Truvia Review

In my ideal world, there would be an endless supply of Japanese sweet potatoes, almond butter, and Broadway's Yirgacheffe. I would have a VO2 max of 90, David Rudisha's stride mechanics, and Killian Jornet's climbing legs. I would work in a shop where everyone tipped, appreciated espresso, and didn't demand sweeteners. 

But that is utopia, and utopia is not reality. In reality, I have to pay for groceries, my stride is awkwardly loopy, and people do want to sweeten their coffee. Those first two things are neither here nor there (I've devoted too many words to my legs flailing already), however - this is about sweetness. 

Or rather, it's about a certain sweetener: Truvia, which sent me some of its product to try. 

Although, to be honest, I'm not trying Truvia for the first time. It and I actually go back several years, to a time I cynically refer to as my "get ripped or die trying" period. I pounded weights, treadmills (how this whole running thing got started, actually), protein shakes, and all sorts of pills with dubious claims. 

I also sweetened a great deal of my food (never my coffee, however), to make up for the fact that much of what I was eating barely deserved the title. My sweetener of choice was Truvia, because unlike most other (Splenda, Sweet 'n Low, Purevia, etc.) packets, it contained no dextrose or maltodextrin, two starches processed to the point that they're metabolized like sugar. 

This is, to me, still a decided positive. Truvia's ingredient list reads as follows: Erythritol, Rebiana, Natural Flavors. Erythritol is a sugar alcohol, and passes through the body, unabsorbed. (This means that Truvia, despite what the box says, is basically non caloric.) Interestingly, there is also evidence that it might be good for dental health. Rebiana is stevia extract, which gives Truvia its name. There is a rather massive body of research on the health effects of stevia, and its safety, but I won't go in to it. Suffice it to say, unlike sucralose and aspartame - which are, at best, not actively dangerous - stevia might do some good things for you. Natural flavors are... something. 

On taste, it's important to note that, since both erythritol and stevia exist naturally, they've not been created to simulate the taste of sugar. Some find erythritol to have a slight mint taste to it, and stevia has been compared to licorice, and called slightly metallic by its detractors. Together (and along with "natural flavors"), the blend masks those stronger flavor notes, and the taste reads as rather directly sweet, with only a tiny hint of mintiness left over. 

In coffee, I'd been told that the resulting flavor is similar to sugar, and all other assorted artificial choices. Still, I had to investigate, and so I recruited some people I know, and a decent amount of customers. Some could tell a difference, but with the exception of one Splenda fanatic, no one found the difference substantial. That is, no one thought Truvia tasted significantly better or worse than the other options. It sweetened the coffee, and not much else. 

That, I think, is what people wanted, provided they wanted their coffee sweet at all. Since I don't, my tasting impressions were tempered somewhat. I found it similar in sweetness and flavor (not much besides sweet) to other packets, although not the sort of thing I'd use myself. 

To be axiomatic, this is the sort of thing that people who like this sort of thing will like. If they're looking to avoid calories, don't trust artificial sweeteners, and still want to sweeten their coffee, this is probably the best choice out there. 

Runner's High Coffee Mini-Review, And Me Being an Idiot

So I made coffee yesterday, and I have to admit, it wasn't very good. The result was sort of a hot liquid, and dark brown, and it really even smelled a little like coffee. But it wasn't quite there. This was particularly disappointing, because I had spent a pretty penny on a pound of coffee, which I basically never do anymore. (This is, perhaps, the greatest perk this blog has given me. People send me coffee in the mail now, which is indescribably great.)

Only I see this at my local coop grocer, and I can't not buy it. Sure, it was expensive (everything at tiny health food grocers is), but just look at it. It's like their marketing department (or just the dude who designs the bags) interviewed me. It's coffee, with running shoes on it, and an LSD joke for good measure. And oh, it's a blend that prominently features East African beans, my perfect poison. (As an aside, shouldn't it just be Kenyan and Ethiopian? We haven't had any great Latin American marathoners in over a decade.)

And so I'm going to go running yesterday, and since I just woke up, I need to have a cup. I do the things I normally do, and everything seems fine. (But perhaps it isn't... This is a tease to keep reading. Please do.) Only the result, to be blunt, tastes like my Grandma's Folgers. Well, let's pull that back. It's wasn't quite that bad. There was a hint of something that maybe, sort of, was something that had an inkling of what coffee could be, in another life, or something like that.

I ran my six miles anyway, crawling up and down the lovely hills of Lawrence, KS, at a steady clip. It went well, or at least as well as ancillary mileage done on a sidewalk can. But I couldn't shake the coffee. Or rather, I couldn't shake the lack of coffee. This was supposed to be good, I thought. I had already imagined a nice glowing write-up, or at least, a fun little mention.

But I didn't get that, and instead, I wondered if I'd be left writing a post about not liking a coffee, something that almost never happens.

But as it turns out, I do like this coffee. In fact, I pretty much love it. Another preparation today, and it was glorious, full of all sorts of fun flavor notes and juicy hints of acid-laced trail mix. Furthermore, I ran a 10K PR today, after drinking this very coffee. Coincidence? Well, maybe. And also, I guess I should say I'd never actually run a timed 10K, so whatever I managed was going to be my PR, by default. But still, the coffee kicked ass, and I ran 38:45 for 10K, which was about what I had hoped for. (And yes, if you're a top level Latin American marathoner, you're clearly much faster than me. Sorry about that earlier jab.)

This is the part where I explain why, and also, why I shouldn't be trusted with heavy machinery. This morning, as I went back for round 2, I noticed that my grinder was off. Not just off, but way off, lingering over in french press territory, when I needed a fine grind for my pour over preparation. (It had been set thusly so I could make cold press.) I nudged the setting back, and to the left, and proceeded as normal.

Now I know what you're thinking. Well, I don't know for sure. Maybe you have serious things to think about in your life, more heady things than coffee. But I don't, and you are reading this, so things can't be too hectic. Anyway, I'm going to presume to know something like what you're thinking: Isn't that kind of a huge mistake? How did you not notice that the grounds were the size of rock salt, rather than table sugar? Aren't you supposed to be an expert or something? Doesn't someone pay you to make coffee? To hell with it, I'm gonna go read Peter's blog instead.

Well, you should read Peter's blog, since he has a cat named after a smart Roman guy, and also, while you're there, he has an interview with me. And you do have every right to ask those questions. But, this being my blog and all, I don't have to answer them. Cheers.

Starlight, Starbrite: A Caribou Review

Though the biggest national presence in coffee, Starbucks is not the only chain. Caribou coffee, spreading from the upper mid-west, is laying claim to the green apron'd giant's crown. Thus, Starbucks rolls out its lightest blends ever, and Caribou produces its own. (Caribou also expanded the other side of the spectrum, producing, quite literally, the darkest bean I've ever seen. I'll talk more about it soon.)

I found the Starbucks offerings quite palatable, certainly preferable to Pike's Place in terms of distinguishable flavor and character. They passed the "would I pay for it" test, with the necessary caveat that I'd only happily do so in a setting where small batch coffee was lacking. This was not a slight, so much as an acknowledgment that mass produced beans can only be so good.

It's this world of presumptions in to which Caribou's Starlight Blend enters. My opinion was further nudged in the negative direction when, upon examining the bag, I could find no mention of the beans used in the blend. I opened it then, and found the beans looking up at me on the lighter side of medium - hardly the crackling bronze I'd imagined.

But the smell was enticing, and so I tried to cast my biases aside, and brew.

*It's worth noting here that my palate skews towards acidity, dominant fruit notes and heavy sweetness. These are the sorts of things I prefer, and as such, inform my views.*

The smell was honest, and the taste delivered. The result was sweet, with a dense layer of acidity. It was, for the most part, exactly what I profess to like above. Your tongue feels the weight of the coffee, and yet it wouldn't be right to speak of a truly heavy body; more like a honey sweetness, syrupy and thick. The comparison I came back to most was that of a good trail mix: Cherries and dates mixed with almonds. And like trail mix, I imagine this will appeal to a broad spectrum of drinkers. It is neither so light nor acidic to displease those who prefer "the dark roast", though it professes to occupy the opposite niche.

This was my first taste of Caribou Coffee, a chain of which I'd heard, but never seen. On first blush, color me impressed. The quality of beans, attention to coaxing out their unique flavors, and then blending them appropriately, is evident here - chain coffee or not.

New Media, Same As the Old Media?

There have been a lot of words written about writing, and about the new age thereof. Thanks to formats like the one you're reading now, the erstwhile gatekeeper now guards a passage anyone with the internet can circumvent. Start a blog, write what you want. It's that simple.

Of course, getting anyone to read it is another matter, and quite difficult. That anyone can start a blog means that many people do, and in such a maelstrom, it can be difficult to stand out. There are no shortage of tips on how to accomplish this, many based on the exploitation of new media formats.

With this in mind, we revisit the idea of the gatekeeper, whose demise was perhaps reported prematurely. A blog that already has readers can do an awful lot to help one that does not, either by linking or offering guest posting opportunities.

Mike, at Daily Shot of Coffee, has done all of those things for me.

First, there were these two articles.

Later, Baristing was listed as one of the internet's must-read coffee blogs.

My readership has grown quite a bit since then. I've been linked elsewhere, and contacted by companies both large and small for reviews and promotional opportunities (a discussion of two new Caribou coffees is forthcoming).

But before today, I'd never been featured in an interview.

They call the internet new media, but in some ways, it performs very much like the old. While there are now few regulations and restrictions on content creation, there are still arbiters and promoters, still those to direct the flow of traffic.

There is still the matter of content. Guest posting is a great idea - if the post is a good advertisement for your writing. And while linking generates first time hits, it does nothing for repeat traffic. Ultimately, this is still writing. People have to read it, and not hate the experience.

All of this is not to say that I have any particular insight on how one might create a popular blog, or even a good one. We can debate about whether Baristing is either of those things. What it says, rather, is that I'd like to return a blip of traffic to Mike's site, and that we're still playing by many old rules. 

Blonde Ambition: A Starbucks Veranda and Willow Review

It's said that gentlemen prefer blonds. Increasingly, this is the case in the coffee community. The belief is that roasting a bean deprives it of some essential flavor, and that to minimize that loss, the roast should be as short as possible. But until recently, this was a trend isolated to the specialty coffee community. The larger corporate entities still promised "bold" options (read: dark as hell), with the implication being that lighter was weaker.

No longer. The nation's largest coffee companies (Starbucks and Caribou) are both offering their lightest roasts to date. I'll have a more in depth discussion of Caribou's offerings, probably later this week. Starbucks, for its part, offered up the Willow and Veranda blends.

The former is comprised of Latin American and East African beans. As such, there is a hint of acidity in the cup. It is a delicate bite, however, and will strike the experienced Yirgi drinker as decidedly subtle. But if we assume that the average Starbucks drinker has not ventured far beyond the realm of the green apron, this coffee will probably be an eye opener. Because while it is light in roast, it is not without taste.

The Veranda blend is yet more subtle. The African beans are absent here, and as such, the hint of acid and wine is missing. What is left is a smooth, mellow coffee, but without any pronounced flavor notes. It sits lightly on the palate, and will probably serve as a comfortable entre in to the world of lighter beans for the dedicated Pike's Place drinker.

For me, both coffees pass the "Would I pay for it?" test. My affinity for African beans would suggest that I prefer the Willow, and I do. However, the Veranda is nice as well. Neither will steal market share from small batch roasters, coaxing the character out of single origin beans. In fact, they may well add to it, by expanding the palate of the average American coffee drinker. Thus the expansion to the Starbucks line is, I think, good news for everyone, regardless of preference.

Further Reading, My Comments

James Hoffmann, thankfully, has begun blogging again. The internet - especially that little niche devoted to coffee - is better off for it. But James needs neither my plaudits nor my publicity - meager as both are.

James' site led me here, to a discussion about books. The author grants that coffee - as I've discussed frequently - is poorly represented in print. Given that, he asks readers to contribute a couple of books they think coffee professionals might benefit from reading, or at least, that they themselves benefited from.

My answer was as follows.

This is an interesting topic. First of all, I think it needs to be said that there's a paucity of good writing on coffee. Some decent material exists for the industry pro, but for the passionate lay person, there is nothing. Nothing that explains the process, the technique, the history. (Or at least, there is very little. The Devils Cup and Uncommon Grounds come to mind, as exceptions to my own statement.) And there is nothing like the swelling canon of food lit, from chef memoirs to local food manifestos.

Of course, there are some very insightful blogs. But again, I'd argue that those are trafficked almost exclusively by insiders. For a beverage that is such an omnipresent cultural landmark - not to mention, a massive commodity, and daily consumable for the majority of adults - coffee is ill represented in print.

But I digress. Despite all that, there are obvious lessons to be learned from food writing. But that, I think, is too obvious. So I'm going to pull a couple favorites from left field.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami: I have to admit, I'm biased, as a runner. But even disregarding that, what we have here is a man discussing the whys and hows of his life, and how this seemingly mundane action (running) has informed who he is, both as a person and as a writer. It is about doing, about working at your craft, because that's the only way to be as good as you want to be.

Travesties, Tom Stoppard: Here we have a play. To attempt to summarize the plot is to fail. But it is also to miss the point. Stoppard writes plays of ideas, it's been said, and everything on the surface (and there is a lot of it) serves as the vehicle for said ideas. This play asks a series of questions on art. What is it? What does it do, if anything? And at the end of the day, is it, or the creator of it, worth a damn? Aside from the entertainment you can't help from derive, the play makes anyone who creates for a living think about what they're doing, and why.

Whoever you are, and whatever you do, it's important to take ideas and inspiration from different places. Failing that, we get a product and environment, stagnant and muddled by intellectual incest.

Review of Reviewing

If I've learned anything the past few days, it's that the quickest and easiest way to get blog hits is to do a review. It's also proven to be the best (only?) way to generate significant comment traffic. This is not revelatory, nor is it hard to guess why. People Google a thing, perhaps with the word "review" attached, and click whatever comes up. If it's this blog, so much the better.

This raises an interesting question, however: Who the hell asked me?

This point can be extrapolated to most any review writer, of course, but me being me, I'm going to focus on me. I think it's only fair, if I'm going to call in to question anyone's credentials (and possibly, to an extent, everyone's) that I start at home.

I remember the first time I was contacted to do a review. Or rather, I don't remember the specific instance. What I do remember is the sensation. I was a bit giddy, and more than that, flattered. Someone wanted to know what I though, not just of a coffee in general, but of their coffee. They wanted my opinion, which I had already been inclined to give. Only now, it had been lent a dose of credibility.

Or had it? This is a question I've wrestled with for a while now, and not yet come to a decent answer. How do we establish credibility? Who decides what opinions matter? After all, a customer might try some of the single origin beans from Broadway Cafe that I serve at work, and declare them awful. They would be "wrong", because there is something of a consensus that Broadway makes some sweet coffee. And they do - at least according to me.

But again, why do I get to decide? I have been in the biz for several years now, and I have read most everything available on the subject. I'm informed, no doubt. And I do consume both a great deal of coffee and a great deal of variety. My palate is well traveled, and well versed in what coffee should taste like.

That experience matters, probably, insofar as it lends a touch of real world credibility to whatever coffee related stuff I write. But I think it's the writing itself - and more importantly, the fact that anyone reads it - that creates the real authority. In that sense, this whole business is a bit like money. A one hundred dollar bill, by virtue of its materials, is worth next to nothing. It is not worth one hundred times the amount of a one dollar bill, certainly. And yet it is, because we have all agreed to accept it as such. By out collective cognitive dissonance, we have made this reality.

What this means, specific to the discussion of reviews, is that the only way an opinion matters, is if enough people think it does. Starbucks would never concern itself with something I wrote, because not enough people read me. But were Oliver Strand to crucify a company policy in the New York Times, that would merit a response, or at least some action.

If this all sounds a bit Orwellian, well, it is. 2+2=5, if we all say it does. To be right is to have the majority say you are. At least in terms of coffee quality, this is the case. There is no objective truth, nothing that is provably good or bad. Broadway's Yirgacheffe is the former, a decaf soy latte the latter, however, and no one would dare argue the point.

This is part of the reason why, typically, my reviews say nothing of how a coffee grades on some imagined scale. I'd rather focus on describing the characteristics of it, and let you decide if it's something that sounds appetizing. Because, though there are certainly rules about what one is supposed to like, the truth is rarely that simple. I've confessed an affection for the occasional quick 'n dirty cup of coffee, and however much I might deride them (never out loud, of course), the decaf soy latte drinker possesses perfectly valid tastes.

So, who asked me? All that matters, really, is that enough people did. Hopefully, they continue.

Poured Over

For all of my talk about simplicity, there is a distinction worth making: Simple isn't easy. Or at least, it isn't necessarily. A mile is a simple unit of measure, found on many roads, clearly marked. And yet running it, at full effort, is not at all easy.

This realization dawned on me this evening, as I struggled over a review. It's not up yet, obviously, nor will it be for a few days. This has nothing to do with the coffee itself, and everything to do with my preparing it. There's been some talk in the comments section, and on this blog in general, about pour over technique. Generally, I've been of the mind that it's best ignored.

But recent tastings are forcing me to reconsider this point. Trying the same bean, several different times, and getting a different cup can do that. It can make you question your technique, your equipment, and maybe, whether you're qualified to judge coffee at all. Anyone can write words on a free blog; who decided my opinion matters?

My confidence is not that eroded, it's worth noting. I'm quite good behind a bar, and I steam milk like a badass (insofar as that's possible) Still, if one is to review coffee, then one must also review the ways in which they make it. Right now, if I'm being perfectly honest, my pour over method isn't good enough; so any beans treated with it may not be done justice.

That said, I plan on fixing this. If that means abandoning the method in favor of a press pot, so be it; though I doubt anything that drastic will be required. Still, if I need a Hario V60, tell me. If a Chemex is needed, tell me that. Most of all, if there is anything resembling a definitive "how to do a pour over correctly, or at least, consistently" write-up, please do point it out.

I've never done a call for comments before, but consider this a first. In the meantime, I'll do some digging on my own.

Green Mountain Espresso Review

Sometimes, we have to be honest with ourselves, even if that means challenging established dogma. Do I enjoy trail running so much because of the endorphins, the achievement, or is it just the shorts? (I'm not sure I can answer that, honestly.) Do I, artisan barista though I am, really feel like doing a pour over preparation this morning? The answer, on the proper occasion, is no.

So if we grant that there are times for laziness and convenience, then it follows that we should compromise as little as possible in that pursuit. Quick and easy coffee should still be drinkable, though not exquisite. I've reviewed Kcups before, finding the Barista Prima series from Green Mountain coffee completely palatable. This may sound like faint praise, but I'm picky. This, then, is a short review of Green Mountain's Espresso Blend.

First of all, I should say that two things struck me: The art on the box is nifty, and it's noted as "extra bold". Now, generally speaking, I hate the word bold. It's best used to describe the actions of some antiquated hero, not the flavor of coffee. But in this case, it's nice, in that it denotes a higher dose of grounds. Thus, I assumed that this would brew up well enough.

Today, I took the opportunity to find out. Having returned from a two or threeish hour trail running excursion, I wanted something to drink. And water or sports drinks, though probably more appropriate, didn't sound as good as coffee. (They never do.) But neither did I feel like using my Melitta. So, I popped in the Kcup, watched an oddly incapable Green Bay Packers offense struggle against the Chiefs, then brewed.

This is were expectations come in to play. I wasn't using an espresso machine, so there was no crema. That's ok. This was a drip preparation. Nor, honestly, did I expect any of the flavors the box claimed. What I wanted was simply a black cup of something that would demolish anything I could have grabbed at a gas station on the way home. And this did the trick. It was coffee that, as many might say, tasted like coffee.

Now I should say, this item has been discontinued. I grabbed it because it was on sale at a local grocer, while the Barista Prima series was not. Given the choice, I'd still opt for the latter. And yes, I just reviewed a product you probably can't buy. How very useful.

Peter Asher's Yirgacheffe

There are several things worth noting, right off the bat. First of all, this coffee was provided to me, so that I could offer my opinion on it. If that suggests bias, then so be it. Second, I have a disproportionate fondness for coffee from this particular region. At its best, it's clean, fruity, and refreshing, like a not-to-sweet lemonade on a summer day. And finally, this specific coffee embodies all of those traits perfectly.

But let me back up, for just a moment. The coffee in question is Peter Asher's Ethiopian Yirgacheffe. The company is a small one, based out of Champaign, Illinois. It offers wholesale coffee, much of which is sourced directly from a farmer with whom the proprietors have a relationship.

The Yirgacheffe is despribed thusly: What did the Olympic gold-medalist say to the Rastaman? It isn’t difficult to understand, really ... That a country with some of the highest mountain peaks in Africa as well as some of the lowest elevations on dry land would provide some of the purest, simply unmitigated premium coffee beans around. Waterfalls, active volcanoes, prehistoric and medieval history, a biblical monarchy; This land has everything! Some even say that its home to the emergence of the first humans. Well, did you know that it’s also the birthplace of the coffee bean? Just look up the history of coffee to see for yourself.

Ethiopia’s had quite a while to get it right. This hot cup of coffee captures the simple pleasure of what it means to be human. Our roast of these ancient beans extracts the clean, pure, slightly fruity quality that only they could offer. Simply put its some of the best coffee in the world. So, what did the Ethiopian Olympic gold-medalist say to the Rastaman? Welcome home.

Well. That's certainly not your average bean description. Not once is the word "bold" invoked, nor are there flavors or mouthfeels discussed. The bag itself sheds a little more light on what to expect, though again, there is a certain profile expected from a Yirgacheffe. You expect bright acidity, light body, and a tangy taste of lemon. As it's a washed bean, roasted light, these flavors are concentrated and direct. Of course, this leaves a little less room for error. Yirgacheffe, mishandled, can be acerbic and pungent, rather than clean and smooth.

With these preconceptions in mind, I opened the bag. The first thing to note is the bag itself: it contains a clever little plastic zipper, which can be used to re-seal the bag. You can then squeeze out the air through a one way opening, thus leaving your beans fresher for longer. If you grind them all at once, or order them ground, this would be especially useful.

In any case, I did neither of those things, grinding 4 tablespoons of beans for a pour over setup (somewhere between regular drip and espresso setting). I set 12 ounces of water to (just off the) boil, then went about pouring, in my regular pattern.

The smell, rising from the cup, had the vague lemon aroma of an Earl Grey. The taste delivered on that promised flavor, sweet but soft. Though there was certainly a clarity to the acidity, it never seemed biting, not the slightest bit astringent. The word clean, used in the description, comes to mind. It was smooth, almost too easy to drink too quickly. And so that's precisely what I did, not savoring the cup as much as I had intended to.

I don't have any numeric rating scale, or any other metric for grading coffee. I find the whole endeavor too subjective for that. I can say, however, that his coffee is everything a good Yirgacheffe ought to be, and lives up to the creative description and my expectations for the region. If a step away from dark, nutty or earthy is what you're looking for, or if you'd just like a taste of caffeinated summer, this is a very good place to start.

Barista Prima K-Cup Review

I have to be honest. The seemingly relentless drive towards automation turns me off a bit. I feel, despite my age, like the proverbial old man on the porch, lamenting the long-gone good ol' days. Back then, people hand-pulled their own shots, and milked the cow right behind the counter.

But those (purely imagined) days are past. We live in a time obsessed with time - the saving of it, and the profiting from it. We like things now, but we do not want to compromise quality. Knowing that, it's not surprising that the Keurig coffee maker (and similar machines by several other companies) have become staples at homes and offices. They allow for the preparation of a perfectly acceptable cup of coffee, with the push of a button.

But acceptable to who? For that 99% of the coffee drinking population, quality is on the periphery, nudged to the side by chemical dependency. For those, who survived on Folgers for years, this is undoubtedly a godsend. But I am the 1%, the coffee intelligentsia. For me and my ilk, such technology is blasphemy, no more coffee than Wonderbread is bread.

If I can remove my tongue from my cheek for a moment, it's worth noting the degree of hyperbole there. Still, there is some truth to the matter. K-cups are largely created and marketed without an eye on those who might fancy a pour-over produced cup. But that's changing.

Green Mountain Coffee's new Barista Prima K-Cups claim to be "designed for the passionate coffee lover. Each cup reflects the consummate artistry and handcrafted care that only the most skilled baristas can deliver - until now." I'm not the most skilled barista - but I am decent. With that in mind, I took to tasting the Columbian cup. (Which was a review sample, for purposes of full disclosure.)

It's the lightest of the four offerings, and the only one that declares an origin. (The others are House, Italian, and French.) The description is as follows: Accented by wondrously bright, bold fruit notes and a distinctive hint of walnut, this deeply roasted cup elevates satisfaction into a realm all its own.

Obviously, this is confident marketing. And so it was with a hefty dose of cynicism that I sipped the coffee. That cynicism didn't last, however. While the result was not quite up to the lofty claims (really, it had no chance), the claimed flavors were present, with just a nip of acid on the side. The roast was a hair darker than I tend to prefer, but will provide a more hearty, woody flavor to those who want that sort of thing. Most noteworthy (and unlike all other K-Cups I've tried), the coffee didn't seem woefully under-dosed. That is, one K-Cup yields one legitimate cup of coffee, without over-extraction and resulting bitterness.

This will not replace the Hario cone or the French Press in the kitchens of those who don't mind crafting their coffee. But for those who would rather not (or even the lazy or rushed mornings), this is the best thing I've tried. It's as easy as can be, and of sufficient quality that you don't feel you've totally traded taste for convenience.

Element Shaolin Review

I was right, as it turns out, in assuming that a skate shop would have my most desirable shoe options. I found a wall of flat shoes, modest in appearance, designed to be stood in for hours at a time. I also found the above, which is not a skate shoe per se, but is made by Element.

So, you bought knock-off Tom's?

I would say no, if only because Tom's hardly invented the slipper/house-shoe design. But it is popular now, so the comparison insists itself in to the discussion. The aesthetic is different, in several ways. And I have to admit, I like the minimalist appearance.

Mostly, I bought the most comfortable thing I could find. The canvas upper and inner lining feel great on bare feet or socks. The hold isn't great, but I'm not running in these. The cork blended mid-sole is cushion enough for my feet, without being awkward or cumbersome. The shoe has left my legs feeling better at the end of a shift than anything else I've worn - which is a priority, when you've got running to do.

Of course, your mileage may vary. Anyone looking for great traction should look elsewhere. And if you want arch support, or any manner of stabilizing or cushion features, you'll not find them here. The shoe's greatest appeal is in it's ability to disappear, and allow you to feel as if you're not wearing it. Call it addition by subtraction, a time tested design, or cynical pop-Buddhist marketing.

But you can also call them 25$. For a moderate shift's tips, I can hardly imagine a better barista shoe.

Big Beans, Big Taste

There is a certain weight of expectation that comes with a sample. You assume that you are being sent something good, and that you ought to identify it as such. Failure to do so might reflect poorly on your taste, moreso than on the product itself. 

To like something is brilliant, but to want to like something is anxious business.

Thankfully, there was no need for neurosis, in this case. The Elephant Bean, called such because the bean is quite large, did not disappoint. It's quite good, in all the ways it claims to be. You can read my full thoughts here. 

It's worth noting that I drank several cups over the course of several days, and used three different methods of preparation. Thus, I think my experience is sufficient.