Coffee Talk

"Coffee coffee coffee..."  

This slightly manic phrase is one my husband hears often--sometimes in the early morning while I fix myself a cup (okay, half of a pot) so that I can transform from "half-asleep zombie" to "functioning human being," but really at any time of day when I nerd out with Barista Magazine or crush on a coffee shop in another city via social media (have you seen this La Marzocco showroom in Seattle???), or salivate over a new offering from a favorite roaster.

What can I say?  I want to taste all the coffees.

Coffee is my friend.  It doesn't always get along well with my stomach, but my taste buds, my head, my heart, and my soul all welcome it with gladness and joy.  

For that reason, when I was new to specialty coffee, I was personally offended when my favorite coffees would go away for long periods of time.  Why would they leave me like that?!  You may have had a similar reaction when your favorite coffee suddenly disappeared from the offerings at your favorite coffee shop.  Or, maybe you aren't as personally attached to your coffee as I am. . .

Either way, it isn't our fault that our favorite coffees leave.  They leave because coffee is a produce. Like apples.  Each region where coffee is grown has its own harvest season.  Most specialty coffee shops only buy the freshest, in-season beans, so that they can provide us with the freshest, most flavorful cups of coffee possible.

I appreciate that.

What I didn't appreciate when I first entered the specialty coffee world was that when my beloved Ethiopian Yirgacheffe (my first specialty coffee friend--i.e. the first light roasted, single origin coffee I tried, and my first pour over) with the depths of its blueberry smoothness and crisp lemony goodness disappeared and returned after months of separation tasted like a completely different coffee, very floral, more earthy, less smooth or sweet.

While I originally considered this new Yirgacheffe to be a traitorous impostor, I eventually learned that this is simply one of the beautiful things of being a coffee lover.  There are so many factors that influence what a coffee will taste like (even if the processing and roasting remain completely constant, a little extra rain or a little extra sun during growing season can change everything), that the same coffee rarely (if ever) tastes exactly the same as it did last year.  It's sad that we can't keep our most favorite coffee-friends around us all the time, but it's exciting and downright fascinating to try new coffees, and taste the differences in various harvests of our favorites.

That said, it's always interesting comparing coffees from different regions too.  Each coffee-growing region has a specific characteristic that tends to define it.  African coffees, for instance, tend to be fruity and funky.  Coffees from near Indonesia tend to have more body and earthy tones.  Crisp acidity and light chocolate notes are common among Central/South American coffees.  (There's A LOT more to this, and I won't keep going on about it here, but if you are interested in learning more, a really fun book to introduce you to specialty coffee is Coffee Nerd, by Ruth Brown.  I got a kick out of it and learned some things too!)

Typically, coffees from Africa, Kenya specifically, are hit or miss with me.  I appreciate their funky flavor, but the lack of acidity makes it fall flat for me.  On the other hand, I enjoy the acidity of Central/South American coffees, but they tend to be too boring.  So when I learned that Counter Culture had a special limited release coffee that married the two--a Kenyan varietal grown in the rich soil of El Salvador--I really nerded out.  

There is so much to learn about coffee, and while I understand pretty well the differences by region and climate, I am still working on discerning the differences between varietals.  Obviously, I had to get this coffee. . .you know, for educational purposes. . .

Counter Culture Coffee's Finca Kilimanjaro is said to have "deep, sweet notes of clementine and tropical fruits with a syrupy sweet finish."  I didn't have an opportunity to cup this coffee, so I'm going off of the pour over version.  To be honest, I expected much more sweetness than I tasted.  It definitely has the same syrupy sweetness and thick mouth-feel as other coffees I've tried from El Salvador have.  But the fruity notes are almost so deep that all I taste is the earthiness.  Whatever the case, its deliciousness and incredible quality reminded me of a Geisha that I tried years ago.

The deliciousness that is Counter Culture's Finca Kilimanjaro.

What I learned the most from tasting it, though, is that I have not paid nearly enough attention to all the coffees I have tried over the years.  I typically gloss over what variety the coffee is, and look just at the country and/or farm of origin.  My approach to new coffees will now never be the same.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading about this coffee on Counter Culture's website to get a better understanding of where the coffee came from, how it was grown and processed, the mindset of the farmer, the reactions of the buyers when they tasted it.  It's one of the great joys of working in coffee--stories are always brewing, and not only do we get to be a part of them, we get to taste them.

Which is really great for me, because I want to taste ALL THE COFFEES.