Bloggle

After a bit of a hiatus I’m back at the roaster in the garage. Why the break? It’s been chilly lately — it’s winter in Vermont, after all — and besides, my roaster doesn’t perform so well when the ambient temperature is anything less than 40 degrees. Neither do I fare all too well hanging around waiting for it to get its heat on. Oh sure, I know there’s hard-core roasters who don their parkas and mittens to roast outdoors all times of the year. That kind of insane and slavish devotion I save for barbecue alone, thanks.

I haven’t ordered any new green coffee of late (see the bit about it being cold) and so what I have left is really remnants of seasons past… in some cases, several seasons past. Some Ethiopian coffees from the last eCafe competition, Guatemalan greens from the spring before, and some Sumatra from — gosh, I really can’t be sure — maybe two years ago?

And so I roasted some of just about everything.

The Ethiopian coffee is quite decent, really. For a day or two, anyway; and then the cup just sort of… winds down. Aromatics are fleeting, flavors fading. It’s not a tragic thing, really. It’s just tired.

The Guatemalan beans have a similar tale to tell. Notably, they roast dry and hot — they’ve apparently lost a lot of moisture — and the cup quality is not only faded, but also bitter. Very much so.

The Sumatran beans — the oldest of the lot — well they’re something of a different story. They roast well within parameters I might expect of new crop beans. Fresh from the roaster the cup is quite nice (if a bit sharp.) In a day or two, they’re still quite good; caramel and cocoa aromas, turf and bittersweet chocolate flavors, long and mellow finish. And enough so that I suspect they could keep this up a week more (though I don’t know that they’ll last that long… herselfis a big fan of the coffees of Sumatra.)

Is it something about how Sumatran coffees are processed at the mill that lends them more staying power? Not necessarily… the eCafe Ethopian I sampled was a dry-process (or natural) too.

Was there perhaps more moisture in these beans to begin with, so that they’ve retained more over time? I don’t know… but if there was *that* much moisture I’d wonder that there hadn’t been something icky growing in the bag with them. And besides — they’re more than twice as old as the other beans I’d roasted of late.

Is it something about Sumatra? After all, there’s lots of beans that are marketed as Aged Sumatra… how many other origins actively market aged beans? On purpose? Um… I’m thinking. And coming up empty.

Maybe it’s really about the characteristics the coffee started with. The Ethiopian and Guatemalan beans were both bright, acidy, fruit-forward cups; the Sumatran earthy and dark-toned even when it was young. Perhaps fruit and floral esters are more delicate, more prone to age, while dusky chocolate just gets… mellow.

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If a recent article in the New York Times‘ Style Magazine is right, then everything you think you know about terroir may be wrong. The article — Talk Dirt to Me — takes aim at some long-held thinking about the stuff that makes a wine’s flavor what it is: dirt.

When terroir was first associated with wine, in the 17th-century phrase goût de terroir (literally, “taste of the earth”), it was not intended as a compliment. Its meaning began to change in 1831, when Dr. Morelot, a wealthy landowner in Burgundy, observed in his “Statistique de la Vigne Dans le Département de la Côte-d’Or” that all of the wineries in Burgundy made wine essentially the same way, so the reason some tasted better than others must be due to the terroir — specifically, the substrata underneath the topsoil of a vineyard. Wine, he claimed, derived its flavor from the site’s geology: in essence, from rocks.

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For a little more than five years now I’ve been a keen student of coffee… of coffee’s origins and varietals, growing and processing, beans and blends and roasting. Along the way I’ve learned more about farming than I’d ever have imagined (even — or maybe, especially – given the long farming tradition of my mother’s family). I’ve discovered more geography than any social studies teacher could have dreamed for me. And by visiting coffee growing communities I’ve experienced first-hand the vast chasm between those who have and those who don’t. It’s stunning… and all the more so for the selfless nature and endless generosity of the have-nots in the equation.

Two groups of Green Mountain folk just returned from trips to Mexico, and to Guatemala, where I visited about this time last year. My fellow travelers describe the immense spirit, character and generosity of their hosts in these coffee-growing lands… places hard-hit by the ravages of hurricane Stan just a few months ago. In Guatemala, at the La Voz cooperative on the shores of Lake Atitlan, upwards of 90,000 coffee trees were lost when the mountain shrugged its rain-soaked shoulders. A number of small-holder farmers found their land was… gone. Disappeared.

The harvest came in early this year… affected by the rainy weather. It’s been a challenge as many drying patios are still covered in mud and roads and bridges are still washed out in many places. And yet — in the midst of it all — those same farmers greeted our weary travelers as old friends, shared their stories, their laughter, their food and water… and they spoke of their determination with every breath.

Coffee growing people are built of sturdy stuff… but they could still use a hand. If you can, you might consider lending yours.

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• Rating:

Zounds!
My first taste of the Guatemala Coban “Tanchi” left me wondering if I dipped into the wrong bin at roast time. This coffee has stellar acidity that reminds me very much of the powerhouse Ethiopian Yrgacheffe that Barry Jarrett tossed into the Mystery Cup Challenge. The two origins, mind you, are half-way across the world. (more…)

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