mesmeralda herself, emanating nicely on the zombie‘s third and final 13-gram try.
while wrasslin’ some absurd studio excellence blend (mystery poo thrown haphazard into the bioluminescent cypriot’s roaster), and waiting for last year’s beatific panama esmeralda to finish cooking, this blog …
well, yes. that would be 2006 esmeralda, the auction lot. mmmm-hmmm. correct. it was a mere $50 a pound from the farmer then — paltry pittance compared to this year’s heady auction heights. uhhh, yeah. we think it may well be the only bit of 2006 lady ez left on earth (not counting civet-digested bits). er, indeed. ‘twould pose an irresistable opportunity for comparison with this year’s batch.
if you were to presume that this blog, upon hearing this weekend that the squalorous cypriot still had his one-pound, $100 bag of green 2006 mesmeralda in a cabinet somewhere, dropped its not unlengthy jaw into the floorboards, you would be correct. what to do with such spoils? bronze them, bean by bean? roast them on an open fire, drone some tribal chants and snort them, whole bean, through a large straw? make a heart?
why, no. instead, the dizzying week belonging to our lady of esmeralda, thought this year to be so far out of reach, has unraveled thus:
on friday we smelled — just smelled, mind you — the dry grounds of c-n-c‘s precious bag of ez, circa 2007, also known as counter culture’s second-pick offering. daynjah dan had come to town, bedheaded new york baristi cohorts in tow, on one of those now ever-popular espresso road trips. only, this one was covered the east coast and, presumably, featured plenty of disappointment and bitterness. the four of us watched as shannon ground the preciousss in a hand mill and
stuffed it in his shorts, er, offered we humble bar towels a whiff. verdict: honeysuckle bludgeon.
on saturday, we trekked to atlanta, blogbabes in tow, to consume her five ways with the dynamic atlanta duo. oddly, counter culture’s roast (a very light city+ or so) seems to leave a large amount of plant matter in the flavor profile — a not unpleasant array of dandelion and tomato and nutmeg up front, though not the mesmeralda’s tea-like floral punch of yesteryear. in the cupping spoon, it was all sweet dandelion and thyme aromas, with strawberry and lemon dances on the tongue. the cloudy french press offered more sawgrass and sweet basil. some leather. then the fetco-ed vac pot, which teed up butter, vanilla and light winey notes of sour cherry candy. the espresso (severely downdosed), offered very thin body, huge brightness but not unpleasant tea-like fruits. ah, but the clover.
the clover brought us esmeralda, the light plum, honey-stinking-suckle, pear, nutmeg labyrinthian wonder. also: “flars.” still a bit spicy, still more subtle than our remembrances of last year, but a glimpse of the eternal nonetheless.
which sort of left us wondering. is it really that different from the year before? is consuming this much expensive coffee a sin? do clovers fly?
on sunday, cue the cypriot and his casual revelation that, no, he never roasted his bag from last year. did all the experimenting with my lot, it turns out. and no, he didn’t find anything insane, fickle, moronic, covert, unjustifiable, maniacal or gobsmacking about this. which makes you want to sort of, you know, raid his cabinets some time. in the amount of time it takes to bring oneself back from the brink of asphyxiation, this blog had the local appreciators on the line and the roasters firing.
monday we turned 10 ounces in the cypriot’s drum and six more in this blog’s flaming vortex of air. later today, we gather for sublimity — doubled! which is kind of like your goddess of choice reincarnated while she still walks the earth. like brains and beauty. sugar and spice. twin iphones.
clearly, she may leave us bipolar.