NEWSLETTER

A Bean Apart

Rancho Gordo beans, like DoubleShot coffee beans, come in one-pound bags from various regions. I guess the question is, Why shouldn’t dried beans be a craft product?

I’d been searching my six or so grocery stores high and low for something other than black and pinto. Anasazi got my attention, and I found a bag of cranberry (what the Italians call borlotti) in some aisle or other. Surely they were out there, somewhere.

“The pumpkin lover is a lonely connoisseur,” William Woys Weaver once wrote, noting that pumpkins were merely squashes and the varieties were boundless, in the hundreds, versus the one jack o’ lantern orange. I sang the same sad lament over a pot of beans.

But no more. Thanks to Rancho Gordo, my bean larder is brimming. This Napa Valley-based purveyor has been offering dried heirloom bean varieties since 2001. Through its Xoxoc project, it helps small farmers in Mexico get their indigenous crops to market in spite of the bureaucracy that “discourages genetic diversity and local food traditions.”

King City pink. Tarbais white, Domingo rojo, Chiapas black … and we’re just getting started. Rancho Gordo beans are so fresh they often start sprouting during even a short soak (I opt not to soak, relying on Steve “Gordo” Sando’s own cooking method, which never fails). These are heirloom beans, so supplies are not unlimited (they have what they call “waitlist beans”).

You’ve probably noticed these beans in our market. If you’ve not bought a bag, I suggest starting where your eye draws you. Among my faves now are the Royal Corona and Ayocote Morado. Creamy, firm and velvety-rich, they smear wonderfully on a thick, warm tortilla.

Seasons change… and so do I

It’s the holidays and you’re probably looking forward to a seasonal drink. Maybe a pumpkin spice latte or a peppermint mocha. Perhaps a spiced eggnog latte. Well, you’ve come to the right place.

I know what you’re thinking. DoubleShot would just as soon serve dog $#!+ as even let one pump of Starbucks syrup pass through the golden gates of crema layered artfully atop our lattes. But not so fast. That was the old DoubleShot. The one with teenage angst. We’re nearly twenty now, and we’ve grown to appreciate the way salted caramel intermingles with the taste of a proper espresso. The way cinnamon and sugar round out the edges of a single-origin shot.

We’ve come to realize we have been too subtle all these years, relying on nuances to elevate an experience that, at the end of the day, really is just coffee. I’m guilty as charged, talking endlessly about berries and chocolates and nuts buried somewhere aromatically in the cup, indiscernible to most people, and probably just a figment of my imagination. Why did my wishful thinking cause me to strive to look for things in a cup of coffee that I could’ve just PUT into the coffee? My dad would say I was a “dumb head.”

But I’m cured. I get it now. PSL and all.

—

I remember way back when I first started drinking “coffee,” I’d go down to Seminary Street in my hometown of Galesburg. There was a boutique called Calico Cat that had all manner of shiny objects, including an entire Godiva Chocolate counter. A white, circular affair with glass panels guarding every conceivable combination of chocolate and flavored sugary ganache swirled into truffles and bonbons. Oh, the delights. It wasn’t just the flavored chocolates I was after though. I’d buy little sachets of pre-ground, flavored coffee and we’d brew them after dinner for a bougie treat. My favorite was chocolate mint. Went well with, not very imaginatively, chocolate cookies with those Andes mints melted on top.

Of course, that was when I had become more of a sophisticated coffee drinker. Once I’d gotten past the delectable (thence detestable) International Coffees in their rectangle tin cans lining the grocery store shelves. French Vanilla Café and Suisse Mocha, instant coffee at its finest.

Well then I went and got all sophisticated, as memories of those early “dessert coffees” swirled in my mind like the cacophony of smells erupting into the mall corridor from Gloria Jean’s bins of beans.

—

There has been an interesting trend in coffee over the past couple years. Whereas coffee in the 80s was all about spraying artificial flavors onto coffee beans after they’d been roasted (cheap, commodity coffee, might I add), nowadays producers are harvesting excellent varieties and fermenting them with adjuncts in order to produce wildly flavorful and aromatic beans. Coffee flavored at origin.

I recently spent a few days in Colombia, where I cupped coffees that had been fermented with bananas and peaches and strawberries, and a couple fruits you’ve never heard of. These were certainly interesting coffees, and for the most part they didn’t taste like you’d think they would. But the most striking coffee on the cupping table was a Pink Bourbon that was fermented with cinnamon. It tasted just like cinnamon. Reminded me of Java Dave’s “Snickerdelicious.” (When I first got involved in the Specialty Coffee industry, I’d tell people I was from Tulsa and they’d exclaim, “Snickerdelicious!” That’s the “specialty” coffee we were known for.)

Speaking of Pink Bourbon, that’s actually a coffee variety, not a Valentine-tinted whiskey. Bourbon was once a Typica, taken from Yemen and planted by the French on the Island of Bourbon – home of a famous variety of vanilla. French vanilla, you might say, since the French colonized the formerly uninhabited island and developed a plantation economy in the Indian Ocean. The name was changed after the fall of the Bourbon Dynasty to Réunion, then to Île Bonaparte (after Napoleon), and back to Bourbon a few years later, then “permanently” renamed Réunion after the French Revolution. The coffee went through a couple revolutions of its own. Mutating into a variety distinct from its Typica origins, the new strain has played a significant role in filling out coffee fields throughout the Americas. And thank your god they didn’t rename it Bonaparte.

—

Coffees normally ripen into red “cherries,” but Pink Bourbon actually ripens… pink! Tastes pink too. The cherries tend to grow a bit plumper than usual, bursting with sugary mucilage that aids in the fermentation and creates unique aromatics in the cup. I tasted one a few months ago that I fell in love with. Produced by a woman named Luz Helena Salazar in the Quindio region of Colombia, near the town of Armenia, the coffee really just made all the others pale in comparison. So I bought it, and I’ve roasted it, and it’s sitting on our shelves right now in pink bags and wrappers as the first Holiday Coffee release of the season.

A seasonal drink, you might call it. The coffee wasn’t fermented with cinnamon or anything. Just picked pink and put on raised drying beds where time and sunlight slowly shriveled the fruit into seed-filled raisins, the natural way. I didn’t roast it with fruits or spray any flavorings on it afterward. I actually performed a ritual on the little coffee beans, infusing them with flavors of the season. I stirred in a little passion. I sprayed on a little love. And I soaked them in the pinkest version of joy that I could find. I was going to kill them with kindness, but I thought that was a little much. I think when you taste this coffee, you’ll sense all the “adjuncts” that make this a true seasonal drink.

Imbued with cherry and lemon or plum and raspberry or raisin and banana, it’s a versatile coffee that stands up to different temperatures and grind sizes and spits out a variety of different flavors. Or maybe it’s my temperament that changes its taste, like the mood ring of coffee. I suggest drinking it “black,” as they say, sans milk or sugar or pumpkin spice. Maybe munch on a pink grapefruit tart while you’re at it.

—

I introduce to you DoubleShot Coffee Company’s first seasonal drink: The Pink Bonaparte.

OK, you’re right. I lied. I’m still a dumb head. Some things never change.

But most things do. And you might know, we’re coming to the end of an era. So enjoy these coffees while you can.

The Coffee Purist could change everything.

DoubleShot curated: You could call it the art of coffee

After you get your coffee but before you take a seat, go check out our new shop, over under the south stairwell. When the Rookery opened, this was one of seven seating areas. (It was probably a milking shed, when it was a dairy barn in a past life.) It had a row of theater seats, a sofa and a seaworthy trunk moonlighting as a coffee table.

Then, and for the better part of two years, we removed the seating to make room for all the gear and merch we’d begun selling. A shop within a shop, if you will. (Note: I was always into those bookstore cafes that any real city seemed to have one or two of. In one, on Newbury Street in Boston, I bought a topographical history of the city and drank a cup of indifferent drip. That’s the problem with those bookstore cafes. The coffee seldom stacks up to the literature.)

Well, we changed it again. For starters, you can sit there again, and we encourage you to do so. While you do, watch one of Katie Hader’s slick videos. (Now Showing: The Coffee Purist.) And you can shop. We redesigned it—more showroom than stockroom—to give all of our products space to breathe. The wall cards give a description of each item, show the color options available, and point you to related products on display.

Some of these products are actual museum pieces. It seemed fitting to give them the display they deserved. If something grabs your eye, feel free to engage a barista.

Welcome to the new DoubleShop. (Can we call it that? I think we just did.) You could say we finally cleaned up our act.

Stretch Goals

The term “crowdfunding” sounds nice. It makes me think of community and cooperation. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. And in a sense, I guess you could say that the DoubleShot has survived all these years on crowdfunding: crowds of people come in every day and spend money on our goods. But this whole Kickstarter thing is different.

We (Katie, Mark, and I) worked long and hard trying to figure out exactly how the whole thing works, how our book project fits into the Kickstarter framework, and what we should ask for and offer as “rewards.” It took a month longer than we’d planned to get our project off the ground, but I feel like we launched a nice-looking campaign. I made the executive decision to run it out for sixty days because I know how time flies, and squeezing one more thing into our busy lives isn’t always easy. But sixty days seems like a long time when you look at it from afar, so the sense of urgency probably doesn’t compel you to act right away.

The second decision I sheepishly made was setting our goal at $10,000. I admit, it was a cowardly move. But we’ve never done this before and I wanted to make sure we achieved our goal. What we ACTUALLY need in order to pay for the publishing of our book is $25,000. I figured if we didn’t get that much, we would at least get ten and I’d cover the shortfall. You’re saying to yourself, “That’s not the Brian Franklin I know; he reaches for the stars even if there’s a good possibility he might fail.”

You’re right, and I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.

So we surpassed our undervalued fundraising goal, but we’re not done yet. So we set a STRETCH GOAL: $20,000. These stretch goals are a way to continue to motivate people to back our project. So when we reach that $20K mark, we’re going to throw in an added reward: a 56g packet of one of our holiday coffees this year – an excellent natural from my friend Juan Ramon’s farm in Nicaragua. Everyone who backs the project will get this reward. So if you’ve already committed, encourage your friends to back so you can taste this amazing coffee.

I can’t even begin to tell you what this project means to me, personally, and what it means to the life and future of the DoubleShot. I’ve just been doing my thing over the past twenty-some years, not really thinking much about what my actions and experiences might mean to others. I kept my head down, took a lot of chances, learned a lot from failures and a few successes, and tried not to make the same mistakes over and over. But recently, looking back, I can see a swath of lessons, insights, and adventures that a lot of people would enjoy reading and benefit from knowing. But not only is it an archive of the past, it’s also a guidebook to the future. Our growth and development will be shaped by this book, driving us toward even more purity and quality in our products and ideals. So I think this book is important.

A few weeks ago I drove up to my hometown of Galesburg, Illinois. I visited my alma mater, GHS, and Monmouth College, where I played football and earned a degree in accounting. I talked to a few classes of students over the course of three days, trying to entertain them and share some wisdom from my life and career. People always say that these types of experiences are personally rewarding, but I didn’t understand it until I went. One class in particular, an entrepreneur course for regional high-school students, really impressed me. Everyone was professional and courteous, inquisitive and attentive. Nothing like I was in high school. These kids have the character and disposition to do whatever they want in life. I just hope I left them with a tiny bit of insight into the world outside of the cornfields of Illinois. They certainly inspired me and instilled a sense of hope and belief in the next generation.

So that’s the book. The Coffee Purist. It’s the story of my career. It’s the story of the DoubleShot. It’s a volume full of lessons learned, experiences had, inspirations, and amusements, all weaving a story that will leave you with a deep understanding of what coffee really is. And maybe some cues on how to run really far.

Thanks for supporting this project.

www.purist.coffee

Wanderlust No More

I looked out the window of my office and saw a Jeep Wrangler with the spare mounted on the back and a tire cover that says, “Not all who wander are lost.” I hate that saying. For a couple reasons, really. People seem to wear it as a way of saying that they live life aimlessly, but that they’re not doing it mindlessly. Purposeful pointlessness. Two, if you’re wandering and not lost, you might not be doing it right. And three, I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Tolkien had in mind when he wrote it. “Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”

I like to wander. But I also enjoy the thrill of feeling lost. Not knowing where I am or exactly how to get back. Of discovering new places and new things. Seeing an area from a different perspective. Experiencing the unexpected. Of finding new ways.

Last weekend I wandered in the Wichita Mountains. Not aimlessly, but with purpose and direction. Wandering into the unknown, trying to reach the top of a mountain and a dead tree forest on the next plateau, through a chasm and across a wooded valley strewn with automobile-sized boulders. The type of wandering that is exploring and overcoming obstacles that lie between here and there and back again.

I wandered for six or eight seasons in the Rocky Mountains, trying to find myself as I searched trails up the sides of fourteeners, and across ridge and ravine on my trusty fat tire steed. All the while treading, plodding slowly toward distant aspirations. Constantly moving, wandering out of curiosity, but always forward. Almost always.

I’ve wandered among the ideas and ideals of coffee, and forged a path unlike anyone else. Unlike anything anyone might’ve expected. But it was all right there in my business plan. The plan I weaved together with thousands of hours of research and curiosity, and more than a few sparks of inspiration and eventually intuition. Unsettled and unsatisfied with what’s been done before and what’s the status quo, I modify and adapt and make. I’m a maker. A wanderer and a maker. A coffee maker on the move.

Several years ago I went on the biggest trip of my life, to a land I’d dreamed of since I was a child. The land of Isak Dinesen and Peter Beard. Of the Zulu and the Maasai. The zebra and wildebeest. And if our trip was a wander, it’s only because we didn’t know where we were going. Or what we were to see, which was a lot. A whole life’s worth of wildlife. And I found myself flummoxed over the difficulty of making coffee during an expedition. My unwieldy gear and imprecise methods spurned the mornings and turned the coffee into a concoction unworthy of such intoxicating environs.

I used to have my girlfriend keep a little notebook in her purse to write down all my ideas. (Put that on the list of reasons I can’t keep a girlfriend, I guess.) I’m always noticing when things don’t work precisely the way they should, or could, and my brain leaps into action, looking hither and thither for a new solution, a new product to fill the void. And that’s how it all began with what’s now called the Expedition Brewer.

It started as a nonsensical assemblage of fanciful components that evolved like the dawn of man over what seemed like eons. Evolution was a wanderer. And twelve years later, I’m wandering around coffee farms and mountaintops without the concern for coffeemaking. The Expedition Brewer is purpose-built for travel, compact and lightweight. It flies, it packs, it rides, and most importantly it makes great coffee.

Because until now, when it comes to coffee, all who wandered were lost.

We’re not Paris, but we have better coffee

A Q+A with Bex Alexander, author of the children’s book Champ and the Eiffel Tower Studio, on sale now at DoubleShot.

Name some of your favorite spots in Paris: I have actually never been to Paris!

What! During the Pandemic, I started watching a lot of the show Emily in Paris. I thought the scenes from the show were set in such beautiful places and buildings, so I started researching more about Paris. The more I saw, the more I felt inspired by the detailed architecture of the buildings, the preservation of such historical buildings, the cobblestone streets, the different plants that grow up the sides of the buildings, the Eiffel Tower, the culture’s appreciation for the arts, the flower shops and cafes, and even the language. I hope to see it all in person someday!

Why’d you name the cat Champ: I named him after the Champ de Mars (the park enclosing the tower).

It was nice to see the Place des Vosges make an appearance: I really was drawn to the Place des Vosges originally when I saw an aerial view of it. Then, as I looked more into it, it really feels like a place you could escape to for an afternoon. With the buildings and tree line surrounding it, it felt like a pocket of peace in a city. It feels like a place I could take my daughter and we could picnic and read and just enjoy a calm moment for the day. As a mom to a toddler, there are not very many calm moments in my day.

So, a little mouse told us the DoubleShot played a role in the writing of Champ: Not only is the architecture beautiful and the coffee delicious, but the environment is inspirational to me. Seeing all of the customers, some alone and some with friends, some working and some there for a break, it all makes me wonder about their stories. What was the best part of their day? What was the worst? Do they need a smile from a stranger today? Those thoughts really spiral me into more creative ideas for my life.

How does that play out in this book: While I’m at DoubleShot, I’m not thinking about the grocery list or the to-do list for the day, I am able to remember pockets of my creativity that don’t come out as much during the busy-ness of life. The light coming through the windows at different times of the day, the individual stories in each room, the different textures used and materials that built the actual barn, the view from the patio as cars drive towards downtown, and specifically the upstairs bench by the window, all inspired me while creating this book!

Bex Alexander graduated from Oklahoma State University with a degree in University Studies and Studio Art. She lives in Tulsa.

Knowing the Gesha

A couple of months ago when Peaches and I were in Costa Rica, we cupped a bunch of interesting new coffees that have been in development at La Minita. One, a washed Gesha, stood out because it had that distinctive floral note that’s inherent in a true, unadulterated Gesha coffee. I asked Jim where the seeds had come from for this plantation and he told me they got them in Panama from a reputable farm. It was a curious cup because so many Geshas have been produced over the years, but not many outside of Panama seem like actual, pure varieties. I’ve tasted a lot of them and bought a few. We’ve roasted some really amazing ones over the years. But as I circled the cupping table, I got the sense that this coffee was lacking depth and complexity. Jorge, the head cupper at La Minita, told me it’s because these trees are very young and just in early production, and that they will fill out and develop better aromatics as the plants age.

When I returned home, I noticed a Gesha natural on the offering sheet from La Minita. I asked for a sample and cupped it. So nice. This coffee was packed in vacuum-sealed bags, and had been sitting in the warehouse since the last harvest arrived in the U.S. I knew they were anxious to clear out their inventory and wouldn’t have many willing buyers for a coffee like this. So I negotiated the price down a tiny bit and asked them to cover the freight, and we ended up with a really sweet deal on this coffee. We launched it just before Easter and dubbed it “El Conejo Malo.”

Pricing is tricky. We’re one of the few coffee roasters to still sell coffee in one-pound increments. Most roasters have been selling 12-ounce bags of coffee at 16-ounce prices (in my opinion, preying on the fact that the general public doesn’t know how many ounces are in a pound). Some are now selling 10-ounce bags (what is that, a metric pound?) at 16-ounce prices. But it’s true, coffee costs have gone up. I use a formula:

[((cost+freight)/.85+4.5)x2)+sales tax]

So, if you’ve seen our coffee bean prices creep up, it’s with the market. Something like a Gesha is just going to cost more because of its unique cup profile and the demand for this famous variety. You’ve seen our Gesha prices go as high as $100+ for 200 grams of the precious bean. So I was pretty excited that we are able to sell a really nice Gesha at an accessible price. And in the end, we decided to package it in 12-ounce bags to keep the price at a stunning $24.

A sweet friend of mine from my home state of Illinois sent me a text message this morning saying, “The Easter bunny Gesha is divine. Thank you for sharing amazing coffee with the world!” And maybe it takes a certain type of person to recognize divinity in coffee. Because it sure can be a hard sell. This coffee has to be the best one on our shelves right now, and it’s less expensive than some truly crappy blends from popular-but-inept roasters around the country.

So what is it about a coffee that makes it palatable? In my opinion, the more you know about the variety, the farm, the processing, the people, the roaster, the history of coffee … the more you know, the more meaningful the coffee is in your cup. And the more you understand how to brew it – the difference in its aromatics when you brew it with 198˚F water versus 200˚F water, for example.

For some people, it’s obvious. For others, it’s all just coffee with different prices. But for all of us, the more you know, the better it is.

(For the Gesha: I recommend 198˚F, and learning who Price Peterson is.)

When I was 19

You know, I still sort of feel nineteen. Well … maybe twenty-nine*. I read somewhere that big changes usually come at the end of decades. The eclipse of our teens or twenties … or forties signals something in our brains that causes us to self-reflect, to search for existential meaning, and to make changes in our lives. It can be a time for increasing your fitness, divorcing your spouse, committing suicide, changing careers … trading in for that midlife-crisis sports car or trophy husband (oh stop it!). For the DoubleShot, it seems, approaching a new decade has brought about a restlessness that has us thinking in ways that might surprise you.

Finally, we’re back to traveling and rekindling relationships with coffee growers, exporters and foreign friends we haven’t seen in three years. Our foray into farming is a departure that will hopefully reap rewards as we enter our early twenties. We’re ending relationships that felt old and were bringing us negative energy, while striking up new relationships that brim with promise and positivity. The research-and-design arm of our business has been busy fabricating and iterating and planning for the launch of a few new products in the coming weeks and months. We’re starting to realize that nineteen years has brought us a certain maturity not found in a lot of coffee people. All the experience and experiments, listening and viewing the world with a skeptical eye has given us a unique perspective on coffee. I want to spend the next few years sharing what we’ve learned to encourage kids and aspiring coffee entrepreneurs and to show everyone who is curious what coffee really is so that we can all make better coffee. Just like a nineteen-year-old to think he knows it all, right? Well we don’t, but we sure want to.

Anyway, here we are, nineteen years old. Nineteen because of you. Come help celebrate us Saturday and Sunday at The Rookery, and Sunday evening from 5-8p at The Bowstring (see your barista for a ticket with all the info you need to know).

While you’re at it, we’d love it if you would call in and share birthday wishes with us. Tell us a story, touching or funny, about an experience you’ve had at the DoubleShot. Tell us what it was like the first time you came in. Or about your favorite DoubleShot memory. We want to hear your voice. This birthday is for you. Thank you for supporting us through thick and thin, through India and Panama, so to speak. Here’s the number: (539) 664-7220 (leave a message).

* For years, anytime anyone ever asked my Grandpa Franklin how old he was, he would say, “Twenty-nine.” At some point, probably as he entered his seventies or eighties, at each birthday he would say he was “thirty-nine again.” Maybe he knew something I didn’t know about the power of nines, of change, and how to stay young mentally. I got you Papa.

Pin one on

So there’s this girl… (All my stories used to start out like that.) But seriously, there’s this girl who sells enamel pins, and she sort of reminds me of this girl named McKenzie who always answered the phone when I’d call in to order Cruzin Caps, and if she didn’t answer I would ask for her. Because I could just tell by her voice that she was the sweetest girl on the planet and it made me happy to order more Cruzin Caps from her. Not to mention the fact that they allowed our logo to cover the hole on your to-go cup and then ended up stuck in patterns all over your dashboard or computer screen and that red front door over at 18th & Boston. So this is an evolution in setting the DoubleShot logo onto our merchandise. If you don’t know what enamel pins are, they are like lapel pins, only swankier because these have the DoubleShot icon on them. Oh yes they do. We’re really excited to start selling these, and I think you’ll be very impressed with the quality. Pin one to your messenger bag (or your fanny pack if you’re a hipster). It’s cool, it’s subtle, and it signals your loyalty to the DoubleShot lifestyle. Get yours at the DoubleShot or online at DoubleShotCoffee.com. (They’re only $5 each)

Order your own custom pins from that girl at Champion-Pins.com. I’ll trade you.

The lessons of La Minita

Costa Rica is an easy place to take staff for their first experience at origin, and this year I took Wiley. He’s been on staff for just over a year and has taken over the role of wholesale sales for the DoubleShot. Yes, if you didn’t know, we sell our coffee to certain restaurants, offices, coffee shops, etc. (more at www.DoubleShotWholesale.com)

The most interesting things in coffee for me happen on coffee farms. It’s where I’ve learned the most over the past several years, so now that we’re traveling again it’s fun to see new developments and get some insight into what other people are doing in coffee.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen my friends at La Minita, so it was good to catch up with Jhonny, Jose, Lindsey, and Rosio. There were folks from four other coffee businesses visiting the farm with us, mostly longstanding coffee people but a pair of newbies as well. Throughout our three days together we got to know each other, telling personal stories, gossiping about characters in the industry, and talking shop. It’s funny to find myself in the position of being a veteran, having worked in coffee longer than anyone else, but I guess that’s what time and perseverance earns you.

We cupped coffees, first to demonstrate the difference between quality separations (labeled from “first” to “third”), and then the lowest grade which is used only for domestic consumption. Then we got down to business with a cupping table full of interesting micro-lots. This is a departure for La Minita, as they’ve made their mark on the industry by producing nearly the same, top-quality washed coffees year after year. This was a basic tenet set out by Bill McAlpin from the time he purchased the farm in the late 1970s. And that consistency has only been possible because of the skill and abilities of their professional cuppers, Sergio and Jorge, who grade every single lot of coffee by taste. It wasn’t until Bill sold the company that La Minita felt the freedom to begin experimenting with different varieties and processes, which has yielded really interesting aromatics in some of their coffees. We’ll be purchasing some innovative micro-lots in the coming months, so keep an eye out for those.

Throughout this trip I found a common thread that separates what we do from almost every other coffee company on the planet. Like McAlpin, I have some staunch beliefs about how I want to run my company, and that starts with the way we source coffee and doesn’t end until you’ve swirled the last sip around your mouth and exhaled the retronasal aromatics through your nose. We’re old school. We believe that there is value in hard work and attention to detail. And while we enjoy the conveniences of the latest technologies, we know that true mastery comes when you understand how to use technology and when not to. It’s easy to go online and buy green coffee. But that’s not the same as showing up in Concordia, Colombia hoping to find someone who still grows the Caturra variety, knowing I’d still have to figure out how to buy and import it. The personal relationships make the coffee uniquely ours. Just as our manual roasting process differentiates the DoubleShot from all those pushing a button on a computerized roaster. There are a lot of ways to make coffee, and we just happen to do it the hard way. On purpose.

That’s what you taste when you drink a cup of DoubleShot coffee. That’s what you feel when you walk into The Rookery and see all those hand-hewn beams and the custom iron work. It’s in the tactile sensation when you imbibe from one of our hand-thrown cups. There’s just something different about things crafted with hard work and skills earned through years of practice. It’s not just coffee; it’s a lifestyle you and I have chosen to lead. We take the time to do things the way we know they should be done, and to support those who are doing it the hard way. That’s what the DoubleShot lifestyle is all about. You can taste it.