A Nice Cuppa

I just recently learned how to roast coffee beans. I have taken a job at a local coffee shop called Dunn Bros. The company is franchised in the States, and ranks very high in customer satisfaction, the main reason being that their coffees are all roasted on site for maximum freshness. It truly makes a difference. Prior to joining the DB staff, when my husband and I would yearn for a truly memorable cup of coffee, we would venture into a shop and peruse the bean bins, keeping an eagle eye open for the most currently dated lot. Our fragrant bag in hand, we would then argue just ever so slightly over the free cup of brewed coffee you receive with each pound of beans purchased. He likes his black; I love milk in mine. How do you share?

In my interview for my job, I was asked if I had any interest in learning how to roast coffee and I enthusiastically said ‘YES!’ Little did I know what I was getting myself into. I am all for learning, achieving and expanding my skills, as evidenced by a current culinary degree and a wine professionals certification, so the thought of adding ‘Coffee Roaster’ to the list was a nice one. At least so I thought.

But then, after several sessions of roasting, I realized that sitting in front of a super-hot, spinning machine for several hours, watching and listening to batch after batch of coffee beans spin, bake and pop to perfection was something akin to achieving roasting nirvana. I know that my senses lead me quite often in my dealings with the world around me; noises can be very distracting, smells seem to come to me far easier and quicker than to others, and I am well known for easily becoming over-stimulated when it comes to visual cues. My friends joke and say that I need a ‘fidget’ in my life, something I can spin, twist and jingle to keep me focused. Instead, I just learned to roast coffee.

Here’s the process: a batch of green coffee beans, weighing 6 pounds is poured into a rotating drum of the heated coffee roaster and the timer is started. I normally start batches at approximately 415 degrees, and as soon as the beans drop, the temperature plummets. At 30 seconds on the timer, I give the drum a full 6″ of flame; at a minute and 30 seconds, the flame is reduced to anywhere between 5″ and 4.5″. Then I watch and see where the temperature bottoms out and record that number. Then, and this is where it really starts creating nirvana, I sit and watch the temperature climb. And climb. And climb. At certain intervals I either increase or decrease the flame, depending on which bean I am roasting, and at other intervals I open the air flow to keep the whole thing from bursting into flame. But mostly, I sit. And I watch. And listen. It’s a giant metal fidget for the easily stimulated.

The drum spins, the beans spin and the tiny window in the front of the roaster provides a great viewing opportunity for me to fixate on. If you have ever watched the internal workings of a kaleidescope as you turn it over and over, you understand what this looks like. It’s mesmerizing. The sound is continual. The sight is continual. And it’s hot. And I am sitting, watching a thermometer rise. It’s like watching paint dry. But it isn’t boring because….oh wait…it’s at 283 degrees and you need to open the air flow to 50%. OK, now the timer has reached 7:00 minutes, turn the flame to 3.5″. Then the beans crack for the first time; as they heat, they expand and release steam that is built up, causing them to crack loudly. This is recorded too. Then as they get close to being finished, about 14-16 minutes after the beans are initially dropped, they crack again, only not as loud. It’s sort of like popcorn. Another stimulant.

Paying attention is crucial, but often I can get so lulled by the sight, sound and heat that my mind can wander. It gets worse, naturally, the more batches I roast, and when I check my inventory and realize that I may need to roast 5-8 batches, oh man! By the end, my eyes and ears will feel like they are spinning madly like some crazy doll.

But it’s fun too. Sometimes customers are intrigued and they want to come and talk. I don’t mind talking, as it takes away that nirvana edge of spinning beans and rotating drums. And it’s sharing the wealth of knowledge too, which a true coffee lover can’t resist.  It’s nice too, being able to take the pressure of roasting off the owner’s shoulders. Some of my co-workers seem in awe of the process; I shake my head when they say something to me about it because it truth, even with all the stimuli, it can be rather dull, but when those beans start popping, and again when they are dumped into the cooling tray, the smell is so divine, so amazing and heady that it makes it all worthwhile. When I finally pour the finished product into a storage bin, I could easily bury my nose in it and inhale the scent until I can’t see straight.

Right. Another stimulant. I suppose this is one reason why working in a coffee shop is so appealing to me.