if this blog trolled the forums as it should, not only would its skin be pastier and its Monitor Eye achier, but it probably would have already procured the vital knowledge that vivace’s espresso dolce might as well be called ‘holy monsooned malabar,’ for all its pale, puffy gassy-ness. indeed, were we just talking about pasty?
and so here, for scientific purposes, we have this blog’s minimal summer arm coloration — let’s call it “inner thigh white” — next to some unroasted dolce. or, as you might reasonably call the shade, “thrice-dead corpse.”
malabar wins the pasty-off!
which sort of explains the extraordinary, love-it-or-hate-it vivace spro and the sharp rush of nostalgia when we plopped some of the roasted stuff into the basket this evening. it’s now weeks since our first sip on the haphazard rush through coffee mecca, and the distinctive profile is instantly recognizable. sweet like honey, harsh like locust.
erg, yes, we did just bumblingly compare the godfather’s espresso to john the baptist’s diet. for the shallow metaphor pool, this blog deeply apologizes.
there must be SOME reason others haven’t followed the malabar-heavy espresso route blazed by one of the world’s most cited espresso gurus … and it ain’t that customers hate it. the day we joined the seattle hipsters lolling on the fire escapes, vivace’s meager sidewalk kiosk heavily outdrew the thumping zoka stand and even the airy stumptown outlet in the same general part of town.
the answer eluded us on the telly this eve, as this blog bandied the puzzle with c-n-c’s shannon. frustrated, and somewhat smitten, we gargled some more. holy mesquite cherry. it’s no chocolate bomb, but it IS a rangy fruited musk. which, we suppose, is what one could have said of john the baptist.
p.s. that wikipedia page on malabar coffee … strangely hoffmann-esque! for example: “spoilt.”