I see Red

“Did you have a good weekend?” said Garth.

The grinds in the paper cone smelled strongly of roast beast. I looked up at him. “It’s Tuesday.”He poured the steaming but not ferociously so water over the grinds. The bloom, they call it, rose like a chocolate muffin. A bun in the oven. “Hey, I’m only a day late with that question.”
A Perci Red pourover is a gift in any season. On a Tuesday morning in a spring-like December, it’s manna from coffee heaven. Gone is the Belgian chocolate chaser, though, of the last time I tried it and, in its place, a meaty, citrusy serenity followed by a late suggestion of cinnamon toast. A coffee of this subtlety shifts with the roast, a roller-coaster ride, however hilly. The roaster, Brian Franklin, roasted this batch of Red nursing a head cold. Hethinks the Perci Red tastes today of tea.

“I hope this goes,” he said, pointing to his nose, “before this goes,” pointing to my cup. Supplies of Red, like sleighbells, are seasonal.

Volcan Panama/Natural Gesha Perci Red is part of the one-two punch of the DoubleShot 2Barrel Project, along with the very lemony Lycello. Ethiopian in spirit, Central American in disposition. After two lovely cups, I decided that the Perci Red was like Mogwai’s “George Square Thatcher Death Party.” At once ballsy, elegant and near spiritual.

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