The Coffee Guy's blog

Concerns of Coffee Confuse the Conscious

No goat will know better.  No goat will not eat cherries. No goat ate my coffee cherries.  Yup, they are not beans, they are roasted cherry pits.  The African villager who found frisky fonts of energy when he shepherded his flock away back, knew at that point he was in for some fun.  Lest it be known that the process was refined much later.

Whilst those in the know are aware, there are two “coffees”, the Arabica and the Robusta.  What you pour into your vessel now is either a blend of the two, a crossbreed of the two, or one or the other.  Both have functions in the flavour and aroma departments. 

Robusta the necessary part of the Crème for an espresso blend, the deep rich flavour of Arabica for the dainty an undeveloped palate.  Roasting methods and procedures also play a part in flavour development.  As well, the level of caffeine varies between the two with Robusta being the higher of the two.  Shape and other factors are more market sensitive and have no influence on flavour.

Futures on Coffee have nearly doubled over the past year, with Covid issues, fuel, transport bottle necks, and economic issues in general fueling the fire.  The future is fine otherwise, caffeinated for sure.  What has not changed it the roaster community growth.  While some are good and some are bad, others have consistency problems, on the whole the breadth of options has increased.

The down side of small independent operators and their numbers growing, is the certification and quality control of the final product.  Large producers know and can control chaff and shell amounts.  These are things in your coffee that make for bulk and weight but deliver no taste or quality.  Of course, the best coffee is milled in home immediately before brewing.  But who doesn’t love the aroma of freshly opened bags of ground coffee?

A big home brew mistake is getting a “basher” rather than a “mill” grinder.  A basher has blades that spin very fast and just bash the coffee “beans” apart.  A mill has two plates through which the “beans” are guided and slowly rolled apart to a certain size. 

Any way you lie your coffee, take the time to enjoy all stages from sourcing to drinking.  Take note of your likes and dislikes to avoid waste and distaste. 

Coffee for the Nation today Clarissa, Make it national.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Vituperous Venting Violates Virtues

Whilst I can use expletives at Will or any other person, it is no my will to wile away the hours with wanton wry comments.  I pursue more puritan platitudes to place my mind at ease.  Definitive speech comes at a cost.  The frontal cortex works harder when the emotive parts of the cranium are at rest.

I could F**k with this and that. Pull up the rest of the seven words you couldn’t say on Television.  Slay the soothe with vernacular from Shakespeare.  Go at the worst of my banes with atrocious verbiage.  But I would rather formulate furtive flailings with flair and elan.

The regression to slang is sighter than the cue.  Even the dreaded text speech the young’ins of you spout and spiel, to be such a schlemiel is not my want. Speech must convey, script is meant to be read and understood.  All that and it needn’t always use the vulgar.

Of course, there are time where a nicely stropped cussing is needed.  Honed and to the point.  The, Less is More, is more important, and brings forth the intimation deeper to the heart of the matter.  It’s the drug of choice for the cranially challenged to browbeat the brethren incessantly with impiety.  Impudence receives nothing from those that need a scolding.

Speak truth to power with clarity.  Your, “How dare you!”s will only spurn disgust and disbelief.  You need to coddle the odd cudgel close to get your conversation heard.  The beaten brow holds not bead on the goal.  The dared, dared not. 

On the global stage the actors wage war on the unwashed.  We are that which we have described ourselves as in speech.  If you want the gold it is bought with honey and honour. The beasts are those that get the blood.  Bastards bleat with unbounded anger at the thought.  Not of the thought of it.

No Vente here Veronica, I prefer a Verona, dark and smooth.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.

Lets Loquate about Ludicrous Lockdowns

There are three types of lock-down.  Type one is languishing.  Type two is lovingly.  Type three is ludicrous.  Each on its own can be desirable or destructive.  Once implemented there is not switching form yon to fro.  Stone etching is as permanent.

Exploring alone will glean insight and instruction.  Once I was on a beach in a far-off land west of here.  I had no resources to leave, desire to move, or ability to select other options in life.  The sand, white and warm, slipped through my toes like four little hour glasses ticking off the duration of entrapment in granular form.  There was glee and glasses as we swam in the sunlight and saltwater.

The desire to depart was unknown.  The want of tergiversation into ways of olde had vanished form our cranial reserves.  Sated on the sand was our stead.  Gladly locked down on a nearly vacant stretch of sand in a far-off dominion.  Thus was our way, opted in willfully and with wanton need of the environs.

Locked down into love with that person who returns the affection is also done uncompromisingly.  That lode of thanks for lust lets one languish in time.  We spare nothing to bring what we need to the other.  What one speaks the truth to unfalteringly.  We could harvest hours of pleasure just in that company.  Crave for more as our eyes turn shortly away.  Return to look again and be even more in need of the same.

Passing the ticks of time is endless yet unknown.  We can pronate here until time immemorial.  Or till that time as we all pass on.  Further and farther, fonder and for ever.  The locks of this jail are willingly left clasped together.  The key not sought and the lock rusting over.  Glad of our stead in life.

The final lock-down is ludicrous.  Un wanted, un willing, un wished for, un washed, and un worked.  The raison d’etre and sanctification is that not of our doing, but that of others.  Wanton wry wrist constraints, mental or physical are not ours.  We posit options and opinions erstwhile denied.  Say that which our druthers expect.  Unfortunately, the shackles are clasped too tightly to shake. 

The key unknown and tossed in the detritus of life.  Speed forth and solemnify extrication.  We are leaving.  Lost and listless.  Southbound and slipping the light fantastic in our loins.  Get me hack home.

List it as a Latte and froth it up Lily.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land, and for some, from The Dark Side. Not am Main nor ab der Elba, but down the Donau, and with Turkish Chai. #garagelurker2019, also A.C., Cee Minus.