if this blog were a merit-badge-toting member of the third-wave espresso glitterati, it might fashion this post like so:
yeah, well, what can i say? long time no post. sooooo busy, you know, working out the kinks of my new sidamo cafe muffins (long story .. more later, if i have the time. actually, no. it’s not going to happen.) and reading doug zell’s new blog and jetting over for some loose time at the hopping c-n-c between SEERious work issues to hang a bit with those crazy kats chris tat and m’lissa tat, who by the way showed me this sweet dive of an irish pub … oh, man. so much went down i can’t even say. actually, i can’t even remember.
something about free-pour stout foam art. lol.
but man. just chilling with those people had me dying over, you know, the really saaad way that coffee companies totally ignore, like, the entire indonesian peninsula/continent/thing when it comes to direct sourcing. seriously. why do the ethiopians and el salvadorians get all the cozy seed-to-cup relationships with the intelly synod whilst aceh can’t even rebuild its post-tsunami stick huts for lack of foreign investment? because most sumatra tastes too much like body fungus, that’s why! human spores and swamp-aged dr. scholl’s, that what i say. i wrote that on my cupping sheet yesterday, actually: “dr. scholl’s acc. to ferran adria.”
but anyway, the most ROUNDISH shots of kid o espresso were rolling from the spouts, and we had this great little talk about good- and bad-foaming oils, which as you know is like my de facto area of study. the zombie had a good point, though: those molecules are polar, baby, like magnetized cheet-os or something. which, oops, is something i need to work on a little more before revealing as the basis for a
sig drinkfurtive surprise at this year’s regionals. sigh. more work. will it ever end? will it?
oh, well. apologies for all the insider refs. it’s the mad world of a world-changer, what can i say? and, oh yeah, a shout-out to my favorite road-trippers for the free cauca microlot. i’m thinking it’ll rock the aerobie cloverpot in the morning, since i don’t really, you know, bother with espresso at home.
but alas, this blog is not in that club. which made it all the nicer, really, that the dynamic atlanta duo would just sit and sip and chat and edify at shannon’s place this afternoon. really. in a mall. in greenville. bearing coffee gifts and with five hours of a road trip still ahead of them. which is, you know, sorta what this thing is all about — me in a cubicle suit, them in traditional barista unis and the cypriot in a ponytail … all of us thinking, more or less: “who do we tell next? and how best?”
at least, that’s what this blog was thinking as it buzzed back to the flourescent lights for a deadline.