Small Business Saturday! Everyone’s favorite shopping day, it’s a welcome antidote to the mad competition of Black Friday.  And for those of you in the neighborhood of Santa Cruz, when I’m finished sauntering through the Sock Shop and Bookshop Santa Cruz, I’ll probably pop by my favorite eating place, Oswald–who are open tomorrow just from 7-11 and with a limited menu, but which should be sufficient to keep all us indie business enthusiasts very well fed and bountifully watered.

So if you’re shopping in Santa Cruz tomorrow, remember the folks at Oswald. Who yes are friends of yours truly, but they’re also a Santa Cruz business well worth supporting.

See you there!

So, you have some freshly roasted, gorgeously brown beans, from Ethiopia or Costa Rica.

What to do next?

Mahmoud Hazr has one approach:

Mahmoud set the mortar and pestle to one side and reached for the incongruously homely English saucepan of steaming water that Ali had set to boil, filled from a skin hanging off the rafters. Picking up the tallest of three long, thin brass coffee pots, he poured the ground coffee into it, followed by the steaming water. After a minute he skimmed off the foam and allowed the coffee to subside, then poured the mixture into a smaller pot of the same shape. He added a pinch of spice, stirred and skimmed it again, and finally poured the tar-like coffee into four porcelain cups without handles that nested into the palm of the hand. It was unlike any Turkish coffee I had ever tasted, fragrant with the cardamom and thick enough to spoon from the cup.

And there’s another method—two of them—in an upcoming story:

I watched Holmes’ growing impatience as his brother fiddled with his new patent coffee contraption (which, frankly, produced a beverage indistinguishable from the boiling-beaker-and-old-sock method we used over our laboratory’s Bunsen burner)

Problem is, there’s such a dizzying array of brewing methods, where to begin? Me, I prefer the French press system, where you put the coarse grounds in your (warmed) glass or (in my case) insulated metal pot, pour in the less-than-boiling water,

and let it sit for a minute before pushing down the mesh filter. It’s not as thick a brew as Mahmoud’s, but if you object to a film in the bottom of your cup, you’ll probably want to use a paper filter instead. Or old socks, I suppose (assuming they’re clean.)

You could also play with the more exotic methods: if you find coffee acidic on your stomach, there’s a number of cold-brew methods. If you just want a cup when you wake up in the morning, use a good automatic drip pot with a time setter. (Although if you use an automatic pot, for God’s sake drink your coffee quickly, since letting the delicate oils stew over a hot plate makes for a truly disgusting brew.) If you want to go for a method with flair, try a Chemex, or join the Aeropress cult, or something that resembles a 16^th century rocket.

Coffee is one of life’s real joys: play with it, pay attention to it, and experiment with all its possibilities.

Enjoy.

Over the years, I’ve introduced any number of people to the contagion of excellent coffee: a pound of some excellent beans and a decent grinder, I’ve created an addict for life.

Beans: what kind? Any beans you get in a coffee store is going to be Coffea arabica (the big, low-altitude robusta are only used in cheap coffees and instants.)

This is a shrub with shiny leaves and rows of gorgeous and incredibly fragrant white flowers running down the branches, that become pretty red berries.

Inside the berry are two pale green beans, little gems awaiting heat. The names you see in the shops—Kenya, Costa Rica, Tanzania, Kona—tell you where that coffee was grown. Mocha, for example, refers to the port in Yemen where a particularly magnificent little bean comes from: “Mocha Java” should be a blend of this with beans from Java—however, often it’s a far more generic blend.  (So make sure you buy from a reputable shop.)  Personally, I love the rich, almost winey Ethiopian and Yemeni beans, tiny ugly little sources of nectar, rather than the handsome, uniform, larger and more acidic Central American varieties. And because coffee has a habit of being raised in poor countries, I like to buy one of the Fair Trade kinds, which puts more income in the hands of the growers.

Then we come to the roast.

Mahmoud took his brother’s place at the fire, dropping to his heels and pulling open the drawstring of the leather pouch. He plunged his hand in, came up with a handful of pale grey-green beans, thumbed a few of them back into the bag, and then poured the rest of them into the skillet. It appeared we had earned the right to a cup of coffee.

Holmes had already warned me that in Arab countries, coffee-making was a long drawn-out affair. We sat in silence watching Mahmoud’s utterly unhurried motions, swirling the beans across the pan. The small green dots changed colour, grew dark, and finally began to sweat their fragrant oil. When they were shiny and slick and nearly burnt, Mahmoud picked up a large wooden mortar and with a flick of the wrist, tipped the contents of the coffee skillet into it, spilling not a single bean.

(O Jerusalem)

Coffee roasts range from medium brown to nearly black, depending on what you’re doing with it. The lighter the roast, the more complex—or perhaps less straightforward—the flavor. But there’s a lot more to it than just the color.

The beans have to be kept moving, the smoke has to be vented, once they reach their doneness, they should be quickly cooled—in other words, roasting is both an art and a science, and although dabbling in an art is always a lot of fun,

home roasting can be a bit of a commitment for those of who just want a good cup of coffee.

In any event, the only rules for coffee are, a good quality bean, and freshly roasted. Stale coffee is so disgusting, you’d be better off stirring some instant into hot milk.

Let’s talk about ways of brewing it tomorrow.