Diana y Diana

Otra vez???

I'm starting to wonder if there isn't something in the water here when it comes to Colombianas named Diana. In the United States, the name Diana isn't very popular amongst people that I know but here in Colombia, it's starting to seem like every third woman is named Diana.

I should note that it isn't the Diana that we think of in the United States. The "Dye-Anna" that we usually pronounce, but the Spanish version: "Dee-ahnah" but with short pronunciations.

There's Diana T., Diana G., Diana R., Diana L., and of course, there's Diana G. No matter how you slice it, that's a lot of Dianas.



Diana T. squeezing out Diana G.

Competition Class

Everyone wants a photo with Rouki.

Our workshops continue focusing on barista competitions and how a competitor can approach the competition. The first afternoon was spent mostly in lecture and watching video of world barista champion Gwilym Davies capture the crown for the third straight time for London's Square Mile Coffee and presentations about rules changes and the like. In essence, I just kinda hung out on the sidelines for the first afternoon.

With the next morning came something for me to do. We broke down into groups and started working with the attendees on presentation of espresso and cappuccino. What makes a zero? What makes a 5? What's in-between? We worked with examples of those and broke down the points for the attendees to see and understand.

Linda and Claudia. Too happy.

I mean really, if you've never thought about it nor seen it, how do you know that this espresso is a 2 and that espresso is a 4? We stressed on them that the standards we'll be teaching, and holding them to, are based on what we've seen throughout the world. So that when they receive a "3" - it's a "3" in terms of worldwide competitors.

One of the problems that the World Barista Championship faces is that it's not uncommon for a barista competitor to receive a "5" on an espresso in their home country that would barely make a "2" on the world level, creating an invisible disparity that makes it difficult for non-Western barista competitors to realize where they need to improve and become competitive.


Alfredo - Ready To Rock You.

Of course, that doesn't address or solve the problems of corruption within the WBC and the national organizations, but that's not our concern for this workshop. We're just here to show them the standard that would help them achieve the highest scores and a possible win, excluding any sort of score manipulation, favoritism or corruption of the system - which has not been limited to non-western nations.

Suddenly, a consensus starts to emerge. They start to see and agree that this espresso is a 2 because it's just kinda flat-looking. That cappuccino is barely a 1 because there's no definition between the foam and crema, not to mention the thin layer of foam that barely covers the liquid.


Los Jueces: Kelli, Johnny, Linda and Cedric.

Instead of taking the approach where I tell them what the results are, I let the attendees review the drinks and give scores. Some want to give zeros and others want to give fives when they're not warranted. Using a thought from other judges, I tell them that our goal as judges is not to penalize but to reward. We want to give them fives and sixes, but they must earn it. It's not our job to be harsh, just fair. So if you can give them a 1.5 instead of a 1.0, then give it to them. But if the crema has broken on the espresso, it's still a Zero.


Manggy prepares her setup.

Not long after, they're starting to get into a rhythm and the scores start falling within a narrow range. I take on the role of "head judge" - merely there to push and pull them in the right direction and keep them from straying too harsh or too optimistically.

After lunch, it's time to get into some mock competitions. Each attendee is offered the opportunity to perform and be judged by our panel of happy judges. Curiously, not everyone decides to perform, which I think is a mistake because now is the time to get critical without having to be penalized in the competition. Here, if you make a mistake, you can easily make the changes and be ready for the national competition in Bogota.


Carolina preps the judges table.

Earlier they watched the Colombian National Champion, Ever Bernal, do his thing, now it's their turn. While Rodrigo stood and did technicals, Rouki, Alirio and myself sat down for the sensory judging. In fact, we had a rotating sensory judge so that a number of the attendees could get a feel for sensory.

Surprisingly, a few of the attendees prepared full-blown routines. Manggy from Capristano and Leonardo both had full routines with signature drinks. Tre Cool. But the competitor who really commanded the stage was Cedric from Curacao's Cafe Barista. I've seen a lot of barista competitors from around the world and while many of them are great baristas, they're lacking in the engaging and entertaining department. Cedric is one of the very few baristas I've witnessed with a real talent for engaging and entertaining an audience.


Leonardo prepares.


Manggy in the distance.

As our last day came to a close, it was time to pass out certificates and say our goodbyes. Departures are such sweet sorrow but there will be more good times to come and I look forward to the day when I can return and find many of our participants on stage competing for the Colombian crown.


The official photographer, Diana T.


Adriana, right, works for Dunkin Donuts. Vas mas rapido!


El Jefe Alirio drops by for an inspection.




She's not in our class. But I don't mind...

Lechoneria Eduvina

La Lechona in all its' glory.

Sometimes I wonder if there isn't some kind of force working on us during these trips, steering us away from comida typica that I seek. It was the very kind Alfredo that brought us to the famous lechona restaurant somewhere in Ibague where promises of roasted pig were about to be fulfilled.

The lovely part of visiting Latin America is that they too love roasting pigs. Growing up Filipino, it wasn't uncommon to find pig on a spit spinning in the backyard. Of course, when I was really young we didn't like the fact that our fathers killed the cute pig but it was a scar that would have to remain in the face of porcine tastiness.

Once in a while, I worry about whipping out the camera wherever we go to take pictures of our food. It's weird and freakish and perhaps even off-putting to Latinos who are probably expecting all sorts of tomfoolery from gringos. But when the camera came out, the proprietor seemed more than happy not only to allow me to take pictures but to give us the grand tour as well.


The in-house butchery.

Moments later, we were descending the stairs into some dark basement where the true secret of Lechona lived. In the belly of this concrete beast lay a massive wood-fired oven where ten pigs had laid to rest for their ten hour slumber at low temperature where their muscles would break down into moist, stringy goodness and their skins would crisp into chicharron.

Coconut husks were used to start the fire while peas and assorted herbs are used to stuff and flavor the pigs. To one side of the room is a concrete table where rubber aprons are hung nearby - the sign of butchery. While the pigs aren't slaughtered here, they are prepared and finished here and you can't help but think slightly grotesque images of pigs being disemboweled as their guts and blood run onto the table surface before being collected for the house morcilla.


More Lechona making their ten hour journey in the oven.

Peering into the oven and seeing the pigs lying in their individual metal pans, I can't help but think that this resembles some sort of funeral pyre. Their eyes closed and they seems so at peace. I'm genuinely touched.

Back upstairs, Senora Guzman is preparing our Lechona while I peer into the outside lit display case housing such wares as empanadas, sausages and the mysterious looking dried pulmon or cow's lung.


Dried Pulmon - cow's lung.

Cow's Lung. Pulmon. It looks like it could be dried liver, or some sort of random dried thing. Lung. My God, who eats lung? I think of the inedible lung/gills of a blue crab. I think of the texture of the human lung. I think that the idea of eating lung is disgusting. But obviously Colombianos eat lung because it's here and in a large pile. I can't think not to eat it without actually trying it for myself. I ask Alfredo to ask the Senora if we can just sample one, she grants my wish.

Pulmon. It looks like dried Philippine Beef Tapa - marinated strips of skirt steak dried on racks in the sun. I conjure the Philippine Gods of Beef Tapa in the hope the flavor of the beef lung is the same. It isn't.


One must never let the frontier go unchallenged.

Actually, it's quite difficult to describe the experience. Lung seems to be one of those things that, unless you've experienced it yourself, it's hard to have a reference point. It's neither mealy nor smooth. Nor pasty or coarse. It's lung and the flavor isn't despicable. In fact, with repeated portions, and some salt and vinegar, Pulmon could become an infrequent favorite, like Filipino Balut (that nearly developed duck egg/embryo that's boiled and sucked on) - and a big pile of steaming white rice. In fact, I can eat almost anything with a big plate of steamed white rice.

Finally, our Lechona makes its' grand entrance. Rouki (the smart one of the group) went for the pequeno plate. I went for the medio plate, and Rodrigo went for the grande plate. Though, if I was smart, I would have gone for the small (pequeno) plate like Rouki. The medium plate was too much.


Morcillo and Arepas.

Lechona is the meat piled on with the stuffing of peas and herbs. It's a delicious combination but I found some pieces of meat to be drier than the others, making the moistness of the meat imbalanced. Don't get me wrong, it's still very good.

The meal is served with a kind of corn jelly that reminds me of the Hawaiian dessert called haupia. My understanding is that you take the corn Harina and mix it with sugar and water and it creates a paste that you bake and it gels and solidifies into a kind of hard gelatin texture. The texture and result is very similar to the haupia without being as sweet and dessert-like. Whatever the case, it a perfect counterbalance to the fattiness of the pork.


La Maestra presents us more of her work before delivering them to another table.

The common side in Colombia seems to be the Arrepa or Arrepita - thick, corn discs very similar to the corn disks of the Mexican sopes. But aside from the arrepitas at the Mercure Hotel, I'm finding them to be pretty dry and bland (we think the Mercure makes theirs with butter). Add a bottle of Coca-Cola and all is well in Lechona Land.

Awhile later, Senora Guzman comes by our table with a tray full of orders for another table. She's proud of her work and wants us to have a glance at the items before they're delivered to their rightful patrons. She also comes by to drop off an complimentary order of morcilla, a Colombian blood sausage stuffed with rice.


La Lechona.

The morcilla is dark and angry-looking. So dark, it looks sinister. Overall, I'm not a big fan of blood sausage. I've tried it numerous times and have only liked it once. For me, it's that kind of livery-mealy texture that gets me. But we're in Ibague trying new things and I'm not going to say no to blood sausage - especially since the one example that I did like, I found to be delicious. I hoping that this morcilla will be to my liking.

This morcilla has nice flavor and the inclusion of rice is something I've never experienced before but that mealy, grainy texture is there and I'm afraid I'm not a fan. I'm ashamed because this was Senora's gift to us - an expression of their love for their craft and it's not to my liking.


Chicharron!

As we sit in the warmth of the hot Ibague summer night, I'm comforted by the fact that we're eating good pig and surrounded by good friends. When I think back on it, it's kinda strange for me to travel with friends since I seem to do so much traveling alone. Rouki and I have been to Africa, Central America and Europe on trips and adventures and I know there will be more, and I'm hoping that Rodrigo, Alfredo and Carolina will be able to join those future adventures as well.

Aisen Guzman Arias

Lechoneria lo rico de Eduvina
Urb. La Esperanza Mz B Casa 9
Ibague, Tolima
Colombia
271 59 98

Taller Avanzado

Taller Avanzado de Preparacion de Espresso, Cappuccino y Arte Latte


Rodrigo kicks off the class in the grand hall of the Circulo de Ibague.

When Alirio Laguna, from the Federacion Nacionale de Cafeteros de Colombia, asked me to visit Ibague last November during the Nicaraguan Barista Championship, my only answer was: "why not sooner?" Travel to new lands under the guise of coffee? Sign me up!

Our first day and a half was spent working with baristas from the region to develop their skills. Training is such a narrow science that it really requires very specialized people to do correctly. People with lots of patience and a thorough understanding of the material and how best to present that material to a group of people with varying levels of experience and backgrounds.

Personally, I find these kinds of events an enjoyable challenge. The standards for training baristas for The Spro are very narrow and specific. At events like these, your dealing with baristas from varying standards and trying to get them all on the same page in a very limited timeframe. At The Spro, we can spend a month or so working with a candidate to make them into a barista. In a workshop environment, you've only got days to get disparate people up to speed.


Rouki lectures on the finer points of latte art.

The workshops follow the SCAA standards for espresso: 1.5 to 2.0 ounce shots of espresso with a minimum 7 grams of coffee per shot in a 20-30 second time window. Morning lectures are followed by hands-on sessions with the baristas. At first shots vary widely but since we're tasting every shot, by the time everyone has their chance, the group is coming to a consensus on what is good espresso and what is bad - and the good really stands out after tasting thirty shots of bad.

At The Spro, we usually work with candidates one-on-one, and the training sessions are intensive sessions filled with lots of technical details that I think are tough to absorb on a six hour basis, so we limit training sessions to two hours to keep the material palatable and not overwhelm the candidates. In that situation, it's unusual to have multiple baristas working but I'm finding lots of merit in doing group sessions where the baristas taste together, learn together, remind each other about details and coach each other through the process. A camaraderie is built.

Our group of thirty or so baristas was divided roughly evenly between Rouki, Rodrigo and myself. Being the only instructor who couldn't really speak Spanish, I got the more adventurous baristas of the group. Those willing to risk taking instruction from the guy who they would have the most trouble communicating. I think that's the kind of mentality that promises an outstanding barista. A mentality willing to take chances and work with the unknown.


Pilar Andrea with her cappuccino.

I didn't pay close attention to Rouki or Rodrigo's group but a number of my crew mentioned that the other two groups were very serious. While we would laugh and joke and practice methods, techniques and standards, the rest of the room would work in relative silence. I sometimes wondered if they were enjoying themselves.

That's not to say that Rouki and Rodrigo are not great instructors, they most certainly are. We're just talking about three people with three different styles of instruction - and one who has very little command of Espanol.

Which also meant that I didn't really understand the lectures given to the class by Rouki and Rodrigo. Outside of knowing that they were teaching what to us is common understanding and practices, I had no idea what details or instructions the two of them were giving to the class.


The Boys plan shots of espresso while Maria Carolina steams milk.

That meant that I kinda went off-book with the material. When it came time for milk, we just went straight into pouring and latte art - even though Rouki had told them not to go into latte art right away (my group didn't bother to tell me). We pounded through the material and got everyone a round in quickly on the machine trying out the techniques. Soon many of them were pouring the basics of hearts and rosettas for latte art.

Because you've got ten people in the group and only about two hours to work with them during the hands-on session, you only have so much time to spend with each person. This means that we're sharing espresso grinds and trying to work around the limitations so that everyone gets work time on the machine. I try to drive home the need to take these techniques home and work out the details there. But we've been tasting a lot of bad coffee and realizing what's good - and for that I feel we've won a major battle.


The ever-critical Luz looks pleased while Diana makes coffee and Pilar prepares milk.

Hopefully we were able to impart the knowledge on how to achieve great shots of espresso and the taste understanding of what a good espresso is all about. With those two sides of the same equation, I think our baristas can go forth and be capable of tasting their coffee and making great espresso.

The interesting thing for me about the group was their willingness to listen and put up with my choppy and poor Spanish.

Ask my staff and I think they'll report their training period as very focused and intensive. Ask the attendees and I think their experience was very different. Much more fun, much more relaxed. I often found myself reflecting on this as I was working with the attendees. I wondered why?


Our Group: The Two Mauricios, Pilar, Luz, Maria Carolina, myself, Diana, Cedric, Liliana, Sergio and Diana.

That's when it occurred to me that we're teaching different standards. For the workshop, we're teaching the universally accepted standards of the SCAA, which are by nature broad and open to interpretation. At The Spro, I teach very narrow and specific standards and have very high expectations of my staff to perform to my expected level. In the workshop, we work with the students to help them learn the basics from which they will derive their own standards and performance levels. For them, the world is still very much open to their interpretation.

Which I think is what all of this is really about. Learning a set of standards to base and build upon for yourself, your staff and your business.


And they say this is work?

Still, all of this really is about the people and the people in our workshop are fantastic. It's such a fascinating process to watch a group of relative strangers learn together. The personalities start to stand out and define themselves. You start to see for whom this is a passion for and those for whom this is part of business. All want to make good coffee but you really the nuances.

The challenge for me is finding a way to make a connection with a group of people who don't really speak English. Luckily, I've been assigned a sidekick named Diana who's from the local culinary school to help out with the station and translate for me when I get stuck.


Carolina, Sergio, Pilar and Diana.

Each person gets a chance to work the machine, then all of us taste the product. At first, the product is pretty poor and that's a good thing. Everyone tastes and it's okay. Kind of what you'd expect from an "espresso" in most places around the world. In truth, it's quite bad, but most people don't know the difference so we keep pulling shots, making adjustments according to time, volume and color and tasting the results.

After awhile, they're noticing if it's too acido (acidic), or muy amargo (very bitter), or without cuerpo (body) and we're on to something. An adjustment here, a correction there and not too long later, the shots are starting to resemble something of quality. Balance and sweetness are starting to emerge and their taste buds don't lie. When someone pulls a shot that's actually pretty darn good, everyone notices and the impact is significant. This is no longer some sort of abstract possibility that's had to conceptualize much less achieve.

For me, this is exciting work. Helping people discover possibilities is something I find quite rewarding, it's just exhausting. When doing trainings for The Spro, I try to limit sessions to two hours because I find it so demanding. Going from 8am to 6pm in a workshop setting is just brutal and while I don't notice it during the day, by the end of the day, I'm just exhausted and we still have to go out after for official parties and stuff. Good thing there's that mujer muy atttractiva that I'd like to get to know more organizing the events. Just need a little time together.


Liliana, Maria Carolina and Ana Linda preserve the moment in images.

I think my achilles heel when it comes to training coffee is milk and latte art. It took me years to make a rosetta. I can train you to spin the milk and make it silky but teach you how to pour it to create the art? Huh? Latte art has never been a focus at The Spro so it's something I don't formally teach and I'm at a bit of a loss.

There are some great latte artists out there who have broken the process down to a science. I am not one of them. There's something about the swirl and going around the ring, then to the center and some wiggling and pulling out before pushing all the way forward. Whatever the case, it all reads like porn directions to me.


Diana finishes her pour under the scrutiny of her classmates.

But I'm here to teach and teach I must. I struggle the night before trying to break down the steps into coherent passages. Do this, then do that, wiggle while pulling out and push forward all the way through and it's okay if you spill a little milk over the edge - no matter how elegant, it still sounds like porn.

Elegant. That's another peeve of mine that I tried to interject with my group. Really the term I like is "finesse" but for lack of a better term in Spanish, it became Eleganza: elegant. I pushed my group to move away from the machine gun clacking of the grinder dosing lever and move with smooth fluidity, Eleganza. Let the grinder grind before pulling the dosing lever: Eleganza. Pull the lever with smooth, quiet motions: Eleganza. Reduce the amount of waste: Eleganza. Control your costs: Eleganza.

It's all a part of what we do and I don't understand why more of us don't pursue it.


Almost everyone in the entire class.

Surprisingly, the milk and latte art section of the workshop went well. I ended up helping them grasp a basic understanding of the necessary techniques and got them to pour some decent hearts and halfway decent rosettas. I even poured one of, if not the best rosetta of my career. Of course, when the cameras from Noticias Caracol were rolling, I embarrassed myself with very mediocre pours. Doom on You, Dickhead.

By the end of our workshop, I think we had bonded as a group. They hopefully had learned something worthwhile to help their craft and I had worked out some outlandish stuff in Spanish, telling the the wickedly personable visiting Miss Tolima: Mi Espanol es muy mal, pero soy maestro del Lengua del Amor. Which was supposed to mean: My Spanish is bad but I am a master in the language of love. It didn't occur to me much later that lengua also means "tongue." Oops!

Well, if she was pissed off by that she didn't slap me and she ended up hanging out with us later that night so it couldn't have gone over that badly.


Our great volunteer crew: Angel, Camilo, Diana and Juan Sebastian.

Endings are always bittersweet affairs. Time to finish up and move on. Some of our students will be attending the next class on competitions but others will be going back to their shops and I hope they're able to bring something worthwhile from our instruction. i remember back to when I was getting started flying out to Seattle and hanging out at Hines Public Market Coffee learning whatever they would share then taking those lessons back home and grinding them out and trying to figure out just what standards were going to be my own. Fun times of new discoveries and I look back upon them fondly. I hope our lessons will be reflected on as fondly as my own in their futures.

Noticias Ibague

The crew from Noticias Caracol shoots my arte latte for today's broadcast.

I'm a terrible latte artist. Allow me to state that upfront because somehow today I suddenly became an experto en arte latte and was thrust in front of the television cameras for Noticias Caracol.

Earlier in the day, while leading my group in latte art, I poured a really nice rosetta - probably one of the best I've ever made. Even distribution and balance of the leaves and the ideal brown ring around the cup for contrast. Give me a moment to pour latte art when no one is really watching and I'm okay, but let the cameras roll and it's ugly. Mas feo.


Mauricio, Diana and Angel form their own press corps.

I'm guessing that the producer liked the results but any serious latte artist will find the examples a bit like scratching a blackboard with your fingernails. Not too pretty.

Meanwhile, the El Tiempo article featuring Rouki, Rodrigo and myself hit the newsstands nationwide across Colombia today.


Mi estudiante Diana Rivero gets interviewed for Noticias Caracol.

Don't know if the video will be on Noticias Caracol's website but the producer said he would send me the videos. I'll post them whenever I get them.

Ibague Continues

Magali, Rouki, Rodrigo and myself with the very lovely Diana.

As always during these trips, the agenda grows longer by the day, making more and more difficult to keep things updated. Before you know it, the trip is over and I've got a backlog of things that happened that may or not make it to this blog.

While the trip is getting busier and we're doing more and more things besides instructing, dining with the mayor and graciously receiving letters of welcome, we're also hanging out with new friends.

More later...

Frutas, Frutas...y Melones!

Bienvenidos to the cupping room!

It's Day Two in Ibague and after our very "fruitful" visit to Carrefour yesterday, we've got an assortment of local fruits and local milks to taste before we start the workshops tomorrow. Okay, the fruits are for our own knowledge and the milk is for the workshop.

Before we can get to the tastings, there are some things that need to be done first - like translating the coursework PowerPoint slides into Spanish from English. And since my Espanol no es muy bien I'm sitting around feeling rather helpless and twiddling my thumbs. After setting up the fruit with cups and plates, which takes about ten minutes, I'm left again with nothing else much to do except try to occupy myself.

Which is usually about the time I get into trouble.


Our cupping of frutas: Lulo, Curuba, Tomate de Arbol, Sapote, Higos y Granadilla

Outside of our tasting lab is someone new. Someone whom I did not see nor meet yesterday. She's stunning and I quickly turn around and run back into the tasting lab to hide. Why is it that men (guys) always seem to run when they first meet (see) a beautiful woman? Maybe it's because we're hit with a major lack of composure, or maybe we generally don't have any sort of composure and, when we run into a pretty woman, we need to retreat to find that composure and attempt to put our best foot forward.

Well, I'm generally a misfit and prone to say ridiculous and outlandish stuff to girls. I'm calculating what to do. Say hello? Hablo "hola"? Stutter and stare? She probably doesn't speak English, which means I'm screwed. I need to bide my time and take another look for reconnaissance. I walk out of the cupping room and she's still sitting there at the first desk with her light skin, jet black hair and captivating eyes framed with black glasses. She's wearing a purple top and the trademark of the women of Ibague: tight fitting pants. Ay, Dios mio. I'll walk out briefly, pretending to look for someone.


Rodrigo - always smelling the fruit.

Rushing back into the lab, someone notices and tells me that she speaks English. Ah, Bonne Chance!, but what I think I need is Bonne Courage as I step back out to engage her but then she's busy on the phone now. Mierda! I turn to the right to peer out the open window. By this point, I don't want to imagine how I must look popping in and out of the lab with no real agenda.

Finally, an opportunity opens and I approach: "Hi. Where is the bano?" She looks at me for a moment before getting up to show me where the bathroom is: it's down the hall, across the elevators and to the right. She takes me there and I get my chance to ask her if she speaks English and chat about life and who she is, what she does and whatever else is possible in the 30 seconds it takes to walk there and another two minutes while standing outside the rest room.

In the world I've lived, I've met, known and worked with some very beautiful women. In some ways, I feel as though I've seen it all: actresses, movie stars, celebrities, models and regular people. By now, I've worked in motion pictures and lived in Hawaii where it's not uncommon to see beautiful women. For me, it's rare that I'm stunned and today I was stunned and seem to running around like a headless chicken for it.


Carolina offers the proper technique for handling the Curuba.

Of course, you realize that I didn't really need to go to the bathroom, and I also knew where the bathroom was from yesterday. i just needed an opening that didn't seem too much like a stalker. It's something I'll tell her later - that I already knew where the bathroom was, I just wanted to talk with her. I think she liked it and didn't find it too weird.

Back in the lab, we're getting into the fruit: Tomate de Arbol, Lulo, Higo, Zapote, Curuba and Granadilla - all which I'm unfamiliar. In fact, I think Rodrigo and Rouki are also unfamiliar with these fruits. I'm wondering if there isn't some sort of South American magic going on here.


Lulo

With the fruits laid out, we start digging in. Tearing and twisting. Prodding and pulling. Squeezing and squashing. There's new textures and sensations with just the outer skins of the fruits alone. I found it all very fascinating. Some had familiar flavors or looks and then were outright surprises.

Take the Curuba, for example. When you tear into it, the inside sac looks a lot like an elongated mandarin orange, but tear into that sac and there are bright, little orange pulps surrounding black seeds. Sweet.


Curuba - kinda looks like an elongated mandarin.


Curuba - but nothing like a mandarin on the inside.



Curuba - I thought those tentacle-like things holding the seeds were fascinating.
In fact, a lot of these fruits had many seeds. Most of them were mostly seeds with a slight mucilage of fruit pulp surrounding them. Everyone seemed to eat the things whole - seeds and all. The sweet pulp with the crunchiness of the seeds and a slight bitterness as well. Interesting.


Tomate de Arbol - really does look like a tomato inside.

The Tomate de Arbol seemed to get the most attention. Tomato of the Tree or Tree Tomato? What kind of funkiness is this? Cutting into it revealed that does indeed look and have the texture of a tomato but much sweeter and delicate. But for me the truly interesting fruit was the Sapote. Once you've cut through the tough outer skin, the fruit looks stringy and orange, much like a sweet potato. But dig in and it's anything but. Delicately sweet, stringy and complex.


Sapote - the texture reminded me of sweet potato.

I had been so focused on my tasting that I didn't realize that a frenzy had broken out around me. Everyone is cutting and pulling and tasting fruit. For Carolina and Diego, this stuff is old news. They're Colombian so they see this all the time. For us visitors, it's a whole new world. The knive is flailing about, fruit juice is being spilled, it's exciting, like being at some sort of fruit NASCAR.

Alfredo returns with a load of milks from the grocery store to try. We taste them cold, steamed and in cappuccinos. Some of them start out sweet, others get sweeter with heat and then some just completely falter. Sadly, the coffee in the cappuccinos isn't the greatest we've ever tasted and that makes judging the milk for capps all the more difficult. A milk that may have been interestingly sweet heated in the cup, suddenly is wiped out and destroyed by the coffee.


Higos - in Mexico they call this tuna.


Granadilla - mas dulce, with the most fascinating outer skin.

We're powering through them and, happily, Alfredo and Rodrigo are doing the work of steaming and pulling shots on the espresso machine. I don't drink much milk in the course of a day and we're certainly going beyond what I would normally drink in perhaps a week, except some are good and others are bad - which makes it all the more tenuous for tummy.


Alfredo, Carolina, Rodrigo and Rouki attempt to figure out the fat content.

With all the fruit flying and milk drinking, I want to bust outside the tasting room to chat more with the girl in the glasses and purple shirt. Milk and fruit are nice, but what about the honey? Somewhere along in life, I've learned how to feign calmness in spite of the fact that I'm stressed and/or about to explode inside. Just on the other side of that glass partition. Hmm, maybe I need to go to the bathroom again?


Leche! from Alqueria.

A few minutes later, we're finished with our tastings, the power point presentations are ready for tomorrow and it's time for us to leave the Comite offices, grab a bite to eat and make sure everything is being set up correctly for our workshop. Now's my chance to invite her along to lunch, chat, learn more about her and just be fascinated. Should I keep my hair pulled back or let it flow down like that rocker Juanes?


Alfredo pours some capps with the test milk.

As we emerge from the cupping room, the entire floor is empty and dark. It's 12:15pm and this place is deserted. Everyone is gone. Nooooo! I think I'm ready to flail myself about. It seems that in Colombia, everyone goes to lunch at a certain, designated time, that time has passed and everyone is gone - even my girl with the jet black hair, black glasses and purple top. Mierda.