private landowners. But by then, the cacao industry was robust enough to continue without them, a testament to the groundwork they had laid.

Meanwhile, back in Europe, some monastic communities found a role at the other end of the supply chain: processing and refining the cacao beans that arrived in ships’ cargoes. Monasteries historically were self-supporting economic units; many brewed beer, pressed wine, or manufactured goods. In the 18th century, a few monasteries in Spain, France, and Italy added chocolate-making to their artisanal output. They would receive sacks of beans, roast them in large pans over monastery fires, and grind them with sugar on heated slabs. The resulting chocolate paste was formed into small bricks or tablets, sometimes flavored with anise, cinnamon, or other herbs from monastic gardens. These chocolates could be sold to local gentry or traded for other necessities. In some regions, the very first “chocolate shops” were simply apothecary counters or monks’ stalls offering these handmade cocoa tablets which customers would then dissolve in hot water or milk at home.

By the 1700s, chocolate had become a significant economic resource in many Catholic colonies, and the Church – via its missions and monastic holdings – stood among the beneficiaries. Cacao beans were even used as currency in parts of Spanish America for everyday transactions (a practice inherited from pre-Columbian times). Imagine a mission priest in rural Guatemala, collecting cacao beans in lieu of coins from his parishioners during Sunday offertory; those beans might later be used by the monastery cook or sent to market to buy building materials for the church. In this way, cacao underpinned the mission economy, blurring the line between the sacred and the mundane.

Yet, with all this growth, the monastic orders also acted as stewards of quality and tradition. They ensured that cacao cultivation techniques were passed on and improved. They taught generations of local farmers how to graft better cacao trees, how to ferment and dry the beans properly (critical steps to develop chocolate’s flavor), and how to prepare the drink in the time-honored way. If not for the stability and relative continuity of mission settlements, some of that delicate knowledge might have been lost in the upheavals of colonization. In effect, monks kept cacao traditions alive on the production side just as much as on the consumption side. Through droughts, wars, and political shifts, the mission orchards of cacao endured – silent orchards tended by determined hands in simple habits, dreaming perhaps of a heavenly reward but content meanwhile with a cup of earthly chocolate.

Elixirs and Apothecaries: Chocolate as Medicine

Why were monks and nuns so taken with chocolate in the first place? Part of the answer lies in its reputation as a medicinal elixir. From the start, Europeans learned about cacao’s health benefits from indigenous sources. The Aztecs and Maya had long used cacao in healing: to reduce fever, ease stomach troubles, combat fatigue, and even as a remedy for anemia or heart palpitations. These uses were recorded in early colonial codices and reports. European doctors in the 16th century eagerly took note. In 1552, for example, a Spanish physician in Mexico City co-authored the Badianus Manuscript (an herbal guide) which listed cacao-based brews for ailments ranging from angina to diarrhea. Such findings dovetailed with the Renaissance European approach of seeking new world cures for old world maladies.

Monastic infirmaries and apothecaries became natural early homes for chocolate. In Catholic Europe, many monasteries ran their own pharmacies, formulating remedies for monks and the public. The learned friars who staffed these apothecaries often read the latest scientific and medical texts. By the early 17th century, treatises on the “virtues of chocolate” were circulating, and monks would have been among the literate elite privy to them. One famous treatise, by a Spanish doctor named Antonio Colmenero de Ledesma in 1631, extolled chocolate’s therapeutic qualities and even provided recipes (including one monastic-friendly version with achiote for coloring and spice). Monks tested these claims firsthand. After a dusty day in the fields or a long evening copying manuscripts by candlelight, a brother might take a dose of chocolate – sometimes mixed with cinnamon or orange blossom – and find his weariness relieved. It seemed to lift the mood and stimulate the body gently, much like the “nerve tonics” that herbalist monks were already concocting from ginseng or sage.

In many monasteries, chocolate began as a remedy and evolved into a daily tonic. A chronically ill abbot might be prescribed a cup of hot chocolate each morning to settle his digestion; an elderly nun might take a bit of cocoa with milk at night to help her sleep (hot chocolate has a calming, almost sedative effect on some). These were real treatments in an era when humoral medicine saw food and drink as key to balancing the body. The fact that chocolate was delicious certainly encouraged compliance with these “prescriptions”! Across baroque Europe, the use of chocolate as medicine became so accepted that one could purchase chocolate tablets in pharmacies, pre-mixed with sugar and spices, ready to dissolve in water as a healing draught. And who made these tablets? Often it was monastic apothecaries or enterprising lay pharmacists using monastic recipes.

One renowned example of monastic pharmaceutical tradition is the Officina Profumo-Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella in Florence, run by Dominican friars since the 17th century. Famous for its herbal liquors and remedies, this apothecary almost certainly dealt in cacao. Historical records from similar institutions show that they stocked cocoa powder and even concocted chocolate-based syrups and liqueurs for health. If you walked into such a shop in the 1750s with complaints of low energy or melancholy, the friar dispensing medicines might recommend a daily cup of chocolate to “enliven the spirits and nourish the blood.” Unlike many quack cures of the time, chocolate actually often did make patients feel better, thanks to its gentle stimulants and rich nutrients.

The medicinal reputation of chocolate helped it gain acceptance among even the initially skeptical. Many Church authorities who frowned on idle luxuries could be persuaded by the argument that chocolate was essentially a kind of drinkable medicine. After all, wine had long been considered a healthful tonic in moderation, even a symbol of sacred blood in the Eucharist. Chocolate, some argued, was not so different – a natural creation of God intended for our well-being if used rightly. Monks wrote of chocolate’s ability to “close the stomach” (meaning to cure hunger pangs), to alleviate coughing, and to strengthen one’s capacity for study and prayer by banishing drowsiness. In monasteries dedicated to learning, like those of the Jesuits and Benedictines, a cup of cocoa could fuel late-night scholarship as effectively as coffee would in later centuries. It became the monastic equivalent of a strong cup of tea – a source of clarity and vigor.

Beyond the monasteries, this healing image carried chocolate into general society, but often it was monks and nuns who served as the messengers. Consider the midwife-nuns who ran hospitals, the kindly friars who tended to the sick poor – many of them incorporated chocolate into their caregiving. In Mexico, the Hermanas de la Caridad (Sisters of Charity) famously gave cups of cinnamon-laced hot chocolate to patients in convalescence, believing it would speed recovery. In France, certain Carmelite sisters specialized in crafting chocolate pastilles mixed with ground lemon balm and other herbs, sold as calming sweets to soothe anxiety. Even in distant missions in the Philippines or Africa, where Western medicine was scarce, missionaries sometimes distributed cocoa as a restorative to those weakened by illness or hunger. In essence, chocolate functioned as both food and pharmacy, and the monastic orders embraced that duality.

Of course, not all uses were strictly clinical. We must admit the monks enjoyed the taste and comfort of chocolate as much as anyone. The line between taking medicine and indulging in a treat can be delightfully blurred when it comes to something like a warm chocolate drink. Chocolate’s mood-lifting effects – thanks to compounds that stimulate pleasure receptors – did not go unnoticed. A 18th-century Benedictine abbess once wryly commented that her nuns were far more cheerful on chocolate days, singing their psalms with added sweetness. Whether by design or happy side effect, the medical adoption of chocolate ensured it a lasting place in monastic life and European culture. By the eighteenth century, the idea of chocolate as a rare sacred beverage had expanded: it was now a beloved everyday potion, equally at home in a monk’s cup, an apothecary’s jar, or a noble’s drawing-room. What remained constant was the aura of goodness surrounding it – a sense that chocolate was not only delicious, but somehow beneficial and even virtuous.

Legacy of a Sacred Brew

From the sacred groves of the Maya to the candlelit cells of Trappist monks, the journey of chocolate is a tapestry of devotion, innovation, and cross-cultural exchange. It’s astonishing to think that a simple cacao bean, once used by priests in pre-Christian temples, found a second life nurtured in Christian monasteries. Monastic orders kept cacao traditions alive during critical chapters of history, when tastes and technologies were changing rapidly. They were the intermediaries between the indigenous wisdom of the Americas and the eager appetite of Europe, ensuring that the essence of chocolate survived even as it was transformed.

By the 19th century, chocolate had left the cloister and entered the factory; industrial processes made it cheaper and more widely available to the masses. One might assume the monks then faded from chocolate history – but that’s not the case. In fact, some religious communities adapted and became chocolatiers themselves in the modern age. In Rome, for instance, a group of Trappist monks famously began producing their own line of chocolate bars and liqueurs in the 1880s. Using cacao beans imported from distant mission lands and following a secret recipe, these Trappists of the Tre Fontane Abbey created confections so beloved that “Trappist chocolate” became a celebrated local brand. They won prizes at international fairs, and to this day visitors to the Abbey can purchase chocolate made according to the monks’ guarded methods – a sweet reminder that the monastic touch still lends magic to cacao.

Likewise, in far-flung places, new monastic chocolate traditions have sprung up. In Central Europe, Benedictine and Trappistine nuns now make exquisite chocolate truffles to support their convents. In the United States, the Brigittine monks of Oregon have earned renown for their handmade fudge and rich truffles, crafted in the peaceful silence of their monastery workshop. It seems that wherever monasteries exist, the affinity for chocolate is never far behind – a humble continuation of centuries of practice. The modern monk working over a tempering machine or stirring a copper pot of ganache is not so different from that 16th-century brother stirring his clay pot over coals. In both scenarios, chocolate by candlelight symbolizes comfort, creativity, and a labor of love.

Beyond the literal making of chocolate, the monastic legacy lives on in our very approach to this food. The idea of sipping hot chocolate for solace, of gifting a box of fine chocolates for well-being, of taking a small piece of dark chocolate each day “for your health” – all echo the themes championed by monks long ago. We treasure chocolate as something almost transcendent, a little luxury with almost mystical power to soothe and cheer. It’s easy to forget that we owe much of this to those unsung brothers and sisters who bridged the gap between an ancient Aztec rite and a global habit. They experimented with recipes by midnight lamp, debated morality over cups of cocoa, and planted orchards in untamed lands – all so that the chain of tradition would remain unbroken.

Today, chocolate is enjoyed in countless forms by people of every creed and nation. It is thoroughly secularized and commercial, found in supermarket aisles and vending machines. Yet, if we peel back the layers of time, we find a rich spiritual heritage infused in every chocolate bar. The meticulous craft of the chocolatier has roots in the monastery; the concept of chocolate as solace harks back to the cloister; even the very spices we associate with good chocolate (vanilla, cinnamon) were first combined with cacao in those monastic kitchens experimenting with New World flavors. In a sense, every cup of hot cocoa or square of truffle we savor is a tiny heirloom handed down by monastic hands.

As evening falls and one perhaps lights a candle on a cold night, consider making a cup of old-fashioned hot chocolate – dark and spiced, whipped to a froth in the style the monks learned from the Aztecs. Wrap your hands around the warm cup and breathe in the aroma. In that simple pleasure, you partake in a ritual that spans centuries and continents. You may hear, in the quiet of your mind, the echo of Gregorian chant from a distant refectory, or the rustle of cacao leaves in a mission orchard, or the whispers of Aztec priests invoking their gods. Chocolate by candlelight invites us to taste history. It is the story of how something as small as a bean can inspire devotion, how knowledge can be preserved through turmoil, and how the love of a good drink can unite very different worlds. The next time chocolate delights your senses, remember those watchful guardians in their monasteries – the Jesuits, the Franciscans, the Benedictines, the Carmelites – who kept the faith in cacao alive. Their legacy lives on in every luscious sip, a quiet toast across time to the monks in the cloisters, stirring their pots, keeping the light of cacao tradition aglow against the darkness.