
I didn’t plan to build a chocolate company.
In fact, for a long time, I tried to run away from it.
I was born in a small town in Brazil.
When I was three years old, my life changed overnight.
My mother found out my father was having an affair — and she made a decision that would shape everything that came after.

She left.
With three little girls. No job. No income. No safety net.
Just courage, and an unshakable determination to take care of us.
To this day, when I think of strength, I think of her.
Life wasn’t easy. She did whatever she could to keep us going — odd jobs, small sales,
anything. And then one day, she took a chocolate-making class.
Something clicked.
What started as a way to survive slowly became something more.
I grew up in that kitchen — stirring, rolling, helping.
For years, I was her extra set of hands, her production partner, her helper in everything.
Chocolate wasn’t just food.
It was how we stayed afloat.
Even then, I felt something different.
My mom believed in making things accessible — lower prices, more volume, reaching as many people as possible.
But I kept thinking… what if we went the other way?
What if it was about quality?
About creating something truly special?
I never convinced her.
So eventually, I left.
I moved to São Paulo, went to nursing school, and built a completely different life.
For over a decade, I worked in a career I loved — caring for people, helping, feeling like I had found my path.
And I thought chocolate was behind me.

In a very short time, everything I had built fell apart.
My engagement ended.
My job disappeared.
I felt lost. So I did something simple:
I booked a trip to San Francisco to study English and clear my head.
And that’s where everything shifted again.
I met my husband at a party.
We barely spoke the same language — a lot of gestures, a lot of guessing — but something just worked.
A few years later, we were married and building a life together in California.
And slowly… chocolate came back.
Living in the Bay Area, I noticed something.
People here are open. Curious. Excited about new flavors, new cultures, new stories.
And no one knew brigadeiro.
The chocolate I grew up with.
The one at every birthday, every celebration, every memory.
I kept thinking:
If people just try one… they’ll fall in love.
And that idea stayed with me.
But there was a problem.

The brigadeiros I knew wouldn’t work here.
They were too sweet.
The ingredients weren’t what I wanted anymore.
And this place — the Bay Area — expects something different. Better ingredients. Thoughtful food. Beautiful presentation.
So I started over.
I kept the heart of brigadeiro — but rebuilt everything else.
Less sugar.
Better chocolate.
Better ingredients.
A new balance.
My kitchen became a lab.
My husband and friends became my testers.
After weeks of experimenting, something finally clicked.
A new kind of brigadeiro was born.
That was just the beginning.

Then came everything else: packaging, suppliers, hiring, regulations, learning how to run a business from scratch.
It was overwhelming. And there were moments I genuinely wondered if I had made a terrible mistake.
But I wasn't alone.
My husband stepped in and took care of the business side — sales, marketing, finance. I focused on what I love most: the product, the experience, the feeling behind the brand.
Together, we built tinyB.
And then slowly, quietly — it started to work. Real customers. Real orders. People coming back for more. Each one felt like a small proof that this was real. That I was real. That the girl from that small town in Brazil, who grew up stirring chocolate in her mother's kitchen, had actually built something.
That feeling never gets old.
To me, brigadeiro is not just chocolate.
It’s a feeling.
It’s how people celebrate, connect, and show care.
It’s where I came from.
And now, it’s what I get to share.
Every brigadeiro we make carries a little piece of that journey.
From my mom’s kitchen in Brazil…
to yours.
I’m really glad you’re here.
Renata
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