In his beloved novel The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera talks about a lot of things.
For one, he talks about “shit,” calling it a “more onerous theological problem than is evil. Since God gave man freedom, we can, if need be, accept the idea that He is not responsible for man’s crimes. The responsibility for shit, however, rests entirely with Him, the Creator of man.”
In relation to this revelation on shit, and perhaps more famously, Kundera elaborates on the true meaning of “kitsch,” a critical theme of his book.
“‘Kitsch’ is a German word born in the middle of the sentimental nineteenth century, and from German it entered all Western languages. Repeated use, however, has obliterated its original metaphysical meaning: kitsch is the absolute denial of shit, in both the literal and figurative senses of the word; kitsch excludes everything from its purview which is essentially unacceptable in human existence.”
That is some heavy duty manure to digest in one sitting. But in re-reading Kundera’s classic, I’d like to sum his ramblings into two words: “transitory nature.”
“The idea of eternal return is a mysterious one, and Nietzsche has often perplexed other philosophers with it: to think that everything recurs as we once experienced it, and that the recurrence itself recurs ad infinitum! What does this mad myth signify? Putting it negatively, the myth of eternal return states that a life which disappears once and for all, which does not return, is like a shadow, without weight, dead in advance, and whether it was horrible, beautiful, or sublime, its horror, sublimity, and beauty mean nothing . . . Let us therefore agree that the idea of eternal return implies a perspective from which things appear other than as we know them: they appear without the mitigating circumstance of their transitory nature. This mitigating circumstance prevents us from coming to a verdict. For how can we condemn something that is ephemeral, in transit? In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine.” The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera
Coffee from the Yirgacheffe region in Ethiopia is why I first fell in love with specialty coffee. I vaguely remember where I had that cup – perhaps somewhere on the West Coast, perhaps some douchey cafe in Shinsa-dong in Seoul. I do remember flowers, an entire, radiant bouquet, perfuming my mouth. I do remember bright acidity, not enough to wince, but just enough to acknowledge its existence.
I do remember, most of all, its “transitory nature.” The flowers, the acidity, the brightness, all of it was fleeting, gone before I could ask anyone what I just put in my mouth.
There is no reason for good coffee to stick to your tongue like caramel. That is the beauty Verve’s Yirgacheffe coffee from the Konga Cooperative.
Verve describes the washing process as “a single washing station member of Konga was isolated for employing stringent attention to detail and extremely ripe coffee cherry delivery. As an experiment, this station was isolated and milled separately to see if the production would be heightened. The result is a coffee that is filled with concentrated flavors and extremely electric citric tones.”
No doubt, the wet-process for this batch was a success. In addition to the intense tropical fruit flavors and floral tones that I am accustomed to from coffees from this region, the wet-process adds a creamy, velvety feel that I was not aware of. The descriptor “graceful” on Verve’s beautifully designed packaging is accurate. When brewed just right, flowers burst up-front, followed by a mellow wrapping of lavender, which leads to a creamy finish.
Verve’s logo is simple yet brilliant, using a bold yet elegant typeface to etch a permanent image of the “V” for Verve in your retina. The scorpion-leaf-vine-like pattern, repeated endlessly on the black packaging, stays true to the roaster’s roots in Santa Cruz, while the color combination of olive green, brown, and orange (used sparingly, once towards the top of the bag, and once more on the side) breathes air into a potentially dark and heavy exterior, perhaps as a prelude to the brightness tucked within.
The coffee from Konga is enriched by its “transitory nature.” A typical batch of coffee may have one of many flavor notes – caramel, fruits, floral, cocoa, lavender, you name it. But whatever the note, I think the beauty of specialty coffee (and the masterful picking, washing, drying, roasting process) is the ability to make the notes dance for a brilliant moment – then vanish. Linger, yes, but vanish. Just as the passion fruit note hits you, just as the lavender starts to peak, the “unbearable lightness” of the flavors swiftly lift them as if they were never there.
Verve does that. Gracefully.
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Verve Coffee Roasters – Konga, Yirgacheffe, Ethiopia
12 oz whole bean – $19.75
Santa Cruz, California