Who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it with dew? Cover it with chocolate and a miracle or two? Chuck Smith, that's who.
The next installment of "Tom On the Job" takes us to a wonderland of chocolatey goodness in Daytona Beach, Angell & Phelps.
Stepping through the doors of the historic establishment on Beach Street takes you back to the company's roots during the Prohibition days. Opened in 1925 by Riddell Angell and Cora Phelps, the candy compound was purchased by the late Dr. Alvin Smith, a Daytona native, in 1983.
Arriving at Angell & Phelps with entourage in tow, I meet with Chuck Smith. Smith is the son of Dr. Alvin Smith who along with his brother Al, runs the cocoa mecca.
"Well we're going to have you play in some chocolate today," Smith tells me. "We'll make some molds, some (chocolate covered) potato chips. We'll even make some orange creams."
Just try and contain your excitement when someone tells you that.
Our day starts off with a table full of orange cream mix. The cooked mix has the consistency of mortar. It's thick, sticky and when you work it to get the bubbles out and cool off, more sticks to your gloves than the table. (Well, it did for me.)
After allowing the mixture to cool, it's put into a press. With some maneuvering, the mixture is formed into perfect orange. "They're too hot right now," Smith says. "We'll let them sit overnight and tomorrow we'll coat them in chocolate. (That last part can be applied to pretty much everything in the building.)
"A good presser can press about 420 pounds of creams in a seven hour shift," Smith tells me. I did approximately 10 pounds in 20 minutes. That's 30 pounds an hour or 210 pounds in a seven hour shift. I think I'll stick with this journalism thing.
After the creams, it's a stop at the chocolate mold area.
Any chocolate designs, be they seashells, CDs or ice cream cones, are done in plastic molds. Smith takes us to a wondrous machine that shoots chocolate like a faucet from the heavens.
After showing me a couple of times, Chuck slows the flow of chocolate, which comes out in spurts like a tasty jet blast, and hands me a mold.
My first attempt at seashells goes remarkably well. Fill in the mold,
place the mold on a vibrating table which evens out the chocolate and
then put it on a tray that is destined for the refrigerator.
And then I get a little cocky.
"Turn up the speed, Chuck," I exclaim. He does so knowing full well the next few molds will be unusable. "No harm done," Smith tells me. "We can just remelt these."
Admitting defeat, it's on to something else. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a big bag of potato chips and a conveyor belt.
"We've been doing (chocolate covered potato chips) for about six years now," Smith explains. "A customer came in and wanted them and we've been doing them ever since."
The chips are placed on a conveyor belt and the bottoms are coated by hand. They make their way down the line where they are then drenched by a waterfall of chocolate like a woman in one of those Irish Spring commercials. Then the process gets tricky.
Because of the shape of the chips, they tend to get overcoated and smothered in chocolate. Therefore, each individual chip must be wiped by hand, leaving just the right amount of coating. Smith has agreed to let me try this.
It is a fair assumption that I will never work in a chocolate factory. After just a few seconds, I am bogged down in an onslaught of salty snacks and most are heading to the finished line doused in chocolate.
"Lot of chocolate on those chips," Smith says as if I am unaware that I am destroying this latest batch. "Ah, the worse that can happen is they have too much chocolate and not many people are going to complain about that."
But after letting me know that I wasn't ruining his business, Smith tells me "I think you did better on the molds."
As we finish up for the day, Smith assures me that the day wasn't an absolute disaster. "Actually you did pretty well," he says. "Better than most."
Thanks, Chuck. But I think your title as resident candy man is intact.
Our day starts off with a table full of orange cream mix. The cooked mix has the consistency of mortar. It's thick, sticky and when you work it to get the bubbles out and cool off, more sticks to your gloves than the table. (Well, it did for me.)
After allowing the mixture to cool, it's put into a press. With some maneuvering, the mixture is formed into perfect orange. "They're too hot right now," Smith says. "We'll let them sit overnight and tomorrow we'll coat them in chocolate. (That last part can be applied to pretty much everything in the building.)
"A good presser can press about 420 pounds of creams in a seven hour shift," Smith tells me. I did approximately 10 pounds in 20 minutes. That's 30 pounds an hour or 210 pounds in a seven hour shift. I think I'll stick with this journalism thing.
After the creams, it's a stop at the chocolate mold area.
Any chocolate designs, be they seashells, CDs or ice cream cones, are done in plastic molds. Smith takes us to a wondrous machine that shoots chocolate like a faucet from the heavens.
After showing me a couple of times, Chuck slows the flow of chocolate, which comes out in spurts like a tasty jet blast, and hands me a mold.
My first attempt at seashells goes remarkably well. Fill in the mold,
place the mold on a vibrating table which evens out the chocolate and
then put it on a tray that is destined for the refrigerator. And then I get a little cocky.
"Turn up the speed, Chuck," I exclaim. He does so knowing full well the next few molds will be unusable. "No harm done," Smith tells me. "We can just remelt these."
Admitting defeat, it's on to something else. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a big bag of potato chips and a conveyor belt.
"We've been doing (chocolate covered potato chips) for about six years now," Smith explains. "A customer came in and wanted them and we've been doing them ever since."
The chips are placed on a conveyor belt and the bottoms are coated by hand. They make their way down the line where they are then drenched by a waterfall of chocolate like a woman in one of those Irish Spring commercials. Then the process gets tricky.
Because of the shape of the chips, they tend to get overcoated and smothered in chocolate. Therefore, each individual chip must be wiped by hand, leaving just the right amount of coating. Smith has agreed to let me try this.
It is a fair assumption that I will never work in a chocolate factory. After just a few seconds, I am bogged down in an onslaught of salty snacks and most are heading to the finished line doused in chocolate.
"Lot of chocolate on those chips," Smith says as if I am unaware that I am destroying this latest batch. "Ah, the worse that can happen is they have too much chocolate and not many people are going to complain about that."
But after letting me know that I wasn't ruining his business, Smith tells me "I think you did better on the molds."
As we finish up for the day, Smith assures me that the day wasn't an absolute disaster. "Actually you did pretty well," he says. "Better than most."
Thanks, Chuck. But I think your title as resident candy man is intact.
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