I went to this quaint little joint my in-laws took me to near Roanoke, VA because they know I'm into coffee.

I walk in the door and am greeted with a huge circle of some old timer bluegrass group that is simply some of the most fantastic music I've ever heard. Everyone looked like they were having a blast and I was really excited, because I had VERY low expectations. I noticed the wall across from the group was full of old, second wave, coffee bins full of every sort of coffee. I didn't inspect too closely because I knew the sorts of coffees I'd find. Moka Java, Kenya AA, Breakfast Blend. You know. The usual.

I walk around the corner and see a beautiful Probat L12 roaster sitting in the back. I walk up and see some serious scorch marks all over it. Uh oh.

This beautiful piece of engineering had been caught on fire way too many times. *sigh*

At this point, I am absolutely terrified. But I didn't want to insult my in-laws by leaving without a drink. I walk up to the counter and I'm immediately greeted with genuine, warm hospitality. I order an espresso, assuming, "hey, if it's terrible at least it's only 2oz of liquid to chug." My wife ordered a latte. I do my usual thing of looking around for equipment. I saw two Malkoenig Guatemalas when I walked in the door. Good sign. I see the espresso machine in the back. And as my wife is paying, it dawns on me.

"Where is their grinder?" I hurriedly whispered to my wife.

"Uhh......."

"Holy crap. Is he? Oh my. He's scooping preground coffee from that bin next to the espresso machine." I gasped.

I quietly whispered, "babe, this is not good. Not good at all."

I got my "espresso" in a paper cup, 5oz of wretched, black, vile filth. I took one whiff. Put a lid on it. Left and kept quiet until I could find a way to quietly dispose of it. My father-in-law asked me what I thought of it. He's not a coffee drinker, so he was curious about my opinion. I gingerly said, "well, it's not the style of coffee I do."

I was beginning to process my trauma. I was hoping to just put this all behind me, go back to their house, and choke down some Starbucks Brezza blend (yes... It was MILES better than what I just drank). Getting back into the car, I expected some relief. I just set my cup in the cup holder where I hoped to forget about it completely until we got back to their house, where I could promptly introduce it to its kinfolk, the garbage.

To my horror, upon reentering the vehicle, my mother-in-law insists we stop by a shop near her work.

Dread. So. Much. Dread. My mind began racing as we sped toward my next stop in coffee purgatory. As a religious man, I began to heatedly send up some prayers, battling with God for deciding to build my character in such a cruel fashion. Wasn't Job's life enough? I got that message, no need to put me through it. Thanks.

After a few brief minutes of frustrated inner monologue, a phrase snaps me out of my internal civil war.

"Land of a thousand hills... Isn't that in the Bible somewhere?" I hear my wife ask.

"Well, no. It's actually a nickname for Rwanda because they have so many hills." I replied and began excitedly telling them about the Pearl Project and the benefits specialty coffee has brought to Rwanda, post-genocide. Suddenly, I realized.

"Wait, why were you guys talking about "Land of a Thousand Hills? There's actually a specialty coffee company that sources almost entirely through Rwanda and even owns a mill there that's called Land of a Thous... Wait a second. Is that what I think it is?"

Suddenly, a sign for Land of a Thousand Hills (http://landofathousandhills.com/) pops up. My heart starts pounding. No way. No way do they have a cafe out here in the middle of nowhere.

I walk inside, order a pourover, triumphantly smash that cup of crappy espresso, and drank that pourover like I had just spent the last thousand years in purgatory without a drink of water. Because that's how it was. It wasn't even that well made. It was under extracted and under concentrated. But it was the closes taste of heaven I've ever had. Then I tweeted their green buyer and was like, Whoah dude.

True story.

The saddest experience recently was hearing a conversation where the farm name was on the sign and bag at a cafe and became the blame for a bad espresso by a customer.

I went to this quaint little joint my in-laws took me to near Roanoke, VA because they know I'm into coffee.

I walk in the door and am greeted with a huge circle of some old timer bluegrass group that is simply some of the most fantastic music I've ever heard. Everyone looked like they were having a blast and I was really excited, because I had VERY low expectations. I noticed the wall across from the group was full of old, second wave, coffee bins full of every sort of coffee. I didn't inspect too closely because I knew the sorts of coffees I'd find. Moka Java, Kenya AA, Breakfast Blend. You know. The usual.

I walk around the corner and see a beautiful Probat L12 roaster sitting in the back. I walk up and see some serious scorch marks all over it. Uh oh.

This beautiful piece of engineering had been caught on fire way too many times. *sigh*

At this point, I am absolutely terrified. But I didn't want to insult my in-laws by leaving without a drink. I walk up to the counter and I'm immediately greeted with genuine, warm hospitality. I order an espresso, assuming, "hey, if it's terrible at least it's only 2oz of liquid to chug." My wife ordered a latte. I do my usual thing of looking around for equipment. I saw two Malkoenig Guatemalas when I walked in the door. Good sign. I see the espresso machine in the back. And as my wife is paying, it dawns on me.

"Where is their grinder?" I hurriedly whispered to my wife.

"Uhh......."

"Holy crap. Is he? Oh my. He's scooping preground coffee from that bin next to the espresso machine." I gasped.

I quietly whispered, "babe, this is not good. Not good at all."

I got my "espresso" in a paper cup, 5oz of wretched, black, vile filth. I took one whiff. Put a lid on it. Left and kept quiet until I could find a way to quietly dispose of it. My father-in-law asked me what I thought of it. He's not a coffee drinker, so he was curious about my opinion. I gingerly said, "well, it's not the style of coffee I do."

I was beginning to process my trauma. I was hoping to just put this all behind me, go back to their house, and choke down some Starbucks Brezza blend (yes... It was MILES better than what I just drank). Getting back into the car, I expected some relief. I just set my cup in the cup holder where I hoped to forget about it completely until we got back to their house, where I could promptly introduce it to its kinfolk, the garbage.

To my horror, upon reentering the vehicle, my mother-in-law insists we stop by a shop near her work.

Dread. So. Much. Dread. My mind began racing as we sped toward my next stop in coffee purgatory. As a religious man, I began to heatedly send up some prayers, battling with God for deciding to build my character in such a cruel fashion. Wasn't Job's life enough? I got that message, no need to put me through it. Thanks.

After a few brief minutes of frustrated inner monologue, a phrase snaps me out of my internal civil war.

"Land of a thousand hills... Isn't that in the Bible somewhere?" I hear my wife ask.

"Well, no. It's actually a nickname for Rwanda because they have so many hills." I replied and began excitedly telling them about the Pearl Project and the benefits specialty coffee has brought to Rwanda, post-genocide. Suddenly, I realized.

"Wait, why were you guys talking about "Land of a Thousand Hills? There's actually a specialty coffee company that sources almost entirely through Rwanda and even owns a mill there that's called Land of a Thous... Wait a second. Is that what I think it is?"

Suddenly, a sign for Land of a Thousand Hills (http://landofathousandhills.com/) pops up. My heart starts pounding. No way. No way do they have a cafe out here in the middle of nowhere.

I walk inside, order a pourover, triumphantly smash that cup of crappy espresso, and drank that pourover like I had just spent the last thousand years in purgatory without a drink of water. Because that's how it was. It wasn't even that well made. It was under extracted and under concentrated. But it was the closes taste of heaven I've ever had. Then I tweeted their green buyer and was like, Whoah dude.

True story

Love the story, well done sir

Okay, this is my first ever post on this site and why not let it be about a horrible espresso experience? This was at a local Redmond WA coffee/roaster and cafe. I had ordered my latte and was waiting and watching the admittedly busy barista as he made my drink. Instead of dosing the coffee into the portafilter from the grinder he dumped the *extra* grounds that had been collecting over who knows how long from a small container right under the grinder chute into the portafilter. Now, this was a couple years ago and while I knew it wasn't SOP I didn't really know at the time how wrong it was. Needless to say, I have never been back. Amazingly, the place is still open and extremely busy. I guess that shows how tough it is to find decent espresso east of Seattle.

I had an espresso from a local coffee shop some time ago that made me nauseous; I headed to the men's room part way through the shot. I left. The next day as I was driving by EMS was attending a guy who was flat on his back on the sidewalk right in front of the shop. Years later while at Houndstooth I spoke to a former barista of that shop who commented that they had used Costco coffee in the espresso machine. I figure that's what did it.

I guess we won't be hearing from the folks who died from their espresso shots.

Haha! As soon as you said Redmond I knew exactly which place you were going to talk about. I have been there more times than I care to admit, and each time I tell myself I will never return. Last time I went (a year or so ago now) was because a local artist I like had some work in the shop so I decided to go take a look. Went with several friends to a fairly empty house. I ordered a drip (as the espresso is awful), and others got their drinks. Sat down at a large round table, using about half. We sat for awhile, finished our drinks, then got up to look at the artwork. When we returned to our table to chat for a few more minutes we were approached by an older fellow who worked there and were told that we were loitering and needed to leave. Looking around to a mostly empty shop I was dumbfounded. We were likely there for only 30 minutes....

rittem1 wrote:Okay, this is my first ever post on this site and why not let it be about a horrible espresso experience? This was at a local Redmond WA coffee/roaster and cafe. I had ordered my latte and was waiting and watching the admittedly busy barista as he made my drink. Instead of dosing the coffee into the portafilter from the grinder he dumped the *extra* grounds that had been collecting over who knows how long from a small container right under the grinder chute into the portafilter. Now, this was a couple years ago and while I knew it wasn't SOP I didn't really know at the time how wrong it was. Needless to say, I have never been back. Amazingly, the place is still open and extremely busy. I guess that shows how tough it is to find decent espresso east of Seattle.