Do you love coffee? Do you really, though? We believe making great coffee is like giving birth. Literally, we only use water that is freshly broken from the birth canal of a woman in labor. There is also a great deal of crying involved.
All of our coffee is sourced by our buyer, Ricky, who has over twenty-five years of experience as a talent scout for child stars. He’s seen some tough working conditions out there, but our membership in the fair trade association stipulates he will only buy coffee from places where he can wear shorts and find good, quality hair gel, thereby demonstrating our three core values: Coffee, Coiffure, and Cutoffs.
We then take the coffee, which is expertly roasted by a team of previously very popular comedians, and we leave it at a Greyhound station with a twenty-dollar bill, because if you love something — and we do — you have to let it go. If the coffee comes back, that’s when you know the coffee is ready to brew. If it doesn’t, we have a good cry (again) and start over.
We prepare the coffee for grinding using an all-organic, food-safe, homeopathic sedative. As it drifts gently off to sleep, we beg its forgiveness and crank the coffee through a jack-in-the-box-style grinder, which at any moment could have a clown pop out and scare the hell out of you. You want this because the degree of fear one feels when brewing coffee is going to make all the difference.
Next we bring the water to a boil in our mid-century modern cauldron, heated over a pyre of degrees from liberal arts colleges. The cauldron, you should know, was designed by a Danish visionary in 1949 who wore slacks to every party she went to, because that was her thing. We ladle the boiling water into a kettle designed by a Japanese visionary who once met the Danish visionary at a party and called her slacks “wrinkled.” That’s heritage for you.
As we begin the pour over, we recite the Barista’s Creed: There is but one cup, and the line is so long. Have mercy on us. Then, and only then, we remove our chambray hazmat suits to reveal that, in fact, we’ve been secretly recording you this whole time, analyzing your facial features according to a very fine-tuned phrenological system of character assessment. If you are deemed fit and of sound mind, we will present your cup of coffee to you, the adoptive parents of the coffee fruit of our loins.
With cautious optimism, we look forward to serving you soon.