Bill Addison

The door for Doughmonkey, Snider Plaza's treasure chest of a bakery, swings open one recent June afternoon and in whooshes a teenage corps of ballerinas.

Natalie Caudill / DMN

Doughmonkey owners Michael Lima and Rhonda Ruckman

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Their hair pulled back tightly, their postures effortlessly immaculate, they move slowly in one chattering, leotard-clad mass through the store's small space. They steal past the rows of individual-size Texas blueberry pies and vanilla bean poundcake, but stop short of reaching the display that includes éclairs and peanut butter tarts. Their gazes drop to the bottom shelf of the case that contains their collective objects of desire.

The cookies. They sell for $1 apiece. Each ballerina buys two.

Ask Park City residents about Doughmonkey and, if they know the place, the cookies will probably be the creations most sighed and exclaimed over. And these plump disks (among them crisp-soft chocolate chip-pecan, intense chocolate-espresso and crunchy Trail Mix for the quasi-health-minded) are without question worthy of the raves.

But the bakery with the playfully goofy name may soon acquire a local, and eventually national, reputation for the latest efforts of its fanatical owners, Rhonda Ruckman and Michael Lima: They're creating lavish chocolates the likes of which even many serious connoisseurs have never experienced.

Studying the descriptions of her budding line of audacious confections and truffles initiates the reader into the mad-scientist-meets-Martha-Stewart mind of Ms. Ruckman, the pastry chef.

There's Salt & Pepper, a surprisingly friendly combination of Australian Murray River salt and toasted Sichuan peppercorns blended into 64 percent Valrhona Manjari chocolate. Mint from Ms. Ruckman's garden infuses another Valrhona product, Gaunaja, for a subtle, adult effect you'll never detect in a York Peppermint Patty. And the Patric truffle is for the true aficionado, with, as its description says, "notes of citrus, red wine, berries, caramel and spice" inherent in the chocolate. The truffle's name refers to the 70 percent Madagascar varietal fashioned by Patric Chocolate, a micro-batch producer based in Missouri.

(An important briefing to fully appreciate the Doughmonkey experience: The percentages associated with many boutique chocolates indicate the amount of cocoa mass contained in the chocolate bar. The higher the percentage, the darker the color and the more powerful the chocolate flavor. Highest-quality milk chocolate will typically have around 45 percent or more cocoa mass; zealots swoon over chocolates with numbers that soar to 85 percent.)

"I don't know if they're inspired or insane, but I love it," says DallasFood.org blog owner Scott (who is known in the food community by the single name). He's been a champion of the bakery since it opened in 2004. "They're using artisanal chocolates so rare, expensive and sometimes challenging that they've moved beyond 'least-common-denominator tastes,' even among those who fancy themselves gourmets."

Natalie Caudill / DMN

For the educated palate, Doughmonkey's chocolates are in a class of their own.

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"I like bold flavors," Ms. Ruckman offers demurely. How bold? She and Mr. Lima telephoned Steve DeVries, another American micro-batch producer with a hard-core choco-cognoscenti following, and persuaded him to send them some of his cocoa liquor. The liquor is a quirky industry term for the crumbly, sugarless byproduct left after the bean has been processed. Ms. Ruckman takes this potent derivative and incorporates it into her take on a brownie, which she glosses with a ganache made from DeVries' 77 percent Costa Rican chocolate.

The result is mom's after-school snack in appearance but with a doctorate in flavor. You don't chew it so much as meditate on it. The complexities keep blooming. And, just to be clear, it isn't all that sweet.

"Yeah, I sort of have a savory palate for a pastry chef," Ms. Ruckman admits, smiling mischievously.

The professional rumination on chocolate is the latest swerve in the business's direction, which has been more serpentine than simian. Doughmonkey actually began life in 2000 in southwest Florida, where it focused on providing breads, breakfast pastries and good coffee to the resort crowd. When Ms. Ruckman and Mr. Lima moved the business to Dallas four years ago, the emphasis shifted to individual desserts and customized cakes.

Their wholesale business also gained momentum. (That molten chocolate cake you scarf at your neighborhood haunt may well originate from Snider Plaza, though the Doughmonkey duo stay tight-lipped about their client list.) Wholesale flourished so much that in March 2007 the bakery decided to discontinue retail. Cake and cookie aficionados grieved mightily.

But Ms. Ruckman has, she admits, a restless, artistic disposition that needs new challenges to stay engaged. So the bakery reopened for retail this past February with a firm mission: Offer a limited amount of small desserts and pastries and start building the chocolate line. Ms. Ruckman politely declines requests for birthday cakes these days, in part because she was frustrated over previous feedback that her buttercreams weren't sweet enough.

All the chocolate in this joint must do something to honey the personalities in question, though. Ms. Ruckman and Mr. Lima, both from Louisiana, have been romantically linked for 14 years.They are of the same mind about their task at hand. Mr. Lima, who once worked in the sugar-processing business, taught himself to craft the colorfully spackled shells that coat the chocolate confections. Now that she's satisfied with the core offerings, Ms. Ruckman will continue experimenting with ultra-luxe chocolate bars to pair individual brands with optimal fruits, nuts and herbs.

Tread lightly, however, around the subject of a white chocolate something or other.

"Aw, white chocolate!" she fumes. "It's an attack of sugar, it's nursery food, it makes me crazy."

Then she considers a moment.

"El Rey does a nice job, though. OK, I'll take it on as a personal challenge. I will do a piece with white chocolate, and it will be good."

Attention, chocolate fiends: If Valrhona is still your touchstone for elite brands of chocolate, a trip to Doughmonkey will be an awakening.

Owners Rhonda Ruckman and Michael Lima do sell upper-echelon, limited-edition Valrhona in chocolate bar form, but they also carry equally or more intriguing examples of small-batch bars produced in America, France and Italy.

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Take your pick of small-batch chocolate bars.

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The bars cost between $3.75 and $13.50, and the bakery offers plenty of samples before you invest. Ms. Ruckman uses these same selections to make her signature confections, which sell for $2.25 per piece (a fair price, considering the quality and attention to detail).

These chocolates aren't made for inhaling: They're of a quality around which you organize tasting parties, a trend that's been growing in cities like New York and San Francisco for several years. If you've ever opined on wine nuances, you may find yourself drawing on similar adjectives.

Regardless, take your time with these chocolates. Consider the texture as you snap off a piece, and let it dissolve on your tongue for up to a minute before you chew. The scope of flavors that emerge and evolve may surprise you.

Below are some of Ms. Ruckman and Mr. Lima's favorites, with brief notes from a recent tasting. (The percentages indicate the amount of cocoa mass contained in the chocolate bar, a crucial detail to aficionados.)

AMADEI CHUAO, 70 percent. Italian. 1.75 ounces. $12.50. Ripe fruit but also notes of malt and earthiness.

DeVRIES COSTA RICAN, 77 percent. American. 2.3 ounces. $7.35. Brawny, big in taste and woody. The flavors linger and linger. A standout favorite from the tasting.

DeVRIES DOMINICAN, 77 percent. American. 2.3 ounces. $7.35. The most challenging of the bunch. Overtones of ash and dirt, but in a good way, also with hints of red fruit.

DOMORI JAVABLOND, 70 percent. Italian. .88 ounces. $4.65. A strange but compelling chocolate. Musky and astringent, with hints of cedar.

MICHEL CLUIZEL LOS ANCONES, 67 percent. French. 3.5 ounces. $5.95. A bit more savory, with licorice and black currant tea. And as with tea, it can taste almost tannic in the mouth.

PATRIC MADAGASCAR, 67 percent. American. 1.75 ounces. $5.75. Bright berries (think strawberry and raspberry) with a wave of licorice.

PATRIC MADAGASCAR, 70 percent. American. 1.75 ounces. $5.75. A lot heavier on the palate, with deep plum flavors. The bakery also uses this in a mousse cake, and the cream and sugar, as with most chocolates, coax out a whole other range of flavors.

VALRHONA GUANAJA, 70 percent. French. 2.6 ounces. $3.75. A nice gateway bittersweet chocolate; start with this one if you're arranging a tasting. Even-keeled flavor, earthy.