The Robusta Experiment

A few weeks ago, you all received a cryptic note from me, inviting you to try a mysterious potion called “Espresso Experimento”.  Some of you then put your faith in me, sight unseen (or more properly, taste untasted), knowing that this was a worthwhile experiment.  For most of these testers, I then followed up, wondering about their experience and what they thought of the taste of this recipe.

The truth shall now be revealed.

Of the two botanical species of coffee cultivated commercially in the world, Coffea Arabica is the one we know best, and all coffee graded and sold as “specialty coffee” in the US must be Arabica.  These coffees are typically grown at high elevations, they are picked and sorted with care, and they are often sold as they are, without being blended with lower grade coffee.

The other species is Arabica’s evil twin, Coffea Robusta, a cheaper, lower-grown variant most commonly used in low-grade blends and instant coffees. Large corporations and plantation farmers love the stuff, as Robusta plants have a much higher yield, and it can be farmed at lower elevations using mechanical picking and processing methods.  It also has significantly higher (40% or more) caffeine than Arabica, so when you encounter “TurboCoffee” at the gas station, that’s what its made of.

I confess, Espresso Experimento was composed of 15% Robusta.  I hang my head in shame.

Not really.  In Italy, where espresso is the go-to form of coffee, most blends use Robusta to promote dark, thick crema.  When Robusta is run by itself through an espresso machine, what emerges is an oozing, beautiful foam that resembles shaving cream.  It is exquisite to look at.

And to me, in its raw form, it tastes like a dank, bitter form of cough syrup. 

But this was an experiment I have wanted to try for a long time.  There are better forms of Robusta to be had (as these were), and as a big fan of espresso, I needed to understand how this species works in an espresso blend – and whether it was worthwhile to consider it as a prospect for the future. 

The verdict?  I liked the impact on the crema a lot, as it gave the shots noticeable body and thickness.  I liked that it reminded me of Italian espressos and the experience of ordering a quick shot standing at a streetside coffee bar.  I liked it in milk, as it added a certain amount of punch, especially in lattes.  I didn’t care for it as a straight shot, as it added a bitterness and astringency that was more reminiscent of a darker roasted espresso. 

And having satisfied this curiosity, I won’t use it again.  I promise. 

One last thing.  I have the sense that most people walk around with the impression that espresso is an over-roasted, thick, bitter brew that has a place in milk alone, and that, when consumed as a shot, it generates a face-puckering grimace similar to that of very cheap tequila.  Please, give good espresso a chance.  Stop by The Royal Bean, or come over to our house, and let us make you a shot of a medium-roasted espresso designed to satisfy rather than punish you.  It is such a nice a experience.

The New World of Pourover Brewing

When I went to the Coffee Fest trade show in New York a few weeks ago, one of the classes I attended was on pourover brewing techniques.  The class was led by the 2011 World Brewers Cup champion Andy Sprenger of Ceremony Coffee Roasters. 

Way back when (probably in high school, actually), my first experiences in making my own coffee made use of a funky yellow plastic Melitta filtercone, along with preground coffee from the grocery store and tap water poured from a teakettle heated on an electric stove.  I measured my coffee using one of those annoying plastic scoops that came with all coffee back then as a “free gift”.

I knew that times had changed, as I was starting to see pourover bars in more cafes, and The Royal Bean has been working with the Clever drippers since shortly after they opened four years ago. 

But, as Andy’s presentation showed, we have now advanced to a new era for this seemingly simple technique.  The simplicity of the Melitta method (which they claim to have invented, though those around the world who brew in chorreadores might take exception to that) has now given way to an astonishing array of new variations on the theme.  Materials essentially remain the same, glass, plastic and ceramic), but now new shapes for the funnels, vane patterns, hole variations and depth are leading to a cascade of exciting new possibilities.  All the rage now are brewers from Hario, Bee House and Bonmac, but the classic Chemex brewer (who used to wrap these in macramé back in the day?) is making a comeback, often in conjunction with the gorgeous Coava Kone filter. 

Then, of course is the matter of water.  Water, you see, is not just water.  It must be targeted accurately and precisely to exact regions of the bed of ground coffee to ensure the optimum cup.  And (you guessed it), old school kettles just won’t do.  Check these out from Hario, Bonavita and (if you won Megabucks last week) Takahiro. 

And the brewing water must pass through household air, which contains all kinds of toxins and adulterants, so we must control this!  The solution is a set of mid-air filters (one before the water hits the coffee and one between the filter and the cup).  These tri-phase neuro-osmosis filters ensure that the EPA will bless the air quality of your cup. 

Not really. 

Andy also gave us an interesting demonstration of how the taste of paper filters affects the flavor of your coffee.  He made two batches of what was essentially “paper filter tea”, one using standard white filters, the other unbleached filters (those made of bamboo and hemp were not included).  Each person in the room was given two blinded samples and asked to compare the tastes.  Sadly, both tasted A LOT like paper, but the stronger taste definitely came from the unbleached variation. The lesson here is to rinse your filters in hot water before you brew.

So, I came back from the show with a Bonavita kettle and a Bee House brewer, and shown at left is the rig that is now needed for me to perform the simple act of making my first cup of coffee in the morning.  I weigh the dose of coffee, then grind it to precision.  The kettle (with filtered water), boils, then rests for thirty seconds.  I place the cup with the Bee House (and the properly rinsed filter) on the scale, then start the stopwatch.  I prewet the bed of coffee for thirty seconds, then pour water in a swirling patter outward from the center, striving to maintain the crust and achieve a brew time of exactly three minutes. 

What a geek, huh?