"Under what name?"
"Thorn Valley Maple." He says it like it's an admission. "Not that it matters. Most people who buy it never see the label. The restaurants rebottle it under their own branding."
"Which restaurants?"
"Does it matter?" he echoes my deflection, a hint of humor in his voice.
I smile despite myself. "Touché."
He continues working, moving between the evaporator and a filtering setup. I find myself watching his hands rather than the process, noting the delicate way he moves. There's something compelling about a person who takes this much care with their craft.
"Would you like to try it?" he asks suddenly.
"Yes, absolutely."
He reaches for a small metal spoon, dipping it into the amber liquid before holding it out. I step forward, taking it slowly.
I touch it to my lips, letting it cool slightly before tasting. The flavor blooms across my tongue in complex layers: sweetness first, then buttery richness, followed by mineral notes and subtle woodiness. It's as extraordinary as it smelled.
"This is—" I start.
"Too sweet for you, probably," he interrupts. "Most people prefer the lighter grades. This is dark amber. More robust."
"I was going to say exceptional. The minerality is perfectly balanced against the caramel notes. There's a brightness that cuts through the richness. Almost like citrus, but it's not citrus."
His expression shifts—surprise, then cautious reassessment.
"It's from the soil composition," he says. "Higher elevation stands get more runoff from the granite outcroppings. Adds trace minerals."
I nod, taking another small taste. "There's a subtle smoky quality too. From the wood you're using in the evaporator?"
Now he looks genuinely startled. "Yes. Cherry and maple. Most people don't pick that up."
"I have a good palate." It's not a boast, just a fact. "This would be incredible with a dark chocolate ganache. Or as a glaze for duck breast with star anise."
He takes the spoon back, our fingers brushing again, intentionally this time. "You'd use this for cooking? It's meant to be appreciated on its own."
"The best ingredients should be both," I counter. "Celebrated for what they are, but also for how they transform other flavors."
"That's... an interesting perspective."
"Just the truth." I glance at the evaporator. "How much longer for this batch?"
"About twenty minutes. Then filtering and bottling."
"Could I try a different grade? For comparison?"
He nods, moving to a shelf where bottles are arranged by color. He selects one, pouring a small amount into a tasting glass.
"Early season. Higher water content, lighter minerality."
I bring it to my nose first. The aroma is lighter, more delicate, floral rather than caramelized.
"Lovely," I murmur, tasting it. "Completely different profile. There's almost a maple blossom quality..."
He watches me taste with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "Most people can't tell the difference."
"I'm not most people."
