Chapter 4. Breakfast at K'aax Itzà

Where Max meets Itzel, and the adventure begins

Note: Author commentary at the end of the chapter. This commentary is exclusive to the Cacao Muse; you won’t see it on Amazon, my author site, or printed inside the wrappers of my favorite chocolate bars.

“Sooo good! What is this?”

Licking his fingers, Max picked up another slice of the overripe fruit, fried a golden brown.

“Maduro,” replied Doña María, slipping a few more fragrant slices onto his plate. She watched in motherly pride as Max’s face melted in delight. Relatively short in stature as was the genetic habit of her race, Doña María exuded a warmth and simplicity that instantly disarmed.

Max smiled at her.

“Plantain,” translated Jane. “But you’ve had these before, Max. In Texas. Remember?”

“Mm-mm… but not like this! These rock!”

The breakfasts at K'aax Itzà would forever etch their indelible signature into Max’s memory—and palate. Served in the Great House, naj nojoch’ as the K'aax Itzà locals called it, a large open communal structure thatched with palm, the plates were heavy with tortillas, fried eggs, beans, cheeses, mangoes and rich, sweet plantains, enough to sustain a grown man for an entire day. And then there was the hot chocolate. It was like no chocolate Max had ever tasted before. Thick, frothy, spiced with the strong flavor of vanilla, and a few thousand times stronger than the chocolate back home.

Unsure whether this was going to be his next breakfast fave or just another culinary curiosity he’d tell his friends about back home, Max sat for a bit swishing the heady liquid between his cheeks while the adults talked.

“So, yes, it’s an unprecedented project,” Jim Petros continued his conversation with the Hammonds. “Typically of course, different Maya groups tend to stay within their traditional territories, but with the current pressures being placed on their communities—economic, cultural, and environmental—they’re reaching out to try and figure out ways to collaborate, share knowledge, and help each other survive.” Jim took a sip of his chocolate cup, sinking into thought for a brief second. “They don’t want to lose the old ways.”

“How many of these beekeeping workshops have you hosted so far?” asked Jane.

“This is our second year. We try to do one every quarter, or at least six months. As you can imagine it’s not the easiest thing to get everyone together because of the distances and the costs, which we cover, but they love it. They really enjoy the discussions and the knowledge sharing—not to mention all the storytelling, which is such a huge part of their culture.”

Jim gestured toward Don Francisco a few tables away. “Don Francisco in particular knows a ton about stingless bees—that’s why we’ve asked him to be your main guy here.”

“Appreciate that,” said Dr. Hammond. “Yes, the famed Maya stingless bee… Melipona beecheii. I’ve read and heard so much about them, but haven’t yet had the pleasure of seeing one in the ‘bee flesh,’ so to speak. A bit of red tape up north in terms of importation.”

Jim nodded knowingly.

Dr. Hammond nudged Max in mid-chocolate-gulp. “We’re looking forward to our first day, right bud?”

“Uh-huh. I mean, yes, we are.” Max remembered his grown-up table manners. Then it occurred to him he was the only child at his table. He looked around. A few tables away sat a group of local Maya children, talking and laughing together. One of the girls, her black hair rich and lustrous, seemed to share Max’s appreciation for food: stuffed tortilla in one hand and cup of chocolate in the other, her face beamed.

“Um… mom? Can I go sit with them—the kids over there?”

“Sure.”

It would have been natural for a boy like Max to be shy, approaching a group of children in a foreign land by himself. But his travels, along with his Spanish lessons, had trained him well: he strutted over to the table plenty confident.

“¡Hola! Me llamo Max.” (Hi! My name is Max.)