Finding Warmth in Zurich’s Chocolate Labyrinth
As I packed my bags for Zurich, I dreamt of chocolate. Switzerland is known for its milk chocolate, of course, but I was delighted to discover a scattering of chocolatiers offering vegan options. On the map, they appeared like tiny beads threaded on a necklace. So, when I stepped out of my hotel on that early November morning, all I wanted to do was slowly wander and follow the thread from bead to bead.
Zurich is made for that kind of meandering. The city’s old town is a tangle of narrow alleyways that twist and spill into courtyards or open suddenly onto the river. I slipped into them gratefully, letting my feet decide where I went next.
Everyone knows about Läderach, and I’d already visited their gleaming storefront on Bahnhofstrasse, the boulevard known for its high-end boutiques. But tucked deeper into the old town was Max Chocolatier. Smaller, quieter, and a little harder to find, it was the sort of place you have to want to visit. I liked that sense of finding something hidden, something that reveals itself only to wanderers willing to look.
When I finally reached it, the shop felt like a warm beacon. The door was propped open, and Christmas decorations glowed in the windows even though the holiday was still nearly two months away. A soft, sweet scent spilled into the alley, part cocoa, part winter spice, earnest and a little whimsical, an invitation to step inside.
What I found wasn’t just chocolate.
It was welcome.
A woman named Maria stood at the counter. When I stepped inside, she lifted her head and smiled as if she’d been expecting me. In a corner at the back of the shop, a hot chocolate maker whirred as it warmed its contents. Its aroma drifted through the room—thick, comforting, sweet—layering itself over the scent of cacao from the display cases. She offered a small tasting cup to anyone who walked in, even those who didn’t buy a thing. The air felt gentle and generous, the way a kitchen does when someone is cooking for you simply because they want to.
She also offered samples and encouraged me to let each piece melt slowly on my tongue. The moment the first round chip touched my palate, it softened into something silky and dark, with a whisper of fruit that bloomed just as it dissolved.
While I waited for each piece to dissolve, she told me stories: how Swiss chocolate began as a prescription for depression (a detail I’m choosing never to forget), and how the shop got its name.
Max, she explained, is the owner’s son. He has Down syndrome and plays a joyful, meaningful role in shaping the business. The pride in her voice was unmistakable. Much of their cocoa isn’t cultivated but foraged—gathered wild in the jungles of Colombia and Costa Rica by communities they partner with and pay fairly. “It’s like truffle hunting,” she said, conjuring an image of treasure seekers combing the jungle trees for something rare and extraordinary.
As she spoke, I realized none of this sounded like a marketing pitch. This was simply how they operated. Ethics and care weren’t something they advertised—they were part of the atmosphere.
At one point, I slipped off my jacket, and a breeze from the open door brushed past. Maria’s eyebrows furrowed, and she gently encouraged me to put it back on to stay warm and avoid catching a cold. It struck me then that her kindness came from the same place as everything she’d told me: a quiet belief in looking after what’s in front of you. The way she fussed over me—softly, matter-of-factly—made the whole encounter feel less like shopping and more like stepping into someone’s kitchen, being handed something comforting, and being told without words, You’re cared for here.
The chocolate itself was rich, complex, and beautifully crafted. Some pieces carried bright, citrusy notes; others held that deep, earthy bitterness that lingers in the best way. And, to my delight, there were so many vegan options. I chose a few to take home and had to refrain from buying them all.
When I finally stepped back into the alleyway—jacket back on, of course—my bag held a small bundle of chocolates. But I carried something else too: a kind of unexpected sweetness that had nothing to do with sugar.
I’d gone wandering in search of a vegan treat. What I found was a reminder of how generosity and craft can turn even a tucked-away shop into a moment of connection.
And as I wandered back into the maze of Zurich’s alleyways, it struck me that this small, warm exchange was the flavor I’d been craving all along.
