I have been intending to talk coffee for a while but the events of today has brought matter to a head.
I've always liked a good cup of coffee, from my early years, brewing in my parents old percolator, moving to an expresso maker for my sixteen birthday, next was my beloved stove top, to the present the unprecedented, Aeropress.
I have been going to Taylor's in Brighton for a number of years. The main draw for me is the first rate coffee. They use Rogue Expresso from Union Coffee and I believe that one of the founders, of Taylor's, was responsible for the rogue blend. I enjoy this blend so much that I have a standing order with union coffee to deliver me a kilo of fresh beans once a month. I find leaving the beans for month improves the flavour.
You will find a bright mix of the Brighton faithful and folks straight off the train, as it is on the main drag, down the hill, on the way into town. The Brighton branch, of this independent (chain of four) coffee house, is frequented by Macalites and creatives as the wifi is free and the password is chalk at the bottom of the main menu board. The food is excellent, using local and organic sourced produce but its really all about the coffee.
The thing about coffee connoisseurs, snobs, addicts, what every you like to call us, is that we are as fickle as they come. We will go out of our way, just to get a good cup and when we find a place that ticks all the boxs we will keep coming back.......until we find a better brew.
A cold, grey, cover-case, rainy day was the background to an event that was total unexpected. Having gone to Taylor's for the usual flat white and eggs royal and then done the usual round of shops. We went for a walk, through one of the often on outdoor markets, that pop up on a regular basics in Brighton. This one was chocolate focused.
Half why through I spotted a small stall, buried by the surrounding stall, nothing special, in fact it was most unimposing but it was selling coffee so I gave it a second look. At this point a noticed the sign, ok, now I'm interested. I approached and ask for a cup of "award wining cappuccino" with a touch of cynicism.
Having ordered one and luckily got two coffees, my partner and I walked off, cups in hand. Five paces later my part stopped in her tracks, "this is good, no this is really good, it reminds me of Croatia". I hadn't tried mine yet.
I stopped, took the lid off the cup, raised it to my lips and.... It was better than good it was perfect. What strikes me now is that the temperature was, ready to drink. The balance between coffee, milk and foam was classic thirds and perfectly balance and he had made it all look so effortless. I cannot and will not attempt to describe the taste but the memory of it is still with me a day later.
After a minute or two of this heavenly, dark fluid, I went back to the stall. I wanted beans, also I just had to tell the chap how dame good it was. He simply smiled, thanked me and shook my hand. As for the beans "sorry mate I have got any for sale today come back tomorrow".
Having now done a bit of homework, I had just had the pleasure, no the honour, of meeting Lawrence the unimposing taste buds behind dark fluid.
