La Biferia

Scott Conary and Ian Clark



Mauricio and Lauro.



Our gracious hosts, Ana Julia & Luis Fernando.



Pretty good!



Tomato Salad...



Mixto de Chorizo y Morcilla y Arepa - very darn good.



Ian, Danilo & Jose pondering.



Through the looking glass.



Chuleton de Res.



Such good desserts.

And So It Begins...

Carolina: no rings...



Scared and flying high!



Scott preps his judges with morning calibration.



Day One and look at that audience. Amazing!



Judges relaxing in the lounge before the storm.



Senorita Varon doing her thing.



The crew from the local culinary school keeping it together.



Brent and the cappuccino.



Brent and the note taking.



Brent and the aeropress.



Scott makes sure everyone finishes their milk.



Talking to the judges.



Preparing a french press.

Burning The Midnight Oil

Crunching the numbers.

Most people think that when they go home it's all over and there's not too much to worry about. It's the night before competition and it's time to scramble, a little. Competitors means conflicts. Some judges can't judge certain competitors for a variety of reasons. Maybe they've worked together, maybe they're friends, maybe they've trained together, maybe they're lovers. Whatever the case, it turns out to be a tricky field to plow matching judges to competitors without overworking some judges or creating conflicts elsewhere.

I'm just glad that I don't have to do the actual juggling and retire to bed...


The list of competitors.

Greeting Baristas

Brent eats.

It's the night before the competition begins and we've found ourselves whisked into the Usaquen neighborhood where the barista welcome party is being held and we're the guests of honor. Luckily, since I'm just a plain old judge and not a head judge, like Jose, Scott and Brent, I'm not required to speak. Myself, Ian and Danilo can simply eat and drink our way through the evening.

And what an evening it was. Of speeches. Of congratulations. Of well-wishes, and of the drawing of competitors. Each competitor is given the opportunity to speak briefly and pull their number out of the bag. One through forty-three, the numbers are drawn. Some are happy, some are scared. It seems like a fun way to meet everyone, see the competition and choose your place in the order.


The baristas.

The difficult part is that we're judges. This means we have to be impartial. We cannot seem to have favorites. As such, we're really limited in our interaction with the competitors. We can't sit down and drink with them or get to know them. It truly is the downside of judging.

Instead, we drink at the bar, listen to the speeches, or hang out with the girls outside.


Ian and nachos.

Training Amy

Judge candidates listen intently on how to score the espresso.

Training baristas is a long and arduous process. Training judges is almost the same, except you only have two days to do it. The days are long and intensive. The first day was difficult mainly because I stepped off the plane at 5am and then walked into the training center at 10am - with no sleep in-between and almost no sleep on the flight.

But by the second day and practical exercises, I was basically rested and ready to assume my role as arbiter of all good things espresso: pulling shots and making drinks. Drinks that would be torn apart and critiqued without mercy. Drinks that were designed to be bad. Drinks that tried to be good.


Brent explains the finer points on taking apart my drinks.

The judges are a good lot. But it's interesting to find how local tastes sway the scores. Some of them want to go heavy on the penalization and it's difficult because you try to train them not to play the "bad cop" or "toughest judge" role. It's natural because everyone wants to show that they have some knowledge and standard so the first-time judge seems naturally disposed to being "tougher."

As the day progresses, all I can think is that I'm glad some of them weren't my USBC judges - they're tough!


RFTW - Ready For The World (barista championship)



These two ladies came by, asked for cappuccinos and got their wish!

Andres Plaza

Scott at the fish counter.

If you've been to Bogota or heard about places to eat in Bogota, chances are you know about Andres Carne de Res, that crazy steak house out in Chia with a new location in Zona Rosa. Well, prepare yourself for Andres Plaza.

The only way I can think of describing Andres Plaza is like an Andres Food Court. All sorts of foods under one roof. It's madness and insanity wrapped up in tasty and delicious food. And our crew of judges went buck wild.


The boys gathering by the meat counter.



Scott's Tilapia



Ceviche



my traditional stew of beef, pork ribs and chicken with corn, potatoes and plantanos.



Lauro Fioretti's steak.

En Bogota

Bienvenidos a Bogota...

2,500 meters

And I'm unbelievably tired.

The flight to Bogota wasn't necessarily bad as it was brutal. As much as I think Continental has an overall nicer product than United, it's United's Economy Plus seating that trumps Continental coach. True, you can pay for DirecTV but flying five hours overnight in a packed plane is absolutely brutal.

And I was paying for it now sitting in the judges training room fighting desperately not to pass out from exhaustion.

Bogota. We had been here before. It's a cool city both figuratively and literally. Chilly weather and the altitude makes climbing anything a chore.

We're in town to judge Colombia's national barista championship and things so far are so good. It's going to be a busy week and we're getting cracking.

So long as I don't pass out.

More as they progress.

CO884 - Packed In Steerage

Continental Dinner

Continited...

CO227 - BWI-IAH, 4B

TSA Still Doesn't Know How To Speed Lines

Grammer? Really???

Bacon & Eggs

The kids hiding in the woods must have been thinking: "Look at these two crazy fucks," as they watched us standing by the patrol car, lighting big cigars as blue smoke billowed around us.

We're standing in the wooded parking lot behind Towson High School after a series of calls from neighbors complaining about kids running amok egging things and making noise - a relatively benign call in this not-too-quiet suburban township. "We're gonna get egged," Scott assures me as we enter the woods, flashlights in hand, seeking out this group of miscreants disguised as high school students.

A few minutes later, a student emerges from the darkness covered in egg juice. He's winded, disheveled and tells us that he was jumped by some upper classmen who stole his money. "Are you saying they robbed you?" we ask - a definition that would change the situation from simple civil disobedience to perhaps a felony. "Or did you drop your money and they took it?" Turns out it was more of the latter and we tell the kid to get out of here and go home.

Just then, another group of students are running towards us, this time with cartons of eggs in hand. I wonder to myself, are these kids just dumb? Drop the eggs, you morons.

We instruct the kids to come forward in the middle of woods. It's been raining lately so the ground is damp and I'm in no mood to run and chase after anyone tonight. As we spot hesitation in their eyes, I can't help but to yell at them: "If you make my fat ass chase after you, someone is getting arrested!" Thinking the better of it, they quickly comply.

Eggs are everywhere. Broken shells, runny yolks, plastic bags, empty cartons and even whole eggs are littered around the campus. To be honest, it's all quite humorous and non-destructive. We laugh about it because it's not too different than the stupid stuff we did at that age.

In the distance, we hear light thumps coming from the direction of the patrol car. "Yup, they're egging our car," Scott says as we push forward through the woods, cigar smoke billowing, looking for any other stragglers.

When we return to the car, two other units have pulled up. It's a quiet night in the city so this is an interesting diversion. Perhaps we should call in air support. As we inspect the car, it's covered in eggs. Good thing we rolled up the windows.


The perils of life on the streets.

Back on the street, we find a Toyota Prius slowly cruising the neighborhood. We tail her for awhile and it's a mom looking for her child. Evidently, one of the kids hiding in the woods hoping we won't arrest her. Another group of kids, also sweaty and covered in eggs, emerges from a house with their mom as we sit in the neighborhood. The mom assures us that these kids have been in the house the entire night. Sure, mom. Just get everyone home.

The view of the world is interesting and different from this side of the windshield. While we want to act stern and cross, it's nearly impossible because the whole scenario is just comical. A bunch of kids in the woods egging each other. They're not causing mass destruction. They're not assaulting anyone. They're just out being mischievous and it's difficult to get upset about that - even though they egged the car.

In the end, it's a simple rinse with the hose at the station. The kids tonight are lucky. No one got hurt. No one got arrested. Had it been the other officer watching us rinse off the car, he would have arrested them.

The Dark Ages of Third Wave

Once upon a time, forums were the means for open debate.

A buddy and I were discussing the coffee community the other day and how, if this is truly the "Third Wave" of coffee then we're certainly in that wave's Dark Ages.

Perhaps it's been a reflection of our nation's psyche but within this community, what was once open discourse has now turned to self-gratification and a growing sense of close mindedness. From around the time that I entered the community (about 2003) until 2007 there was a strong sense of community and discussion. Forums existed on the internet where coffee people could banter back and forth on different theories and really get into the mix.

All of this started changing around 2007-2008 when those who had once been simply the newbies to the industry started making their bones. A new leadership within the industry emerged under the flag of change and transparency, wrestling control away from the cronyism of the old guard. As time would bear out, this "new guard" would only differ in that they waved the flag of transparency and change. However, very little would actually change and much of that opacity would remain the same.

At the same time, the forums of old started losing their cache when the administrators showed their draconian ways and censoring the open discussion that was central to the community.

It's been all downhill from there.

Today, the "Third Wave" exists in a sense of darkness. Where there was once a community that discussed the issues and challenged each other, we now have a community that's comprised mainly of self-congratulatory posts and emanations through individual blogs or twitter tweets.

As a new generation of coffee professionals enter our ranks, they're left with people held to "God-like" stature - people who've developed an aura that they should never be questioned because they're, essentially, Gods of Coffee. There no longer exists that forum where those gods would be questioned and challenged. Now they simply issue their dictates from upon high, whether on top of their blogs or from the chair of coffee organizations.

Dark Ages, indeed.

Put Them In The Iron Maiden

A recent article on CNN.com has come at a poignant time.

Once upon a time, there was a blogger in the coffee blogosphere who actually had journalism chops and actually took the time to pen a series of post critical of the events that happened within our niche of the coffee industry.

Sadly, that time has passed and that person decided that all the bullshit directed his way for offering a critical view on the industry just wasn't worth it. Afterall, it's not his life and he wasn't being paid to do it.

Meanwhile, the coffee industry is inundated with non-reporting, fanboys, masquerading advertising, non-starters or mindless love-fests.

For quite some time, I've lobbied Sarah Allen, editor-in-chief of the international industry publication Barista Magazine to take a harder look at our industry, only to be reminded that in-depth scrutiny of our industry is outside of their scope and more suited to other publications.

Suddenly, and without introduction or explanation, the writers at sprudge.com - the industry's leading news satire website, has just published what looks to be the most critical piece of journalism to hit our industry.

Cheers to the Sprudge.com editors and writers. And here's to hoping that we see more critical journalism on the webpages of Sprudge in the near future - because there's no shortage of material out there...

Happy Birthday Bud!

We Are Wendelboe

Bex and Devlin brews while Jeremy reads Coffee with Tim Wendelboe.

Bex is back from the Nordic Barista Cup and she's brought back a few goodies with her: a bottle of Cascara beer, some Nordic Barista Cup Cupping Cups, coffee from Stockfleth's, coffee from Tim Wendelboe and the Tim Wendelboe Coffee Book.

When she left for Norway, I sent her off with one command: "Go forth, seek Wendelboe, and take lots of pictures!"

The report: coffee in a reserved and refined environment, iced coffee in martini glasses, iced cappuccino via a spindle mixer and two chairs.

Two chairs??? Really??

That Wendelboe... the things he gets away with... Two chairs....hmph!

With the book in hand and a bag of Mugaga Kenya coffee, we start brewing. Evidently, Kenyan coffees are Tim's favorite. Evidently, he writes that statement three times in his book. Evidently, Tim likes Kenya.




According to the label, this coffee comes from the Kiamabara factory in Nyeri, Kenya and features SL28 and SL34 varietals of arabica coffee, with "Vasket" (I have no idea what that means). Harvested in January 2010 and roasted September 21st. Tim's coffees are uniformly good and while I can't say I've had a lot of his coffees, everything that I've sampled from Tim Wendelboe (the company and not necessarily the man) has been very good indeed. Like that Ethiopian he had last year that was searingly good.

With Chemex and Coffee with Tim Wendelboe in hand we start brewing.

The Kenya is fruity, bright and a bit tannic. It seriously reminds me of cascara tea. It's likeable and tasty but is quite a departure from other Kenyans I've tried recently. Vastly different than Counter Culture's Thiriku, the Mugaga is decidedly on the fruit but more like the dried cascara fruit than a berry kind of fruit.

Tomorrow, it will be time to sample that Panama Hacienda Esmeralda from Stockfleth's - that is, unless my staff has drank it all by then...