I wanted to return to the village of Tavehua for its artisanal panela – also known a piloncillo. I knew it was in the spring that they pressed the locally grown sugar cane to extract its juice that boils for hours in a humungous caldron until it reaches a syrupy thickness. Only a little calcium carbonate is added to the cane juice before pouring the elixir to cool and harden in handmade clay bowls – pottery being the other local craft. We lucked-out! On the second switchback several men worked at a trapiche along the side of the road. They were feeding the stalks of cane through a press and gestured to us to have a drink. I’d been to this trapiche four years before and it all came back as I walked over to greet, Artemio Montaño, a friendly trim man in his forties. “We don’t have any panela here but we just made a fresh batch so go on up to the house and my mother Leonela will sell you some. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some fresh cane juice?” The boiled and solidified panela is intrinsically more hygienic than the rudimentarily extracted sugarcane juice; I graciously declined. “Remember it’s the house with the bright hanging flowers” he shouted as we got back in the car. Just as I recalled, geraniums spilled down the stone retaining wall on a narrow street perched on an impressively steep slope. It took a bit to find a bow in the street where we could pull off and park. The house full of women, four generations I recon, was strewn with pottery but I was after their panela, pure ambrosia that melts in your mouth like maple syrup fudge. I bought seven kilos of the stuff. Tavehua is so remote, I really hope I’ve bought a year’s supply; I use it in baking and on hot cereal instead of refined or brown sugar. Read this fascinating New York Times article about panela.