Coffee is the one thing I've had in nearly every country I've ever set foot in, and it was never the same drink twice — espresso standing at a bar in Italy, sweet condensed milk dripping through a phin in Vietnam, a whipped-sugar cafecito handed through a window in Miami. It's a fruit seed that we set on fire on purpose and then extract with hot water, and every step from the mountainside to the mug changes what lands on your tongue. This is the whole thing: where it came from, how it grows, how it's roasted — including roasting it yourself — every way I know to brew it, everything people put in it, and how to cook with it.
I started on coffee in earnest around 1990, when I lived in Beaufort, South Carolina, and bought my first business: a coffee shop and ice cream shop in one, where I also baked the desserts and cookies and made sandwiches. Back then almost all of the coffee I sold was ground on site and brewed in French presses. Who knew it would go this far.
Where coffee comes from, what it is, what it costs and what it does to you.
From a popcorn popper to a production drum.
The kit, the numbers, the water, and what to do when the cup is wrong.
Milk, sugar, syrups, chicory, and coffee as an ingredient.
How whole countries drink it: the Ethiopian ceremony, Arabic qahwa, the Vietnamese phin, the Cuban cafecito and Hong Kong's yuenyeung.
Coffee's odd relations: Rhode Island syrup, Brooklyn soda, Algerian glasses, Greek frappés and dalgona, Turkish sand and fortune-telling, monsooned beans, coffee stouts, Battle Creek substitutes, cheese, charcoal, husks and spirits.
Cupping, tastings, competitions, classes and the farms.
Everything about turning coffee into a business, from a market table to a shop.
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