Logbook 3: A baby from Africa

The Misty Valley Yirgacheffe arrived in a burlap bundle with all the excitement and expectation of a newborn. Russell knelt by the 150-pound bag and traced the lettering delicately with his index finger, like an anthropologist at an Egyptian tomb.

ORGANIC COFFEE

ETHIOPIA

FAIR TRADE

ORIGIN MISTY VALLEY

IDIDO BERGESH 2007

He pushed the wheeled prep cart to the bag and lifted a few beans with a scoop and dropped them delicately into the hopper. When it was loaded he leaned gently over the beans and sifted them with his interlaced fingers. He cupped his left hand and held a small mound of the jade-colored beans to his nose and breathed in deeply. Then he used the index finger of his other hand to gently push the beans left and right in close examination.

"Small and dense. We're going to pull them a bit for the fruit, pause them for the earthy, then we're going just north of first crack. These are precious little babies, man." Russell was talking to no one.

JR was on duty in the coffee shop that morning and, as usual, had the music blaring. He'd picked an old CD from the basket -- Paul Simon's Graceland. The South African beat underscored an upbeat tune about oppressed diamond mine workers. It's as close to Africa as any of us would ever get.

Russell pushed the cart to the Smart Roaster and attached the loader hose. He flipped the switch, and the monster machine whirred to life, its vacuum sucking 75 pounds of green into the hopper above the gleaming stainless steel roasting chamber. Russell moved to the computer screen and made his adjustments to the roasting profile, then punched the keyboard to bring the roast chamber to temp. Like a jet inching forward on the tarmac, the machine whirred in rising pitch and decibels. Conversation was lost in the din; we stood in respectful silence as Russell began his roast. We were as a group of devotees bowing to a mighty and unpredictable god.