forgetting for a moment that solis jake (who has been pulling shots with this blog since our insufferably spiffy three-krups setup in the college newspaper office) used the weekend cupping to show shocking favoritism toward other blogs, the very public and very collegial c-n-c event left us rolling molasses and raisins through the molars and pledging not to be so dismissive toward aged sumatrans.
the cypriot being present, bizarre taste descriptors of sundry foreign goods soon proliferated, as if any more reasons were needed for malling passers-by to stare at the motley group huffing cups of dry, gnarly plant matter and snorking from deep-bowled spoons. still, the attention had this blog thinking that, hey, maybe that crazy estonian had it right — optimally evangelistic coffee events are best held in the open, near the food court!
this blog, in awe as usual of the super-sensory blogwife, found its fancy settling on what she described as the orange-pipe-smoke, cedar-n-toasted-cashew honduran cup of excellence. tops for intrigue: the dueling kenyas, weighing in with blackstrap, heavy raisin and sweet tomato (the rioki) and some lighter, buttered raisin, tomato vine and grapefruit (mamuto). as for the aged sumatran: musty and dry, like african bedsheets, but with pan-fried duck and a wee bit of celery! sleep on that why don’t you.
yes, well. play-by-plays of cuppings being about as scintillating as chai, we’ll curtail with the exhortation to, upon your next slurping endeavor, involve the family. and do it in a public place.
shades. bifocals. like a cool sumatra — aged! … the cypriot goes earlobe-deep in
jake’s precioussssss … annnnd a pale, frothy giveaway that your sumatra mighta been sittin’ around awhile.