How Frozili Was Born? A story of sugar, science, and stubbornness

Chapter 1: A Lab Full of Smoke, Sugar, and Hope

It began with a few boxes of ingredients, a stove that barely worked, and a wild idea:
What if we could make a hard candy that didn’t just taste good, but felt like something new?

So we did what any reasonable people would do:
We turned our workspace into a sugar lab.

We bought everything—mint extracts, coffee powders, herbal oils, plant sugars, mystery white crystals with names we couldn’t pronounce. Then we melted. We poured. We stirred. We burned. A lot.

One batch with butter flavor filled the room with the unmistakable smell of roasted socks. Another hardened too fast, trapping air bubbles and bitterness in every piece.

But we weren’t just guessing.
We dove deep—reading research papers, food science journals, and technical articles, trying to understand what makes hard candy work.

We learned which ingredients could dissolve in high-heat sugar solutions (not many), which flavor molecules survived the cooking process, how certain acids enhanced brightness, how polyols affected mouthfeel, and what each additive—from emulsifiers to herbal extracts—did in a candy matrix.

We weren’t just chasing taste—we were chasing feeling. That blast of cold. That layered flavor curve. The way something can start sharp, mellow out, then linger just long enough.

We didn’t work alone.
We tasted every cooling candy on the market, unwrapped like candy archaeologists. We took notes. Compared ingredients. Mapped sensations. We even used AI to help guide flavor structure—asking it wild questions like “What makes something taste clean but also warm?”

Then came the breakthrough.
We coated our candy with real Arabica coffee powder and added a touch of cocoa for softness. It hit differently—from the first sniff to the final dissolve.

It was beautiful.
Well, the taste was.
The candy itself looked like little fossil rocks. But we knew we had something.

Chapter 2: The Global Hunt for Ingredients (and Sanity)

Once the lab batch was locked in (well, taste-wise—not looks), a bigger question loomed over us:
How do we make this real?

And by “real” we meant something that could be consistently produced, globally shipped, affordable, functional—and still true to our flavor vision.

So we packed up our messy lab notes, our AI-generated flavor maps, and our collective obsession, and set out on a global ingredient hunt.

First stop: coffee. But not just any coffee.

Arabica was the obvious choice for its smoother, deeper flavor—but there’s a world of difference between “just Arabica” and the right Arabica.

• A balanced aroma—inviting but not overpowering
• Low bitterness, so the flavor stayed clean
• Excellent solubility, to blend seamlessly into the syrup and powder coating
• And, maybe most importantly, a price point that wouldn’t make each tin of candy cost $15 to sell

But we were sourcing during a global coffee price surge.
Some suppliers quoted us $40 per kilo, while others sent samples that tasted sour or metallic, clashing completely with our botanical base.

So we cupped. And cupped. And cupped.
Beans from Colombia, Ethiopia, Sumatra, Indonesia—each tasted blind, evaluated like perfume, swirled like wine.

We weren’t just asking: Is it good?
We asked: Is it repeatable? Is it clean? Can this work inside a candy that cooks at 150°C?

Eventually, we found it: a roast with body, balance, and just enough edge to hold its own inside our icy flavor profile.
Coffee that could stand tall but not shout.

Then came the botanicals—and centuries of wisdom.

We weren’t just making a “flavored candy.” We wanted Frozili to feel layered, thoughtful, even a little medicinal in the best way. So we turned to the classics.

We studied the best-selling throat lozenges in Asia, Europe, and the Middle East. We flipped boxes, read footnotes, emailed suppliers, and asked:

• What herbs were used for throat-soothing and cooling?
• Which essential oils gave that crisp feeling without tasting medicinal?
• How did traditional formulas balance function with flavor?

After dozens of formulations, we arrived at a final combination that delivered depth, utility, and flavor harmony.

We blended together:

• Licorice
• Monk fruit
• Platycodon (Balloon flower root)
• Loquat leaf

Every one of these was chosen not just for its function, but for its heat stability—most herbs burn or turn bitter at 300°F.
We tested relentlessly to keep them intact.

The result?
A cooling sensation that’s not just a gimmick, but a carefully constructed experience. One that starts icy, then turns earthy, then smooths out with the cocoa finish from our coffee.

Sweetness was our next battleground.

We knew we didn’t want to rely on sugar alcohols—they upset stomachs and often leave that strange, cold-metallic aftertaste. But we also weren’t building a sugar-free candy.

We wanted sweetness to feel clean, balanced, and integrated with the rest of the flavor experience.

That’s why, in addition to our primary sugar base, we brought in a small but powerful assist: arabinose, a rare plant-derived sugar found in corn husks and birch bark.

• Has a naturally low glycemic index
• Can inhibit the digestion of sucrose
• Brings a layer of sweetness that supports the formula without overpowering it

It’s not the headline act—but it’s a quiet hero in the background, helping the candy feel lighter, smoother, and smarter.
Smarter sugar, smarter candy.

But the hardest part? Balancing it all without breaking the price.

At one point, our ingredient cost per tin was so high, we laughed.
“This is the Dom Pérignon of hard candy,” someone joked.
We weren’t building a luxury novelty. We wanted something premium—but not prohibitive.

So we got to work.
We negotiated. We subbed. We rejected dozens of ingredients—some magical, some trendy—simply because they would’ve made Frozili too expensive for most people to try.

We made tough calls.
We chose function over fads.
Flavor over flash.
Consistency over cute.

In the end, every component of Frozili was chosen with intention:

• The coffee that speaks before you even take a bite
• The botanicals that quietly work behind the scenes
• The sugar that supports your energy without causing a spike
• The cost structure that keeps it accessible without compromise

We weren’t just sourcing ingredients.
We were curating an experience—a candy that tastes good, feels good, and keeps you coming back, tin after tin.

Chapter 3: Turning Fossil Candy into Frozili

Then came the hardest part of all:
Finding someone to make it.

Not someone to make a candy.
Someone to make this candy.

We reached out to over 100 manufacturers—yes, one hundred—across the U.S., Europe, and Asia. Most dropped out after reading our spec sheet:

• Real powders
• Low MOQs
• Powder coating
• Sucralose-free
• Herbal extracts
• Hand-stirred syrup

Some ghosted us. Others replied bluntly: “We don’t do that.”

Eventually, 8 said yes.

Then came the samples.
Some were lumpy. Some were sandy. One batch melted in the package. Another came back in plastic that smelled like nail polish remover.

We tested and re-tested, batch after batch, sending photos and notes at 2 AM, like,
“This one tastes like burnt licorice in a sauna.”

We weren’t being picky.
We were being precise.

We did dozens of samples. Some were close. Some were… not. But after 3–5 rounds per factory, we narrowed it down to three contenders.

Then came the final test.
We hosted blind tastings at Yale School of Management, letting real people—professors, students, skeptics—judge with no labels, no bias.

One factory stood out.
They nailed the flavor. They nailed the texture.
And most importantly, they didn’t flinch when we asked for weird tweaks.

We signed. We celebrated. We ordered a real batch.

And That’s How Frozili Was Born

From burnt butter to AI flavor maps, from global bean tastings to late-night factory negotiations—we made something we’re proud of.

A candy that wakes you up, cools you down, and makes your mouth ask for one more.

And behind every tin?
Months of trial, mistakes, surprises, spreadsheets, steam, science, and joy.