Just downhill was another staircase, visible as a thin pile of smoke sticking out of the reeds. Under his aluminum roof there was a scene that Mr. Quintero hates to see: shirtless men smoking while working, chickens pecking around, someone coming out on a pile of reed fibers, wooden pans that can produce splinters. But that was the reality of panela in much of Colombia, he admitted.
It was 8 o’clock in the morning, and panela of an unusual, bright golden color was stirred in pans when a pesador named Jimmy Buitrago arrived. He has been weighing the panel at Don Manuel since 5 p.m., and previously at two other stairs. He did not sleep a full night for three days.
Mr. Buitrago, a thin 18-year-old, does not look worse for the dress, as he quickly scoops up the hot dough to form perfect patties of half a kilogram on a table and then stomps it with the initials of the owner of the trapiche. Between fresh pans of hot syrup, he sneaks in for breakfast. He has been doing this for four years, he said.
Mr. Buitrago was unaware of Mr. González’s efforts, or even what was a patent. Lucero Copete, who packed the chilled patties in paper for the market, explained it to him. “He wants exclusivity,” she said. Mr. Buitrago was incredible: “Where is he?”
This panel tasted different from the kind at the industrial plants: richer, smoother and sweeter. “Well, of course!” says Mr. Quintero and point to a heap of red gold stalks waiting to be pressed. “Look at the quality of the cane.”
Panela is more difficult and less predictable than table sugar, said Mr. Quintero explains, because it contains all the ingredients of sugar cane, and not all of them can be adjusted. In small mountain plots like these, individual sugarcane is selected for ripeness. The only addition is a little vegetable oil to keep the caramel from bubbling.
The polycosanol content of this extremely good panel remained indefinite, and the furthest it would ever get was just a few miles away.