-that is, coffee cupping...location: the Warehouse
-pregame with Primo hoagies
-first, a taste of Pure Black, sweetened and once-pressed: top taste is undesirable; bottom taste is wonderfully grainy and all coffee; sugar is consistent from top to bottom; SN likes a punch in the face
-the demise of Robinson, our Haitian coffee ambassador: mob politics with reactionary, old men; we will dig deep into Haiti
-Beasts Ride Bicycles: A children's book ft. Bird Rider & Robusta Dude
-pizza: Naples vs Rome; semolina vs no semolina; chef vs. the 8th generation Russian pizza connoisseur
-where was the coffee spoon? (a) not a coffee spoon-- a drug spoon (b) in Serge's tool box; (c) not a drug spoon-- a pooper scooper; (d) Bryan stole it to clean up after his new dog (e) Bryan has Flyers tickets
-pods: ever-widening screens from 54 to 58mm in diameter; they are evolving, and so must we; new packaging-- silver and sleek
-redefining "direct trade": buying directly from the children who stick the parchment around each bean
The cupping itself was a neat experience. We three baristas who had never been to such an event-- sat side by side on the bench across the table from JP, while he stood like an eccentric professor, waving around his hands until one of his unusually thick fingers got sliced by his own Pure Black twist-off cap and began bleeding profusely. As casual as his manner was, he had the air of knowledge about him as he spoke. He was in his element, talking about a subject that he had spent hundreds of thousands of hours of his life thinking about, studying, breathing, creating, tasting, drinking, dreaming and doing. Eventually, most of the office staff drifted in and joined the meeting, hanging around the perimeter of the gorgeous wooden conference table, but not quite sitting at it. Even Tobin, the accountant, popped his head in for a brief moment to say hello.
After the cupping of the first Panamanian bean, the cups-- rounded, white bowl types-- were washed, redosed with the second El Salvadorian beans, refilled with boiling water, and re-aligned in a straight line down the long bench table. We steeped and slurped. The surprise was that, as light as the El Sal was roasted (lighter than the Panamanian bean), it was much more pleasantly citrus-y and smooth than the sharply acidic Panamanian bean. Part of the reason for this seemingly paradoxical result may have been the inconsistent grind level of the two beans. JP suggested a darker roast for the sharply acidic Panamanian bean; Chris, the roaster, disagreed with an immediacy and certainty that impressed me.
We fell into discussions with our neighbors. From the right side of the room, I caught a tip from Chris: slurp a spoonful of the Panamanian, let it sit in your mouth, and the orange-iness will hit you like a bus. It hit me suddenly that "citrusy" did not necessarily entail "acidic". From the left side of the room, Patrick sat at the end of the table with a ph meter dipped into his cup of coffee, as focused as a doctor listening in on his stethoscope to the beating of a heart. He listed the following acidity levels for the sake of comparison: stomach juice-- 1; lemon juice-- 2 to 3; Panama-- 5.28; El Salvador-- ? A point emphasized and re-emphasized by the chef of the house was that the beans for the cupping were roasted lightly enough to expose the faults of the bean, but also dark enough to expose the beauty of the bean. He dipped his hand into the pile of roasted beans, lifted and let them run through his fingers as he spoke of their beauty.
-pregame with Primo hoagies
-first, a taste of Pure Black, sweetened and once-pressed: top taste is undesirable; bottom taste is wonderfully grainy and all coffee; sugar is consistent from top to bottom; SN likes a punch in the face
-the demise of Robinson, our Haitian coffee ambassador: mob politics with reactionary, old men; we will dig deep into Haiti
-Beasts Ride Bicycles: A children's book ft. Bird Rider & Robusta Dude
-pizza: Naples vs Rome; semolina vs no semolina; chef vs. the 8th generation Russian pizza connoisseur
-where was the coffee spoon? (a) not a coffee spoon-- a drug spoon (b) in Serge's tool box; (c) not a drug spoon-- a pooper scooper; (d) Bryan stole it to clean up after his new dog (e) Bryan has Flyers tickets
-pods: ever-widening screens from 54 to 58mm in diameter; they are evolving, and so must we; new packaging-- silver and sleek
-redefining "direct trade": buying directly from the children who stick the parchment around each bean
The cupping itself was a neat experience. We three baristas who had never been to such an event-- sat side by side on the bench across the table from JP, while he stood like an eccentric professor, waving around his hands until one of his unusually thick fingers got sliced by his own Pure Black twist-off cap and began bleeding profusely. As casual as his manner was, he had the air of knowledge about him as he spoke. He was in his element, talking about a subject that he had spent hundreds of thousands of hours of his life thinking about, studying, breathing, creating, tasting, drinking, dreaming and doing. Eventually, most of the office staff drifted in and joined the meeting, hanging around the perimeter of the gorgeous wooden conference table, but not quite sitting at it. Even Tobin, the accountant, popped his head in for a brief moment to say hello.
After the cupping of the first Panamanian bean, the cups-- rounded, white bowl types-- were washed, redosed with the second El Salvadorian beans, refilled with boiling water, and re-aligned in a straight line down the long bench table. We steeped and slurped. The surprise was that, as light as the El Sal was roasted (lighter than the Panamanian bean), it was much more pleasantly citrus-y and smooth than the sharply acidic Panamanian bean. Part of the reason for this seemingly paradoxical result may have been the inconsistent grind level of the two beans. JP suggested a darker roast for the sharply acidic Panamanian bean; Chris, the roaster, disagreed with an immediacy and certainty that impressed me.
We fell into discussions with our neighbors. From the right side of the room, I caught a tip from Chris: slurp a spoonful of the Panamanian, let it sit in your mouth, and the orange-iness will hit you like a bus. It hit me suddenly that "citrusy" did not necessarily entail "acidic". From the left side of the room, Patrick sat at the end of the table with a ph meter dipped into his cup of coffee, as focused as a doctor listening in on his stethoscope to the beating of a heart. He listed the following acidity levels for the sake of comparison: stomach juice-- 1; lemon juice-- 2 to 3; Panama-- 5.28; El Salvador-- ? A point emphasized and re-emphasized by the chef of the house was that the beans for the cupping were roasted lightly enough to expose the faults of the bean, but also dark enough to expose the beauty of the bean. He dipped his hand into the pile of roasted beans, lifted and let them run through his fingers as he spoke of their beauty.
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