Not Pralus' best effort, in spite of being very representative of the bean. Pralus certainly brings out the Arriba's distinctive notes, but in a way that somehow falls flat, leaving one disappointed and wishing for more. Could it be overroasted? With Arriba this might be difficult to do. However, this bar lacks any interesting side notes, being straight down the middle and uncomplicated in flavour. Complexity isn't necessarily a good thing, but this is a bar that will leave you wishing for something to relieve the monotony.

Like all Pralus' bars, this one is both well-finished and easy to see through its transparent wrapper. A side-by-side display is very revealing, showing the Ecuador's intense darkness in contrast to lighter cacaos from other sources. The glossy sheen and lack of mould imperfections contribute to a bar that sets one up for an experience in darkness.

Disappointingly, the flavour is very mild. It's mostly woody and blackberry, very much the standard Arriba aroma. The problem is the power - it's just not there. It's like going to a heavy metal concert only to find the amps dialled down. Arriba needs to be loud and bold. Where is it?

The flavour at least improves on the power quotient. Once again, blackberry comes to the fore. Unfortunately, it falls off all-too-quickly, becoming a flat, walnut and cocoa flavour that itself disappears in a sudden lights-out. OK folks - concert's over, no encore, time to go home. During the performance some hints of almond and vanilla show up, a bit like a good almond biscuit, but still, it's too little, and the party ends too soon. One is prepared for so much and then one gets so little. Inevitably the effect is deflating.

Texture is actually rather appropriate for an Arriba, if by itself not necessarily objectively wonderful - medium-smooth and rather pasty. If the flavour lasted longer and gave us more, it would be a worthwhile bar, but this one just never really materialises. It's really too bad, for with his dark-roast style Pralus could really have made the most of the Arriba bean. Instead, he cuts it off too short, rendering a chocolate that just never gives any real excitement.

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The appearance is superb, resplendent with its mirror-like gloss and imposing with its near-black color—it’s an intimidating looking bar, somewhat snobbish with its obvious beauty but daunting with its stark color. It’s almost taunting you to taste it. But the aroma kills the excitement ruthlessly and offers a meager supplication of blackberries and maybe subtle floral notes. There just isn’t any power here.

There is, however, power in the flavor. But what could be classified as “flavor” could also be labeled as absolutely nothing. It’s easy to get that impression because the blackberries that develop in the beginning quickly taper off and progressively die down as the length continues. It’s a very anticlimactic chocolate, teasing you immediately and then beating back the anticipation with a profile that is indeed quite monotonous.

Like oil and water, Pralus and naturally bold (yet delicately flavored) cacaos do not mix. As the Venezuela and Colombie bars show, dark roasting transforms slabs of chocolate into tombstones, reminding us of the flavor that once existed in the cacao before receiving its death sentence in the roaster. The same rules that applied to those two origins apply here as well, and in the end, all I really want to do is stop staring at the Pralus epitaph on the remaining bar and melt it into hot chocolate.

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