The other time in my life I have seen coffee growing was last summer. I took a grueling trip south where, in the exotic heat of July, I visited the Chicago Roasting Works. On the sill above the kitchen sink that day stood a motley line of little pots sprouting the one and only—leftovers from travels or a project or a donation of some kind. I was offered one, so I chose a sapling to take home that afternoon, and I told all my friends. (“Dude!” etc.) The coffee tree went proudly on top of my sidewalk dinner table. It sprouted two leaves, then two more, adorably perpendicular, on its little stem. I would leave bars to come home and check on it. I was devoted. Water, shade (mine will be shade-grown, I thought), attention. Plants are living things, I knew. They will appreciate attention. I really had a relationship with this plant.
It died within a month—within probably an hour of the weather changing for the drier or hotter or gustier or whatever, Chicago, I was not there. I just came home as always right on the dot, and it was a crisp. I was devastated, but only so deeply, because I knew there was a reason why we travel for this plant.
Last week I got to do exactly that, and even my own emotional experience as a coffee farmer (ha.ha.) couldn’t prepare me for what we saw in El Salvador. Mountains covered in coffee. Mountains covered! I mean this literally. It takes your breath away to see, and I beg the buyers and origin-familiar among us to spare me a word of first-round wonder here: no picture frame, big or small can hold all there is. I spent whole hours turned away from conversations during the bus rides because the imagery of the coffee was so great. To walk down one slope of trees and look across to the next, you feel almost pulled right into the air between them. It was abundance, powerful and silent.
At dinner on the second night, a friend with many such visits under his belt intimated to me his first impression of visiting at origin: you feel like you’re never ready for your first trip he told me; it’s like you simply can’t know enough. He described a kind of processing anxiety—no pun—that overwhelms the reality of the barista, who has never seen with his own eyes the world where his product originates. I felt this too in El Salvador, but my bigger fixation last week was on the reality of the farming world, not my own. I kept asking myself as we met more and more people, do they have any idea what their product means to us in the U.S.? It seems simple (yes!) but “meaning” is a loaded term. I wonder if farmers in El Salvador, or Kenya or Peru, any of the 35 or so on this trip, would understand our almost competitive sniffings of a Chemex brewed at Broadway as we try to mine the aroma of their blooming beans so we can bust out words like “articulate” or “sturdy”; or the insane drive behind empirically measuring levels of dissolved solids in a brew with a refractometer. What about a specialty culture in which “God” has become a cliché for a wonderful cup of coffee? Or one where we plead with customers to take their drinks in ceramic cups (while farmers often served us Styrofoam)? I wondered: do our growers see their product the way we do?
The overall effort of the ECW is to collectively focus us all on a broader meaning of coffee understanding, innovation, and community. As a barista, I got to assist the workshop by reifying the specialty industry for the growing world—one far behind our roasters and our counters. I taught regional taste differences to one farmer; I explained the bottomless portafilter to another; i.e. I did a few small things. They told me stories of coffee piracy; they showed me what it’s like to be up to one’s elbows in cherry juice at the end of a picking day; i.e. they did a few small things. But the impact of this is huge, as you can read over and over again on this blog. We throw all our coffee meanings into a pile and let it stew, and leave full but wanting more, wondering what else can be done.
I will tell anyone with confidence that each of us at Intelligentsia (and “Intelligentsia is all of us too” as we are reminded by the growers) strives for a common relationship to coffee. We have gotten together to strengthen that relationship, so that we are strong enough to spread it.





















