we don’t care that these taste descriptors are meaningless to you — other blogs brag about their coffee spoils all the time! and so, we hereby parlay an unprecedented stretch of excellent brew — a home junkie’s full house — into an ENTIRE
WEEKFORTNIGHT of loquacious gloating. amorphous crack-metaphors for the romantics, cupping notes for the serious students and a 17-point scale for the churlish analytics!
home-roasted dolce: burnt to blisters, yet still too light for espresso use.
** bumper crop’s microcosm espresso blend already had us hopelessly in the tank, having first arrived during last winter’s brooding months and completely stealing away the blogwife through sheer force of agreeable sweet complexity. this blog learned to put its doldrums behind it in a hurry.
this second-ever batch presented itself with the barista-poet‘s recent jaunt through town, acting as a well-known sort of jon lewis calling card.
with hardened water, the badly nicknamed quintimicrocrux actually got softer, with the toasted sugar and clear fruits rounding out a bit — the opposite of the hard-water effect on our ethiopian obsession du jour. soft water shots brought more pronounced barley, less cream.
a raving 15. this coffee was an old friend and an energizing new presence. we only wish we could order some regularly, as a way of periodically reframing “sublime espresso” in our blogmind.
at least, that’s what it tastes like when the pros do the roasting. this blog, it failed hopelessly to turn anything worthwhile out of our limited supply of green beans. batch one: oh, yeah. there’s malabar in here. meaning the stuff was so far under-roasted, for malabar, that it sent this blog into convulsions and weak, warbling whines that could only follow a sip of liquid, gassy marmite. unthinkable as a beverage.
what was confounding was that even a roast to the point of scattered blisters (see pic above) left a blend essentially too yeasty and grassy to brew as espresso. we didn’t have enough to experiment thoroughly, but count this blog exasperated.
and so, the most dismal numeric score in this shameless stretch of braggy coffee swilling comes from this blog’s own roaster. a 3. we’ll leave the finer points of cooking malabar to the godfather.