Radio silence ended! Coffee Scholars has been moving its world headquarters for the last week or so, culminating with two days of madness Sunday and Monday. Thank goodness that is over. It even caused me to miss a great event...
Check out what Anne and Neil did on Sunday! Coffee at the New Amsterdam Market near the Seaport! To raise money for the market and for Bikes to Rwanda! Plus a cupping at a new (to the NYCS) spot on the same day!
And their report on the last NYCS cupping before that! Amazing stuff.
In the process of moving our offices and warehouse space, I realized just how many green samples I have laying around. The quantity isn't that mind-blowing (nothing that an addict like me couldn't put away in a couple of months), but there's a huge variety. I'm always complaining to people that I don't get enough green... well, I guess it's paid off without me even noticing. This calls for a cupping, and soon! It's time to give Anne a break, since she and Neil have been doing all the work round these parts lately.
I haven't done anything in BK lately, other than our little brunch shindig. Perhaps we shall do something at a café in my neighborhood for a change.
Since switching over from my old blog, I have been very good about keeping this coffee blog on-topic. Posting about other stuff costs me readers; I understand... no one comes here for my retarded little opinions on politics or the weather or anything else, but sometimes I can't resist. Come back tomorrow if you don't care to read non-coffee words.
Tonight was the NBA draft. The Seattle SuperSonics took guard Russell Westbrook, a defensive-minded star from UCLA. The reaction on the web has been lukewarm. Westbrook is a quality player, but he's not electrifying nor is he a "sure thing" like Kevin Durant was last year. I'm happy with the pick, but there are bigger issues with the Sonics, as any basketball fan knows.
Howard Schulz of Starbucks (a New Yorker, by the way, and NOT a Seattleite) sold the team to an out-of-town business group from Oklahoma City. The team is probably going to relocate to Oklahoma, and the Seattle SuperSonics will be no more. There's a legal battle going on right now about the team's status. Howard Schulz has filed a last-minute lawsuit to nullify the sale, after it became crystal clear that the current ownership group has been lying from the start. But it's a long shot. Money rules.
I'm an English major, and an evangelist for small-scale coffee farmers, and a lover of Herman Melville, and a devotee of W. G. Sebald, and I am against the war in Iraq. Some people, knowing me casually through my coffee work, are surprised to learn that I am a professional sports fan. It's as if this is somehow taboo. "How can you like that dreck?! I thought you were all enlightened," they say. Pro sports is an ugly business, and it's an easy thing to point to for people who wish we would, as a people, focus our energies on more worthwhile things, like food or education.
I understand this feeling, and part of me feels the same. I'm not a fool (usually). But athletics is part of any culture. The ancient Romans, the people that created Virgil and Ovid and European Christianity, were mad for races, blue versus green. To pretend there is no cultural value in going to the arena to see athletic excellence is either a denial of human nature, or a hopeless attempt at social engineering, or both.
The best basketball players are every bit as beautiful and graceful as the best ballet dancers. There is an art and a serious science to what they do. The result of the contests may be inconsequential and frivolous, but the same could be said for the work of any artist. I feel sorry for people who can't see the beauty in a well-played championship series. If it's not someone's preferred thing, that's fine. But to rail against it as base or somehow unworthy of admiration is a sad underestimation of the glory of human excellence.
My father was an athlete, the quarterback of the California Golden Bears when he went to school at UC Berkeley in the late 60's and early 70's. When I was a kid, he used to explain football to me while we watched the Forty-Niners (when we lived in Sacramento) and the Seahawks on TV. Occasionally we went to Seahawks games at the old Kingdome. I loved to cheer against the hated Oakland Raiders and Denver Broncos, and I loved that my Dad could explain to me the ins and outs of what was happening on the field.
My first real girlfriend was the Seattle SuperSonics. When I was 12 and 13 years old, I used to listen to Sonics games on the radio alone in my room. Kevin Callabro called the games on radio, as he continues to do so today. I had a corkboard with many colored pushpins. I spelled out the initials of the teams, using the pushpins, in their respective colors (a big green "S" for the sonics, a blue "W" for the Golden State Warriors, a purple "U" for the Utah Jazz). I marked down the score, the foul situation, and all kinds of arcane stats with my little thumbtacks, hanging on Callabro's every word.
The Sonics drafted Shawn Kemp in 1989, and Gary Payton in 1990. By the time I was a teenager, they were the most exciting young duo in the NBA. Payton was all hard-nosed defense and passing and driving the lane to score or pass out to the wings. He had an incredible presence on the court, and routinely made plays that seemed nearly impossible. Kemp was all leaping and power. He was quick and energetic, and his dunks were immensely powerful and strangely electric. He blocked shots and connected on alley-oops. He used to drive Sonics fans crazy with his turnovers, but we always forgave him, because he played with such joy and passion. Together, Payton and Kemp made me leap for happiness countless times as a young kid.
Gary Payton himself, is the greatest athlete I have followed closely, greater than Cortez Kennedy or Shaun Alexander of the Seahawks, or Ichiro Suzuki or Ken Griffey Junior of the Mariners. His yapping and attitude on the court made him some enemies among the older, whiter set. To me, every little cocky pose and trash-talking snippet was proof of his excellence. He never got hurt, he never ever took a game off, and he played his goddamn heart out. A person like that is a role-model to me, regardless of whether he fits in at a country club.
In 1996, after two agonizing years of losing in the first round of the playoffs, the Sonics made the Finals, eventually losing to Michael Jordan and the Bulls. To get there, they had to get by the Utah Jazz in the Western Conference Finals. The Sonics dominated the Jazz early in the series (people often forget that Gary Payton owned John Stockton throughout both of their careers... Stockton, a Hall-of-Famer and the number 1 all-time assist man, never managed to find a way to get past Payton's smothering defense, and it was a joy to watch my man consistently destroy the perennial All-Star Stockton; they were the two best point guards of the 1990's and Payton always beat Stockton head-to-head).
But the Jazz made a serious comeback behind Stockton and Karl Malone and their third wheel Jeff Hornacek. The series was tied 3-3 heading back to Seattle for the decisive game 7. There was a lot of nervousness in the Seattle press about the Sonics' ability to win the series, given the way they had failed the two previous years. There was no doubt who was the better team on paper (Seattle), but some people thought the Sonics lacked heart.
A rally was held in Westlake Center in downtown Seattle. My friend Fitz and I went down there, the day before the big game, wearing green and gold and ready to cheer our hearts out for our heroes. Sam Perkins and Detlef Schrempf spoke. But the most magical moment was when the Sonics rookie and third-string point guard Eric Snow took the mike and led a cheer. He shouted "SUUUUUUPER" and the crowd responded "SONICS!!!" over and over. I felt so happy. I knew they would win now. And they did.
I've seen lots of great players wear the Green and Gold: Payton, Kemp, Nate MacMillan, Detlef Schrempf, Sam Perkins, Xavier McDaniels, Tom Chambers, Dana Barros, Dale Ellis, Rashard Lewis, Ray Allen, and Kevin Durant. It kills me that this team is leaving. I want to eulogize the beauty of Seattle basketball here, but my words fall short. The Sonics are as much a part of my heritage as good coffee and rainy skies.
The music is a little dramatic, but here's a video from the "SAVE OUR SONICS" group that sums up the way I feel. It features Kemp and Payton, and the odious David Stern explaining like the liar he is why the Sonics have to leave Seattle. I'll be back to coffee stuff tomorrow. Peace.
(For those who are unfamiliar... Payton is #20, Kemp is #40. The moment at the beginning of the video when the Sonics drafted Payton was perhaps the most momentous point in the Sonics' modern history. The villainous Stern made the announcement. Gus Williams (#1), Slick Watts, "Downtown" Fred Brown (whose sons went to my high school and played for our little state-championship teams), and Lenny Wilkens are featured for their star roles in the 1979 Sonics NBA chamionship over the Washington Bullets, still the only championship any Seattle team has ever won. Jack Sikma was the best center ever to play for Seattle. The business-looking guys in the middle with the jersey are Schulz and Clay Bennet announcing the nefarious, underhanded sale of the team. Ray Allen (#34) and Rashard Lewis (#7) were the best players on the last decent Sonics team from 4 years ago. Detlef Schrempf (#11) was a great player and a fan favorite for having played at the U of Washington in Seattle.)
As always, the more going on, the less time I have to post about it. There's tons going on right now!
First of all, a huge round of applause for the new World Barista Champion, Stephen Morrissey of Ireland. Stephen is a great guy, and so dedicated to great coffee. He will be a great ambassador for our industry. I can't wait to see the wonderful things he does in the next year and beyond. Congrats to Stephen, U.S.A. champion Kyle, and all the great competitors! We all owe you so much!
Second, Bobbie and I had a great and delicious time on Saturday with our food and coffee pairing. As always, Bobbie outdid herself with the dishes. The prize for best dish was a close match between Bobbie's "breakfast quinoa" and the eminently edible steak and cheese sandwiches (I devoured mine like a hungry wolverine). But the dish that truly blew me away was the medium-boiled eggs with garden sprouts and fresh pea puree served with a Blue Batak Sumatra from Volcafé. I have been at this food-and-coffee pairing business for a while. I daresay I've done more of this than just about anyone in North America. And I can't say I have ever seen it nailed so well as Bobbie nailed it on Saturday. I kept going back and forth between the coffee and the puree, even rudely interrupting conversation, to taste the incredible similarities and contrasts. Wow! Thumbs up to Volcafe and the producers of the coffee, and double thumbs up to NYC's best-kept chef secret: Bobbie Marchand!!!
Thanks to Bobbie for doing all the work, Rachel G. for helping, and thanks to Cerise, Randal, Allie, Ashley and Ginnie for attending. (Ginnie has a rad science-writing blog here.)
Third, my colleague Willem Boot is in New York for two days on his way to Mexico for a conference on natural-processed coffees in Acapulco. We have big plans for the quality coffee scene in New York. I know I am more coy than revealing in these blog posts when it comes to future plans, but I'm not at liberty to say much now about our plans. But it will be cool! And it will result in better coffee for everyone in New York! Huzzah!
Fourth, the excellent and estimable Andrew Barnett of Ecco Caffé, of Santa Rosa, California, revealed to me last night that he's opening a roastery and café in New York City. AhhhhHHHH! Awesome. Anyone who knows me knows that I basically consider Andrew the pre-eminent coffee roaster in the United States. That he has been on the West Coast these two years that I have been on the East Coast has been a constant thorn in my coffee-loving side. There are many hurdles to clear and inspectors to placate in the meantime, but the knowledge that Ecco is on the way to Gotham makes me happy inside.
Go Andrew Barnett. Go Stephen Morrissey. Go Bobbie Marchand. Go Willem Boot. Go love it all.
Kyle gave a spot-on performance in the WBC first round in Copenhagen. Two interesting notes:
He switched from the Finca Matalapa from El Salvador and instead went with the Santa Teresa from Panama... nice coffee! But I was surprised he made a change so soon after winning the US.
Second, if you watch the video all the way through you hear Kyle tell the story of TSA deciding his grinder "looked like a missile" and dismantling it and then wrecking it when putting it back together while Kyle had to go through "security" at the airport. Sigh.
(Though to be fair, Kyle does hate freedom).
Awesome! Lily is a fifth-generation coffee person from El Salvador. She and her husband own Viva Espresso, where they have the best baristas in San Salvador. She is a member of the Pacas extended family, which has presence throughout the country, and for whom the pacas (and pacamara) varietals are named.
Lily is a great friend and a wonderful hostess every time I visit El Salvador. What a strong performance she gives in Copenhagen!
I've been compiling all the cupping data from the final round of March's Ethiopia Limited competition in Addis Ababa. This involves going through the score sheets of specific judges one by one and recording any notes they made on each individual coffee. Then we pass along this information to bidders so they have a little more cupping data beyond the raw scores.
Sounded like dull work when I started it, but it's turned out to be a lot of fun. Reading back through these score sheets, it's remarkable how distinct my memories of these coffees are. I'm just getting over a cold, too, and my inability to taste or smell anything in my immediate environment is probably contributing to my crystal clear recollections of the aromatics from three months ago.
If you've ever seen one of these auction offerings sheets, you may have been (as I remember being) a bit confused by the proliferation of descriptors. Some get repeated over and over. For instance, "sweet," is on just about every sheet. Well, for coffees that are scoring in the high 80's and 90's, I should hope so! Then you have your outliers that only one person noted (I will proudly own up to the mentions of "pineapple" you will see on this year's auction sheet).
Reading these is like reading coffee erotica. As distinct from espresso porn, which is an entirely visual arousal. This is the literary version.
Here's the entry for a typical sun-dried natural coffee, the #9-ranked Sidamo from Adam Bedane: berries, ripe cherries, sweet, vanilla, fresh butter, dark chocolate, oranges, tangerine, great snap, finishes smooth, citrus, sweet and fat
I leave off all the negative comments. They are few and far between, but they do pop up from time to time... with the washed coffees it's usually a hint of astringency or "youth" in the coffee; with the naturals it's usually a hesitant question about uniformity. Suffice to say these are outlier remarks too: if more than one judge detected something like this, the coffee wouldn't have scored high enough to make the finals.
I also, regrettably, must leave off most of the truly creative descriptors. So my note of "astonishing!!!" for the natural Korate from SMS is not on the list. Nor is Tracy Allen's note of "preacher's daughter," on Yitbarek Tilahun's washed coffee from Aleta Wondo.
So , while sloppiness in descriptors can make me cranky, let the court record show that I admit it's impossible not to find joy in things like the flavor of mango in a coffee. For the truly dorky, I'm transcribing every single descriptor from this list after the jump.
As part of my ongoing effort to completely abdicate my responsibility to post original content and to live vicariously through my former brother-in-portafilter-arms, Kyle Glanville, here is a cool video from BoingBoing (again with the coffee, BB!). It's a visit to the Intelly LA roastery. Also, the title of the video is "Part One," so if they post a part two, I suppose I have to follow suit.
The Chemex coffee maker is part chemist’s funnel, part Erlenmeyer flask, with a blond leather band in the middle corseting its hourglass curves. An iconic symbol of German modernism and simple, functional Bauhaus style, the device—a Pyrex glass container with a sturdy paper filter—produced M.F.K. Fisher’s favorite cup of coffee and still holds an alluring power over coffee purists and design geeks. Its success launched its inventor, Dr. Peter Schlumbohm, into the arms of the design establishment (the coffee maker has been a part of the MOMA’s design collection since 1944, just three years after Schlumbohm patented it), and in the early years of World War II, it was considered a patriotic alternative to products made from metals and plastics (which were essential to the war effort). A Time Magazine article from November 1946 quotes the ebullient inventor as saying, “with the Chemex, even a moron can make good coffee.”
