Java Enabled: Blue Mountain Blues
It came in a small black trash bag. My friend, nervous that she had violated U.S. Customs law, had tried to disguise the parcel as best she could with the humble wrapping, but the smell gave it away immediately. The telltale aroma wafted up into a halo around the plastic bag -- my anticipation only enhanced the enticing smell further. I opened the black plastic and found another, smaller plastic baggy.
(It felt a little dangerous; all this sneaking around with airtight plastic packages from the Caribbean.)
And there it was: contraband Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee.
My caffeinated contraband started off as a simple offer from a friend vacationing in Jamaica. When I found out that she was going, I asked her to get me $20 worth of the coffee. Expecting a touristy package with rustic font and mountain silhouette, I was surprised when she presented me with the black trash bag. My friend's guide, a former Peace Corps volunteer, pointed out that along the road leading to the plantation local farmers sold the famous beans at a fraction of the price. Eager to stick it to the man and save some cash, my friend bought the coffee from a local. Now, I was looking at the oily black beans in the coffee-equivalent of a dime bag.
As soon as I got home, I set the beans aside and waited for my after-dinner cup. I scooped the beans, ground them to a rough consistency for my stovetop Moka Express and set it to percolate. As soon as I heard the gurgling of a full pot of coffee, I rushed over to kill the heat and enjoy the aroma.
But wait! Where are the sweet notes, that full-bodied smell? No worry -- surely the taste will be there. I serve the coffee for my boyfriend and myself, but the smell still isn't right. I taste...dog water. The coffee tastes hollow, flat, slightly burnt; woody, even. My friend brought me awful coffee.
|Jürgen Howaldt, via Wikimedia Commons|
One of the biggest problems facing coffee growers in many parts of the world is that they don't drink their own product. While this might sound like a Nebraska Husker who's never had corn on the cob, coffee is a cash crop and production has little to do with local consumption. Mexico, for example, is the world's fifth largest producer of coffee, but has the smallest domestic consumption of any major producing nation. How can you grow beans to accentuate certain flavors and avoid bitterness, much less roast them properly, when you don't know what you're looking for?
This was a problem facing coffee farmers I met in Cuba and Mexico. In the coffee-growing regions of Mexico they drink café de olla, a sweet coffee flavored with cinnamon. While in Cuba, almost all the coffee I drank was served in demitasse cups loaded with sugar. Both serving styles mask the burnt taste underneath, down playing the need for good roasting.
Some fair trade organizations directly address this problem with a focus on farmer education. Sustainable Harvest in Portland, Oregon, has elevated the practice to an annual international conference, Let's Talk Coffee. There, growers, importers and even baristas experience farming and roasting techniques as well as cuppings (coffee tastings) led by experts from around the world.
That guy who sold my friend the coffee understood that the bean itself was a valuable commodity, but what he didn't realize is that coffee, like a diamond in the rough, doesn't reach full potential in its raw state. Not until the beans are properly roasted does the real value percolate to the top. After all secrecy and anticipation, perhaps it was appropriate that my contraband Jamaica Blue Mountain arrived in a trash bag.