The DRUERA Founding Story: Our Journey from Cinnamon Enthusiasts to Single-Origin Advocates

DRUERA didn't begin with a business plan. It started with a moment of disappointment. 

For the founders raised with the true cinnamon of Sri Lanka, tasting what passed for "cinnamon" abroad was ... a shock. That dusty, one-dimensional powder on the shelf had no connection to the spice they knew and loved.

It felt wrong.

It's like listening to your favorite song through a cheap speaker. It sounds wrong, distant, soulless. The depth is not the same.

And that’s what really bothered them. In Sri Lanka, cinnamon is a part of everyday life. It’s in the air, in the kitchens, in family routines. The smell of it brings back memories. It feels familiar.

Mike de Livera once put it simply. 

"We didn't set out to start a company for the sake of making money. We set out to fix a problem we couldn't ignore: the world was being sold a pale imitation of one of nature's most incredible gifts."

— Mike de Livera, DRUERA Co-Founder

So we started looking for a way to fix it. Not by chasing volume. Not by cutting corners. But by reconnecting people to the place where true cinnamon actually comes from.

That small frustration, that moment of disappointment, slowly turned into a bigger idea. A bridge between the hills of Sri Lanka and kitchens everywhere else. And that’s where DRUERA really began.

The Problem We Couldn't Ignore: The "Cinnamon Lie"

Once we started paying attention, we couldn’t stop. We went looking for better cinnamon the way most curious people do. We checked specialty food shops. Gourmet markets. Online stores that promised “artisan” and “premium” on every label. Surely the real thing had to be out there somewhere.

But instead of finding clarity, we ran straight into a wall of confusion.

Every jar had a story. Words like “pure,” “authentic,” and “exotic” were everywhere. Actual information was not. The spice aisle wasn’t helping anyone make a good choice. It was built to make everything look the same and sound good enough.

So we started digging. And what we learned about the cinnamon trade was… uncomfortable.

Our investigation revealed three hard truths:

• The Cassia Deception: The most shocking was that over 90% of what's sold as "cinnamon" isn't Cinnamomum verum (true Ceylon cinnamon) at all... It's Cassia, a completely different species with a harsh more potent taste and high levels of coumarin, a compound that's harmful in regular doses. An entire industry was built on a widespread mislabeling.

• The Freshness Void: Even the rare products truthfully labeled "Ceylon" were often disappointingly dull. We learned why: the conventional supply chain is incredibly long. Bark is harvested, processed, sold to a broker, shipped to a distributor, ground in masse, and then sits in warehouses and on shelves for months, even years. So when it reaches your kitchen those precious volatile oils that create aroma and taste have mostly gone.

• The Anonymity Crisis: The most profound discovery was the total lack of connection. When we asked importers and retailers, "Where does this actually come from?", the best answer we got was a shrug and "a supplier in Asia." The farmers, the skilled artisans who peel the bark, the land itself—they were completely invisible, erased by a system designed for faceless commodity trading.

"We weren't just looking for a better product. We were looking for a story, a face, a place. The industry gave us a barcode and a blank space."

— Mike de Livera

That's when we had our "aha" moment. The problem wasn't a lack of magnificent cinnamon in the world. The problem was a broken, anonymous system that prioritized low cost and long shelf life over quality, purity, and the human hands that make it all possible. We realized we didn't need to find a better jar on a shelf. We needed to build a new path from the ground up.

The Journey Back to the Source: Finding Our Partner

So we went. The corporate offices in Colombo weren't for us. If we wanted to find the real thing, we had to get our shoes dirty. We kept hearing the same thing from everyone we spoke to. The best cinnamon, they said, came from a place called Kalawana. 

Getting there was all twisting roads and sudden views of hills layered in every shade of green you can imagine. We didn’t have a meeting set up. We just drove, stopped in little towns, asked questions, and followed whatever leads people gave us. It didn’t feel like work. It felt like we were chasing a story.

One afternoon, after a tip from a small shop owner, we ended up outside a family home. Not a plant or a warehouse. Just a house, sitting in the middle of its land. The first thing I noticed was the smell. Warm. Sweet. Woody. Nothing like the dusty spice aisle back home. 

Mr. Rajapakse, the head of the family, greeted us with a careful smile. Instead of an office, he pointed to a few chairs on the veranda under a big tree. His wife brought out cups of sweet milky tea gently flavored with cinnamon.

We sat there for hours. The talk wandered. He spoke about the soil as if it were part of his family, how one slope got more morning light than another, how the rains had come late this year. He held up his hands, rough from decades of working with the kathi blade, peeling bark. There was no pride in it, just honesty. He also shared a quiet concern that not many young people wanted to learn the craft anymore. It was disappearing, and he knew it.

At some point he stood up and said, “Come, I’ll show you.” That was the meeting. We followed him into the groves. He broke off a small twig and let me smell the leaf. Bright and citrusy, nothing like I expected. Then he introduced us to the workers rolling bark into quills, their hands moving quickly, carefully, like they’d done it a thousand times before. It was beautiful, intricate work.

We didn't sign anything that day. The deal was made through a series of nods and understandings over more cups of tea. Our proposition was simple: You focus on growing and crafting this beautifully, with all your expertise. We'll handle everything else—getting it to people who will appreciate the difference, telling your story, and making sure you get paid properly for this level of care, not commodity prices.

We trusted their commitment to the land, and they trusted our commitment to them. That was the real foundation of DRUERA.

"People ask about our 'supply chain.' That day, we weren't building a chain. We were building a bridge, between their veranda and our customers' kitchens. Everything else is history"

— Mike de Livera

Building the DRUERA Philosophy: From a Single Farm to Four Core Pillars

That initial handshake with the Rajapakse family was just the beginning. Working side-by-side through harvests, we didn't just receive cinnamon; we received an education. The way they worked, the choices they made, and the impact we saw slowly crystallized into the core principles that define DRUERA today.

1. True Partnership, Not "Fair Trade"

We quickly learned that a generic "Fair Trade" certification couldn't capture our relationship. This wasn't a distant, transactional agreement. We were co-creators. We discussed harvest schedules not just for our needs, but for the health of the trees. 

We invested in better drying sheds together because it meant a superior product for everyone. This deep, collaborative model became our first pillar. It’s a commitment that goes beyond a label, which we delve into in our article on what it means to go Beyond Fair Trade to True Partnership.

2. Environmental Stewardship as a Quality Metric

The Rajapakses didn't farm on a monoculture plantation. Their cinnamon grew in a biodiverse "forest garden" alongside fruit trees and vegetables. They explained this wasn't just tradition—it kept the soil rich and pests in check naturally. 

We tasted the result in the complexity of the bark. Protecting the land wasn't just an ethical bonus; it was the non-negotiable foundation of quality. This firsthand lesson shaped our deep commitment to sustainability in spice farming and protecting Sri Lanka's biodiversity.

3. The Economic Ripple Effect

Our investment did more than support one family. We saw it ripple outward. Consistent, fair orders meant the Rajapakses could hire more local peelers, offering stable skilled work. 

They could reliably buy from neighboring suppliers. We realized we weren't just sourcing a spice; we were supporting a community ecosystem. This conscious goal to maximize positive impact is something we're passionate about, which we detail in our look at the economic ripple effect in Kalawana.

4. Radical Transparency as Our Default

The old system's anonymity was what failed us initially. We vowed to be the opposite. If we asked our customers to trust us, we had to show them everything. That meant sharing our farmers' names and stories, publishing third-party lab tests for purity and heavy metals, and being honest about our processes. We decided to tear down the wall between the field and the kitchen, because trust, like cinnamon, is fragile and precious.

These four pillars didn't come from a consultant's report. They were lessons written in the soil of Kalawana and the wisdom of the people who tend it.

DRUERA Today: The Mission Continues

Twenty years have passed since that first visit to Kalawana. What began as a simple handshake on a veranda has grown into something we’re deeply proud of—a community of customers, chefs, and home cooks who can taste the difference.

But if you walked into our packing facility today, the spirit would feel familiar. We’re still a small, focused team. The cinnamon that arrives is still from that same family and those same hills. We still test every batch, not because a regulation forces us to, but because we promised we would. We still grind in small batches, because we’ve seen—and smelled—what happens when you don’t.

People sometimes ask if we’ve “scaled up.” The truth is, we’ve chosen to scale differently. You can’t mass-produce trust. You can’t industrialize a personal promise. We’ve grown our community of supporters, but we’ve fiercely protected our commitment to a single source and a single standard. There are still no anonymous brokers. There is still no warehouse dust. There is just the same direct line from their soil to your shelf.

“The mission hasn’t changed. The paperwork has just gotten a bit more complicated. Every morning, we come to work to do one thing: honor that original handshake and deliver on that promise.”
— Mike de Livera

Conclusion: More Than a Company, It’s a Connection

Looking back, DRUERA was born from a simple belief: that there had to be a better way. A way that honored the craft, respected the land, valued the people, and delivered a product with its soul intact.

So, when you choose DRUERA, you’re not just buying a jar of cinnamon. You’re becoming part of that original story. You’re supporting a family’s legacy in Kalawana. You’re helping preserve a craft that dates back centuries. You’re voting for a way of doing business that puts people and quality before pure profit.

We started this journey to find the world’s best cinnamon. What we found was so much more valuable: a way to build a company with purpose, one honest relationship at a time.

We invite you to be a part of it.

See the result of this 20-year journey.
👉 Explore our full collection of single-origin Ceylon Cinnamon