Here’s a very basic concept: coffees from different countries have different flavors. This idea is probably kicking around in the skulls of most coffee drinkers in the United States. But why this is so—and how you can use it to your advantage—needs a little examination.
There are many, many factors that influence how a cup of coffee tastes. Depending on my mood, the complete intractability of great coffee flavor either exhilarates me or depresses me. Sometimes I just wish the whole process was easier. Some of coffee’s flavor-influencers are vanishingly subtle and some of them are about as subtle as a slap in the kisser. If I stick strictly to the super delegate kisser-slap list, I can include species, plant varietal, fruit processing, soil type, climate, roast profile, and … actually, let’s just stop there. I’m feeling sore about the kisser already.
This happy rainbow of flavor factors is the reason for confusion that arises about coffee origins. It’s not just geography that differs. The plants and the traditions of the people who grow the coffee can also vary wildly, so two coffees from within the same country can taste radically different. And two coffees from countries thousands of miles apart can taste remarkably similar.
In all, it’s a bit misleading of coffee roasters to just slap “BRAZIL” on a bag of coffee, as if that described the coffee. A commercial-grade robusta from the lowland plantations around São Paolo tastes quite literally like burnt rubber; a pulped-natural yellow bourbon from the highlands of Minas Gerais tastes quite literally like heaven.
On the flip side of the coin, there are sister coffees that can practically hold hands, flavor-wise, despite being from different ends of the globe. Among true coffee fanatics (and I should warn you, if you read too many of these columns you may turn into one of these people), certain coffees from Bolivia are prized as replacements for coffees from Central America. Follow me on this: because it’s in the Southern hemisphere, Bolivia’s harvest is on the opposite side of the calendar year. When those pretty Guatemalan coffees are either gone or faded by time (in December, say), fresh Bolivians are just coming off the boats. Because of a combination of similarities in all those factors I mentioned before, some caused by history and some just coincidental, Bolivian coffees can taste an awful lot like Guatemalans. Hence their prized status.
So be careful not to jump to conclusions about coffee-producing countries. Let’s say you like big, fruity red wines and someone pours you a glass of exceedingly dry, crisp Chenin Blanc from France. And you declare, “I do not like French wine. It’s too dry; and besides, I like red wine and all French wine is white wine.” You are silly person if you say this. You may also be silly for other reasons, but that’s none of my business.
So, then, let’s say you like really rich, complex, low-toned coffee. You’ve been going to one particular coffee shop because they have a Brazil-Mexico blend there that really floats your li’l boat. If I poured you a cup of syrupy, sweet coffee from Sulawesi in Indonesia, you might taste it, make a face, and decide you don’t like Indonesian coffee.
Big mistake. You’d be cheating yourself out of Sumatran coffee, which, at its best, is some of the richest, most complex, low-toned coffee out there: all dark browns and navy blues and black with flashes of jungle green in your mouth. So many different factors go into making this unique flavor, to call it simply “Indonesian coffee,” while technically true, is almost a lie.
You have to give each unique coffee a chance. Tasting many different coffees is a way of tasting different countries and regions. In the case of a beautiful Sumatra, you’re tasting the plants they planted there, the particular wet climate, the volcanic mountains, and the strange way they process the coffee. You’re tasting Sumatra—in this case, almost literally. Since a lot of Sumatra coffee is dried directly on the earth, it picks up really rich, earthy flavors. So when I say you taste Sumatra, I mean you actually get down on your knees and lick Sumatra. But in a good way!
