Caramel corn. I plunge my nose closer to the wide-mouthed pint jar and breathe. The Sulawesi smells like caramel corn.
The cafe is sparsely filled, students clustered over books and laptops, two girls at the high table pasting hearts and sparkles on homemade valentines. The mid shift has ended and Rachel has gone home. With a eyebrow raise, I throw out a subtle "soooo did you bring coffee?" which prompts Brady to pull three jam jars from his bag with a grin.
Freshly roasted, small batches in an airpopper. The beans are brightly cocoa, dry and fragrant. Eagerly (but subtley, not at all excited about this), I unscrew the tops.
Ten minutes later, we've assembled our spread. Three squat glasses with precisely-measured grounds, spoons, water glasses, spit cups. The water is heating and the timer is set. We wait.
It is with an odd mixture of enjoyment and awkwardness that we break through the crust of grounds and start slurping. The customers seem too busy with whatever they're immersed in to notice our loud "FTTTTTTT!" as we suck the coffee over our tongues and then spit it back out after a moment of savoring. The El Salvador is brightly citrusy; the Sulawesi herby, with a black tea bitterness that contrasts so brightly with the glorious Panama next to it that is overwhelmingly chocolate, dark berries, honey sweetness.
I am amazed at the quality and, frankly, deliciousness, of these coffees. It is bittersweet to me that we are not prouder of what we pour daily, what we sell, especially since the scope of coffee in general is so grand. When my husband and I started dating, our first date was (I'm ashamed to say) at a Seattle's Best. I think I chose a white chocolate something, drowning the espresso in frothy milk and sweetness. When I started at the shop eight years ago, my drink of choice was heavy with fat and syrup, again masking the boldness of the coffee I have grown to love purely for itself now.
I dip my spoon into the glass again and scoop off the top, then bring it to my lips to taste. I am met with a spicy bittersweetness that swirls gently around my mouth long after I swallow the last drop.
Panama: Chocolate-Cardamom Cupcakes with Honey-Cinnamon Buttercream
The cupcakes were made from this recipe, with 3/4 tsp of ground cardamom added to the batter.
The buttercream was made from this delicious recipe, with a generous squirt of honey, a couple shakes of cinnamon, and 1/2 tsp of vanilla bean paste.
