We roast twelve kilos at a time in a cast drum older than anyone who works here, listen for the first crack the way sailors listen for weather, and bag the beans before the smell leaves the room.
Washed heirloom lots from garden farms; floral, tea-like, with a finish that keeps talking after you swallow.
Caturra and pink bourbon, sun-dried on parabolic beds. Round, syrupy, the coffee equivalent of a firm handshake.
Wet-hulled the traditional way. Low, dark and resonant — cedar, tobacco leaf, a sweetness like burnt honey.
18 g of beans, 300 g of water just off the boil.
Wet the grounds, wait 35 seconds while they exhale CO₂.
Slow spirals to 300 g by 2:30. No rushing; the kettle knows.
Two minutes with the cup and nothing else. That is the recipe.