OUR STORY
The Essence of
DR TROUBLE
This is a rebellion. A relic of fortuitous brilliance. A fermented flicker of African flavour mischief.
CHINGOMA FARM: A HERITAGE OF FLAVOUR
Set in the rugged foothills of Zimbabwe’s Zambezi Escarpment, Chingoma Farm is not just our home — it is the soul of Dr. Trouble. For five generations, this land has carried the weight of tradition and the promise of flavour. Here, under the vast African sky, every bottle is born slowly — crafted with care, smoked over oak fires, and made without compromise. It is a place where time moves with purpose, and nothing is rushed.
THE INGREDIENTS THAT STARTED IT ALL
It begins with what matters: fresh lemons. Cherry peppers. African Bird’s Eye chillies. A touch of African heat. A hint of secret spice. Nothing more — and nothing artificial. No vinegar. No preservatives. No shortcuts. Just real ingredients, prepared by real hands, and left to mature in the sun for 100 days, as tradition demands.
We don’t follow trends. We honour time. No sugar. No thickeners. No colourants. No compromises. If it didn’t belong in a bottle in 1895, it doesn’t belong in one now.
The Origin Story
THE MAPMAKER’S SAUCE:
A LEGACY OF FLAVOUR
Over a century ago, a man with a sharp eye for the land — and an even sharper palate — recorded more than just terrain. Tucked among his maps and musings was a simple recipe: chillies, lemon juice, and salt.
Decades later, his grandson and great-grandson brought it back to life — a once-a-year ritual in the farmhouse kitchen. Just the two of them, crafting sauce by hand, the way it always was.
No shortcuts. No tampering. Just bold African flavour, made with nothing but real, natural ingredients.
Yes, the sauce separates. It needs a shake. That’s not a flaw. It’s proof — proof of a product untouched by modern meddling.
The sauce is unchanged. The attitude? Elevated.
This is the origin of Dr Trouble.
An untamed recipe. A family tradition. A taste with nothing to prove.
Dr Trouble’s Oath
I, bearer of the bottle,
swear to uphold the sacred spice.
To stir the pot when needed,
to challenge the bland,
and to season life with reckless generosity.
I pledge allegiance to lemons,
to legacy,
to late-night ideas and early-morning consequences.
I will not follow the rules.
I will not follow the recipe —
(except the mapmaker’s original creation, of course).
I vow to be bold,
to be curious,
to be occasionally inappropriate
in service of something unforgettable.
This is not just sauce.
This is history with heat.
Mischief with a mission.
Africa, bottled.
And I, by hand and by fire,
swear loyalty to the legend.
Because I don’t just follow the trouble—
I am the Trouble.
Mischief in a bottle
