A few months ago while cruising the South Pacific with friends and family a day stop in Noumea demanded the opportunity to sample and determine if in fact the French knew coffee as they have themselves believe. So in coming across a chic little place I took the punt on the king of all pours, the Espresso, and if I were to be so daft as to believe in any kind of deity then the lovely bird across the counter with the heavily lilted French accent was as close I have come to believing in any higher being.
Just like I know the difference between a good fuck and a dud root, my knowledge of coffee comes from similar experiences, but in no way does it make me an expert, just like dry humping the bed sheets doesn’t make me an aficionado of Kama Sutra. But, for those who follow my rants on Social Media I will happily name and shame those who try to palm off a cup they’ve obviously crapped in for a cup of hot Joe, and you’ll need to troll through my old Tweets and Updates to find those places worthy of avoiding as I won’t name them again though I will hint at them surreptitiously; Coffee Culture and Muffin Break Hornby, Coffee Club Manukau, Esquires Northwood.
However I am nothing if not willing to back up any such claims without placing myself into the firing line and over the next few weeks I will search to relive that moment in the islands as I attempt to extract the perfect Jitter Juice. Further to this I will readily lay my soul and reputation on the line as I enter the Rocket Home Barista Champs here in CHCH next month.
So, if you please, follow me as I give myself a crash course in grinding, tamping, stretching and pouring my way to the top, and if not the top, to a standard where I can subjectively rate decent cup of Caffeine Infusion rather than my generic spat-out knee-jerk expletive as I have done in the past…
…and if I manage to impart some knowledge onto you, my three loyal followers of my blog, then my work is doubly rewarding.