Once a dozen of Vanilla is assembled, more or less, one ties them together or threads them like beads on a string, by their peduncular end: in a large pot or any other pot suitable for cooking, full of clear and clean boiling water; when the water is boiling hot, dipping the Vanillas to whiten, which works in an instant; once done, one extends and ties from the opposite ends, the string where the Vanillas are attached or threaded, in such a way that they are suspended in open air, where sun-exposed, for a few hours during the day. The following day, with a paint brush or with the fingers, one coats the Vanilla with oil, to shrivel it up slowly, to protect it from insects, from flies that dislike oil, to avoid drying up the skin, and to become tough and hard, finally to keep away from external air penetration and to preserve it soft. One has to observe to wrap the pods with cotton yarn soaked in oil, so as to keep them from opening and to contain the three valves. While they are hung up, to shrivel up, from the superior end, there is a thin stream of overabundant viscous liqueur; one squeezes the pod slightly, to facilitate the passage of the liqueur: before squeezing, one soaks his hands in oil and repeat the pressure two or three times per day (Aublet 1776: pp. 83-84).
It is unclear whether Aublet was superimposing prior knowledge of vanilla curing onto his observations in Cayenne, or whether in fact what he was describing a local system of curing. At one point he explicitly says:
Here is the way commonly used by of Galabis of Suriname and the Caribs naturalized from Guiana, and by the Garipons maroons from Para [a Portuguese Colony], at the river bank of the Amazon. I used varnished containers, although they only fire containers without varnish... (p. 84)
but fails to elaborate, and it is not obvious which “way” for curing he is making reference to, or for what purpose the “Galabis” and “Caribs” were curing vanilla. Likewise, Aublet states that a certain, unspecified practice for curing vanilla was similar to preparations used to, “preserve plums at Tours, Brignoles, Digne, etc. (p. 83)” and, “... the same for the raisins sent from Naples and Ciouta (p. 83).” Interestingly, Aublet’s description contains elements of both the Bourbon process for curing practiced in Madagascar (“killing” the beans by means of scalding), and what Gage and other commentators had talked about a century before: the apparently widespread practice of using oil to prevent the fruits from dehydrating completely.
Aublet considered vanilla export a viable economic activity for French Guiana. His desire to develop vanilla as a crop most likely served as the motivation for his extended discourse, and he apparently took personally the fact that his advice was not being acted upon. In frustration, Aublet criticized the hypocritical colonial botanists who prepared shoddy viability studies of economically important plants:
I do not understand why there are such a bold people, to propose the government department a crop that they fully ignore in their research; their Memoirs promise more than what the authors can demonstrate. Why do these men, with their well-digested written proposals, fail to comprehend how to put it in practice by themselves, since they presented it as so profitable? They support it as a common good, for the good of the government, that for years they have worked to further; but that patriotism is hiding a personal interest (p. 85).
Aublet may have been alluding to Pierre Poivre, a more charismatic and politically savvy botanist who championed the economic benefits of nutmeg cultivation. The two botanists were frequently at loggerheads (Spary 2005). In the 1770s, Poivre had successfully smuggled cloves and nutmeg from under the nose of the Dutch in the Moluccas, and in return, was rewarded by the French East India Company with promotion to the title
Under Poivre’s supervision, over 1,600 rare and notable plants were introduced to nurseries in Reunion, including cuttings of South American