Upon trying my hand at tackling the topic of coffee for DWH I’ve run across many interesting little tidbits of information. For instance, did you know that coffee doesn’t actually cure hangovers?
However, it heightens your senses enough that it appears to do so. Of course, that sounds an awful lot like saying coffee actually DOES cure hangovers, because what is a hangover, anyway? Is it the alcohol-induced dehydration of the body, or the rolled-in-crap feeling that comes with it? Anyone who’s ever found themselves cranium-deep in vertigo and on the cusp of an impossible pukefest will likely tell you it’s the latter.
Also, they might add that calling it a hangover is just about the most inapt thing you could name this awful sensation, as most of the time there’s nothing really ‘over’ about it.
Anyway, of all the coffee factoids I’ve been privy to lately, none has been nearly as voluminous as the iterations of Jamaica Blue Mountain. First off, the volcanica, micro-climatic conditions of the Blue Mountain of Jamaica house such an ideal growing conditions for cherrying coffee beans that this particular drink is admired all throughout the world. Secondly, real JBM coffee can only be grown at an elevation between 2000 and 5000 feet, which leaves only about 15,000 acres available for growing (hence the hefty price.) And finally Jamaica Blue, like all gourmet coffees, is tested by loudly sipping a spoonful. The reason for doing this is to evenly distribute the liquid in your mouth in order to fully experience its medium acidity and rich, heavenly, authentic flavor, and to somehow capture the pure aroma from the back of your mouth (I’m no doctor, so don’t ask me how the hell you’re supposed to smell something from your tonsil region.)
“But what about your experience with Jamaica Blue Mountain, Jason?” you may have been patiently wondering this whole time I’ve been rambling. Well, the first time my lips ever touched this liquefied velvet was one rare wintry morning in my hometown of Kilgore, TX. I stopped into Goodday Coffee to check my work emails since I was just visiting for the holidays, and my Nana apparently thinks wi-fi consists of ghost robots or something. Now at the time I was still a bit of a novice when it came to admiring good coffee, so I’d really only heard about JBM from an episode of Frasier. And since they had a pretty good deal on a cup I thought, “What the hell, it’ll probably beat that Community crap my grandparents tried to give me for breakfast in their technology-deprived medieval monkey hut.” So I ordered it. And while I cannot say I was floored by its bold-but-subtle feel, almost non-existent acidity, and earthy, fruity flavor, I can tell you this: IT WOKE ME UP. BIG TIME. In fact, I almost regret having the second refill, because a friend from high school showed up and we talked for quite a while. He had moved to L.A. for a recording career, and therefore had taken on some of that esoteric spirituality commonly associated with those West Coast hippies. Normally I would have glazed over once he started talking about auras and the power of positive thinking. But no. I listened to every bit of self-absorbed claptrap he had to offer.
I figure the next time I garner the opportunity to have a delicious cup of this wondrous import, I’ll be sure to focus on the specifics of what makes JBM a very unique cup of joe.
Also I’ll make sure I bring someone along who interests mirror mine a little more closely. Because let’s face it: if I’m gonna give you my unfettered attention, there’s nothing wrong with talking about some of the better reasons for living, and what gets my aura flowing: namely, beer and boobies.
Oh, and how to define and cure hangovers, of course.