A java man’s adventure in Japanese coffee roasting
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 13, 2016
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JASON SONG
Star2.com
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How, exactly, did I end up on the roof of a coffeehouse in Tokyo, kneeling over a single-burner camp stove and something called a Whirley Pop?
Sweat soaked my T-shirt as the wind kept blowing out the fire. To make matters worse, the sun made the flame nearly invisible, so I couldn’t even tell when the stove was on.
I’d learned the hard way already, burning myself in the process. The scent of half-roasted coffee beans, normally one of my favourite smells, only stressed me out more.
Finally, a flame. I set down the Whirley Pop, a contraption intended for making popcorn, not roasting beans, and started to turn the handle, hoping my coffee wasn’t ruined. This was no way to start a revolution.
My adventure in Japanese coffee roasting began when my friend Kala Ahloy, the general manager of a small Tokyo-based coffee chain called Mojo Coffee Japan, was visiting and had a cup of a light Ethiopian I’d made. “This is really good,” he said, sounding surprised.
Ahloy and his Mojo partners were planning to expand their business, in part by introducing single-origin roasts in a country more familiar with big-batch blends. Last summer, he sent me an email inviting me to join his crew for a few weeks in September.
Los Angeles Times reporter Jason Song pours green coffee beans in a popcorn popper to roast on his patio BBQ grill burner at his home in South Pasadena, California.
Los Angeles Times reporter Jason Song pours green coffee beans in a popcorn popper to roast on his patio BBQ grill burner at his home in South Pasadena, California.
I’ve been roasting single-origin coffee in my backyard in Los Angeles for years. I tell myself that it’s cheaper to buy green coffee beans at US$7 (RM30) a pound than pay US$3 (RM13) for a single cup in a store, but I’ve come to look forward to the small surprise of having a different kind of coffee at home every week.
Like a lot of purists – some may call us snobs – I like coffee from a single farm because it’s easier to taste its flavours, similar to how some Scotch aficionados prefer single malts because they’re a purer expression of the distillery than blends.
(Yes, I like Scotch. No, I’ve never tried to make whiskey at home.)
Similarly, I often roast my beans as lightly as possible because I think that lets me taste the coffee, not the roast.
But single origins also democratise the coffee experience, argues Thompson Owen of Sweet Maria’s Coffee in Oakland, where I get all my beans.
“Blends belong to this idea that we do something that you can’t possibly do, that we have some weird mojo that you don’t,” he said. “With a single origin, the most important thing is a guy on this farm did a great job and this is the output.”
Much like in Los Angeles, more Japanese consumers began moving away from caramel frappucinos to single origin as coffee knowledge became more fashionable.