A Great Cup of Coffee

Good buddy Ren Doughty of Batdorf and Bronson Coffee Roasters asked me what kind of coffee I like.  Hmmm.  Let me think about that.

I’ve ridden through the Andes in Colombia and I thought the coffee there was mediocre.  Thanks to Juan Valdez (remember him?) all the good stuff goes to the U.S., my Colombian compadres Juan and Carlos told me.

Other than in big city five star hotels that cater to foreigners, the Chinese don’t drink coffee.  Gresh and I really struggled with that riding across China and we made do with Gresh’s Nescafe stash on our entire 6,000-mile ride.   Joe would get up early and make it for both of us, boiling the water twice and then sprinkling in the Nescafe.  Nescafe is a last resort if you need coffee.  Halitosis is better than no breath at all, I guess.

Singapore and Thailand had good coffee, about like we do.  I enjoyed my coffee in those spots.

Italy had okay coffee.  Espressos may have been born there.  The Italians in Vatican City enjoy a good cup of coffee.  I’ll get to that in a second.

Turkey had better than average coffee.  They can tell your future by reading the coffee grounds left in your cup. (Turkey, by the way, is one of the most fascinating places I’ve ever visited.)

Baja has surprisingly good coffee, especially on a motorcycle ride.  But then everything is better on a motorcycle ride in Baja.

When I was in Puerto Rico for the first time 30 years ago, the waiter asked if I wanted coffee with my breakfast.  Nah, I said.  He looked at me strangely.  First time in Puerto Rico?  Yeah, I said.  You have to try the coffee, he said.  It is the best in the world.  Okay, I’ll play.  He brought a cup over.  It was quite good.  Told you, he said, and then he asked when I flew in. Last night, I answered.  Did you see the jet at the Mayaguez aeropuerto with funny markings?  That’s a Vatican jet, he explained.  Comes in twice a month for coffee. For the Pope.  Up until a few days ago, I thought Puerto Rico had the best coffee in the world.   I mean, who’s going to argue with the Pope?

But all that changed with my introduction this morning to Batdorf and Bronson coffee.  It’s fitting.  Today is my birthday.

My first taste of Batdorf and Bronson coffee came about in a most interesting way.  Gresh has a lot of friends and one of them is cool guy, motojournalist, and coffee expert extraordinaire Ren Doughty.  I knew the name from Cycle World magazine and Gobi Gresh’s Facebook posts.

Ren reached out and offered to send me a sample.  You see, he’s with Batdorf and Bronson, and the man knows coffee.  And motorcycles, too.  That’s Ren and his wife you see above on their recent BMW-borne moto trip across America.

Ren asked what kind of coffee I preferred, how I prepared my coffee, and in which country I had most enjoyed coffee (hence the soliloquy above).  He was dialing in my preferences, and two days later this arrived at my front door.

You might be wondering what the dancing goats thing is all about.  Ren explained that, too.  It seems coffee was discovered by an ancient shepherd who observed his goats eating berries and then excitedly jumping about (the berries were from a coffee plant).   Dancing goats…get it?   That’s how it all started.  And that was a good thing.  For now (and to close this blog) this old goat is going to have another cup of Batdorf and Bronson coffee and enjoy his birthday.  Maybe I’ll dance about a bit, too.

Thanks, Ren.  You made my day.

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