Sunday Morning, stop in at Tierra Mia a block from my house, on the way down the street to pick up a bag of coffee. Excellent pourover, Hacienda Esmeralda from Panama - surprised to find one of their coffees here. I watch as the baristas make oversized small chocolate lattes and cart boxes of vanilla powder and coconut syrup up from the basement. I think about the coffee I'm drinking, think back to Sugar Brown's and my days of managing Big Train accounts - selling boxes of vanilla and chai flavored powder to other coffee shops in west Texas. I think about the first time I had a coffee from Hacienda Esmeralda - their gesha varietal, 2007. It was the best coffee in the world so far, according to everyone in the industry. Tierra Mia has a framed pic of a cupping at Hacienda Esmeralda. They've misspelled gesha as geisha.
Dinette, a few blocks down Sunset Blvd. I'm riding by on my bike when I'm drawn to a stop by a line of thin suave hipsters waiting outside a walkup window. (I'm thin. I can be suave.) Gold letters on the window, trays of expensive torts, a shot of espresso in a paper cup. It's from Intelligentsia, I assume it's Black Cat, but the barista is busy, so I don't ask. Maybe I should apply for a job here, or an apprenticeship at the tattoo parlor next door.
Woodcat. I arrive to get my bag of coffee. I choose a Papua New Guinea. Arokara Cooperative - never heard of this particular co-op, but maybe the coffee will taste like Madan Estate, another favorite from my Sugar Brown's days. I enjoy a shot of Wrecking Ball's 1up blend (savory, hint of spice) in a cracked Intelligentsia demitasse with a really nice croissant. The croissants at the coffee bar I'm currently supervising aren't that great; I've fielded a couple of customer complaints. I enjoy the shot, cracked mug, chipped paint on my metal chair, weird plant in a jar on the weathered table. I think about my grandparents' old house in Seagraves, TX, sitting around drinking crappy coffee in old mugs with my uncles.