The coffee you are about to enjoy was made from beans grown under the absolute worst circumstances you can imagine. Positively deplorable. Fair trade? We work hard to ensure ours is nothing short of a raw deal. A raw deal you’ll taste in every delicious drop.
Beginning at germination, we see to it that each individual bean is brought into this world in the harshest manner possible: partially aborted in an alley behind Ricky’s, a Bogota vacuum cleaner repair shop. We then use a leaf blower to scatter them in a patch of rocks and weeds beside a chain link fence. Life is bad. And it gets worse when weeks later we rip them up by their scraggly, nascent branches and relocate them to a cinder block-walled compound beside a drainage ditch. Welcome to flavor country.
Once the beans mature we enslave village locals to unceremoniously whack them from their pods using nothing more than their own rage-filled fists. Are the beans then simply gathered and roasted and sent to my local coffee house, you ask? Oh, you naive American coffee drinker. Not a chance. Just look at that heavenly foam.
Our beans then lie in the hot, dry sun praying for sweet death before we finally immerse them in a bucket of water. Ahhhh, you’re thinking. That’s got to feel good as hell for those hot ass beans after being out in all that sun. Think again. Because the bucket is connected to a car battery with exposed wires. Talk about your afternoon pick me up.
Once we’ve fully shattered the beans’ spirits, we drive them in an aging Toyota Tercel up to a hillside hacienda and force them to do things your soft American mind can’t even begin to comprehend. Behold the dark, dark, oh so very, very, very dark color of your beverage.
Days later when it comes to, each bean then goes through its own process of coming to grips with now being stuffed in the back of a U-Haul surrounded by literally millions of other beans. It’s stifling hot and from what they can make out through nail holes in the walls it looks like Arizona. And it’s not a dry heat either like you always hear about and associate with Arizona and when people say it’s hot out you make that joke about well at least it’s a dry heat and then everyone nervously laughs even though that joke hasn’t been funny in years. No, this is a sticky heat and when the doors finally swing open the sunlight is blinding. Oh, how those beans will wish they were blind after they regain focus and see what awaits them: desert meth addicts. Who’s ready for that second cup?
Our meth addicts meticulously roast each bean in glass pipes until they develop a rich, dark hue. Oh, and when they're not being smoked they’re subjected to appalling scenes of dirty meth sex, arguing and scab picking for two sleepless weeks. It’s the trauma that brings out the flavor.
We then snatch them up in a midnight raid, hood them into burlap bags and corral them into a 1986 Ford conversion van for the drive to your local coffee house where they’re ground to smithereens and immersed in boiling hot water. The resulting brew is the beverage you’re currently enjoying. We find our harsh growing conditions give your coffee its signature smooth finish.
We can’t think of a more inhumane way to bring you what we think is the most delicious coffee questionable business practices can produce.