“It’s coffee,” I said. “It has to be. I drink a heck of a
lot more coffee than wine.”
Yes, I’ve written a wine-pairing cookbook, but that’s
because coffee doesn’t grow in Central Washington State. I know something about
wine, but I don’t drink it every day…unlike coffee. My closest friends know not
to ask me for anything in the morning before my cup of coffee, and although my
daily consumption is rarely more than a cup or two, it has been an essential,
ritualistic part of pretty much every morning since high school.
I started drinking coffee one Lent when I gave up sweets. I
needed something to take its place. Yes, I am addicted. Yes, I probably should
not drink it on a regular basis, but you know what? I grew up in the Pacific
Northwest when Starbucks took off; in a region of the world strangely far from
the coffee-growing areas near the equator, I started to be steeped in the
culture far before I liked the taste as much as the smell.
I ended up in Boquete by accident: I started off on the
Caribbean coast of Panama, where cacao (chocolate) is the bigger and more
well-known crop. To grow coffee you need a mountainous region, preferably (I’ve
learned) an eastern-facing slope, with lots of water and drainage. Boquete has
all of that: the town itself is nestled in a river valley at the base of Volcán
Barú, Panama’s only volcano, and it has more steep coffee-covered slopes than
you would think possible. There are a lot of little draws between mountainous
ridges here, creating slopes galore for growing coffee.
Some of the best coffee in the world is grown here. Of the
two major types of coffee, Arabica is the higher quality type grown in this
region; Robusta – used for Folgers and other low quality coffees – is mostly
grown in Brazil. Within Arabica, there are several varietals, including Geisha,
which, when grown in the absolutely most perfect conditions, picked and roasted
using the highest standards, can sell for up to $300 A POUND.
Sound familiar yet? Wine is grown the same way: a good
winemaker or sommelier can tell you the varietal, the area it came from, and
the essences and hints of flavors within each sip. It is no different with
coffee. Instead of wine tasting, you do a “cupping,” but the process is the
same: you start with the nose, take a small sip, open your mouth slightly to
let the flavor hit the air, and see if you can pinpoint the flavor on the front
of your tongue and the back of your throat.
Starbucks may have started the coffee craze in Washington,
but its coffee has nothing on what Boquete has to offer. After I grew tired of
over-sweetened, milk drenched lattes, I found that I didn’t like the flavor of
Starbucks coffee: even though I like dark roast, theirs tasted burnt.
Not long ago I finally stopped putting cream and sugar in my
coffee. Not because I wanted to, mind you, but because a chronic issue with
candida made me, “Look, Morgan,” it said. “Either you lose the cream and sugar,
or you lose the coffee altogether.” I couldn’t do it, so I gave up the cream
(well, milk actually, which I already knew was not good for my system
especially) and the sugar to salvage my morning coffee ritual. And suddenly, I
could taste it: the chocolate overtones, the dark richness of the freshly
roasted beans, and the difference between each of the coffees I was trying. I
found I could drink more without the dizzying and buzzed side effects I used to
get, but I actually wanted to drink less: without the creamy sugar craving,
coffee became a rich and subtle flavor all in itself.
So even though wine is a bigger thing, and even though it
can get you drunk and oftentimes makes a better gift to a friend, I feel like
I’ve finally found my place: it’s not one coffee shop, but many of them, in a
town on a river in the mountains.
For more information about growing coffee, check out Rachel Northrup's soon-to-be published book: When Coffee Speaks.
For more information about growing coffee in Boquete specifically, check out Elizabeth Worley's just published book, Romancing the Bean: Chronicles of a Coffee Snob in Panama.