Why a cube, and not a bar
2 September 2026 · 5 min read
A bar is designed to be broken. A cube is designed to be finished. That single decision changed everything downstream.
Every bar is a negotiation. You snap off two squares, mean to stop, and the open wrapper sits on the counter arguing with you for the rest of the evening.
The portion is the product
A cube is a decision someone else already made. Twelve grams, wrapped, done, which is why the wrapper is sealed on all four sides rather than folded. There is no half-eaten state to manage.
Clean edges are harder than they look
A cube has twelve edges and eight corners, and every one of them shows a temper fault. A bar hides its flaws in the mould pattern; a cube has nowhere to put them. We reject more than we would with a bar, and the mould is polished weekly rather than monthly.
The M is cast, not stamped
The monogram is cut as a recess into the polycarbonate, so the letter is the chocolate itself rather than something applied to it. Hold a cube flat under a ceiling light and it nearly disappears. Tilt it toward a window and it declares itself.
Same signature form. Clean edges. Rich textures. Real ingredients.
