Yelping with Cormac | Ritual Coffee Roasters

Ritual Coffee Roasters

The Mission - San Francisco, CA

Cormac M. | Author | Lost in the chaparral, NM

Four stars.

Kent awoke to the dawn skylighting the foothills. The sun’s promise not yet fulfilled. He got up and walked to the campfire where Davis was brewing a pot of coffee on the coals.

What are you doing, Kent said.

Brewin coffee. What’s it look like.

It looks like you’re overextractin. Give me that.

Kent grabbed the tin and splashed it into the sagebrush.

Goddamnit, Kent, Davis said. That was nearly done brewin.

Just you wait. I’m about to blow your damn mind. Davis watched as Kent pulled a small white porcelain cone from his saddlebag and laid it on a folded blanket. He refilled the pot from his canteen and set it on the coals. Now we just gotta wait for it to boil, he said.

You’re a crazy sumbitch.

Just you wait.

They sat there waiting. The sun emerged from the foothills. A sanguine ellipsis painting the chaparral in gaudy technicolor.

The water boiled and Kent leaned over and removed the kettle. Then he eased back on his blanket and sat there watching it.

Davis leaned and spat into the coals. Well what are you waitin for? he said.

Waitin for the water to cool down.

We was just waitin for the damn water to heat up.

And now it’s got to cool down till it’s just right.

You’re a fool you know that?

What’s foolish is squanderin the brightness and acidity of these beans. Kent poured water into two enameled cups. He waited a moment and then dumped the water on the parched earth.

Davis sat there watching him. Just make the damn coffee, he said.

I am. Hand me them unbleached filters.