Double Origin Espresso

Back just before we had to close Flying Five Coffee in 2009, I was starting a project I was calling “Double Origin Espresso” to explore espresso blends with two beans. At the time, our blends were all composed of three blends, which was what I thought what was needed for an interesting and complex espresso.

I was very interested in Single Origin espresso (and still am), but at that time, hadn’t found origins that had enough complexity to satisfy me for espresso. Yet, the ideas behind Single Origins are incredibly attractive: they link what you’re drinking to a specific place in the world, and really feature the specific tastes in the bean. There’s nowhere to hide in a single origin coffee: all the features or defects in a coffee are front and center.

And, so I thought that a “Double Origin Espresso” might be the best of both worlds: you could possibly gain enough complexity from two beans to create interesting espressos, and yet still maintain the individual features of the two origins. 

The linking of cup to place is potentially even more interesting with a Double Origin Espresso: you’d pair up two disparate places in the world and feature their specific tastes and play them off each other. Brazil and Ethiopia. India and Indonesia. Guatemala and Kenya. The possibilities are interesting and endless.

I never got a chance to pursue the Double Origin project – the realities of the 2008 and 2009 economy intervened. But, I’m happy to say that some other roasters have gone in this direction and are producing some great espresso blends with just two beans.

The first one I ran across is Heart’s Stereo. Is that a great name for a blend of two beans, or what? They rotate their pairings seasonally, their current one is 50% Colombia and 50% Ethiopia. 

The seasonal rotation concept is another Single Origin staple, and it translates to Double Origin espresso perfectly. Coffee is a seasonal crop, and at any particular time of the year, different beans from different farms are in season. If you’re chasing the best tastes, you won’t have them all year round.

Another Double Origin Espresso I’ve had recently are two blends from Huckleberry. Their staple espresso is 50% Brazil and 50% Guatemala, and has tons of complexity. Earlier this year, they also had a 50% Brazil and 50% Kenya that had some very interesting acidity and high notes from the Kenya playing off of the base Brazil.

It’s interesting to me that both roasters ended up with 50/50 proportions – is this the go-to ratio for two bean espresso? Hard to say, but maybe so.

I suspect there’s a lot more Double Origin Espresso out there that we just don’t necessarily know about. I think there are a lot of roasters playing with this concept that aren’t labeling it as-such and just creating great espresso blends that feature great tastes from two origins.

Whatever it’s called, I think Double Origin Espresso is a fascinating extension of the Single Origin ideas into espresso blends.

Single Origin Espresso

Over the years, I’ve never been a huge fan of single origin espresso. I’ve always cited the same reasons as others that criticize single origin espresso: I enjoy espresso when it is multi-dimensional, and espresso from just one bean always seems to turn out one-dimensional. I’ve always loved tasting single origin espressos though, starting back with Flying Five when I was blending the various espresso blends we created. But, I’d never found one that I wanted to drink every day of the week.

Last year, my opinion started to change, however with a few Nicaraguan espressos from Victrola and Coava. Those were the first single origin espressos that I had that I wanted to drink day after day. They were complex, interesting and multi-dimensional. I’m not sure what the right way to say this is, but perhaps their different tastes still fall closer to one another than a “traditional” espresso made up from different beans from all over the world.

Then, this year, I ran across two single origins at the same time that together completely changed my opinion. The first was a Panama from Verve. While not incredibly complex, the clarity and purity of the flavor notes far outweighed any lack of complexity objections. Verve didn’t carry it for long, but while they did, I drank it pretty much every day, and thoroughly enjoyed every single one.

These Nicaraguan and Panama espressos altered my “lack of complexity” objection. Sometimes, the clarity and purity of a flavor note can outweigh other factors. Who says all interesting tastes have to be complicated?

Then, I was visiting Huckleberry Roasters in Denver, and they had a fascinating Rwanda. This particular single origin espresso had tons of complexity, and even more interestingly, it changed its taste substantially as it cooled. The resulting taste journey was as interesting or more interesting than any multi-bean espresso blend.

So, I’ve been converted from a single origin espresso dabbler to a full-on supporter. There still aren’t lots of them out there that I would drink day in and day out, but it sure is fun to go looking for them.

Huckleberry Roasters

Denver’s Huckleberry Roasters has a new roasting facility and cafe on Pecos street in the Sunnyside neighborhood. They renovated an old neighborhood filling station, and when the renovation proved more difficult than expected, they ran a successful Kickstarter campaign to help get over the hump.

The result is a fantastic light, open, cleanly designed roaster/cafe with comfortable tables and seating at the bar and also what will be a garage door/counter opening to the outside when it’s nice out. They did much of the work themselves on the space. We were enjoying our drinks, talking to one of the owners at a large concrete table and commented about how much we liked the table. Turns out that he not only poured the table himself, he gave us instructions on how we can make one as well!

They have a La Marzocco GB5 that they put to good use with two different espressos and a decaf. I had to taste both espressos when my wife and I stopped by at lunch one day, and both were excellent. Almost more impressively, my wife’s decaf Cortado was very flavorful and complex. Decaf espresso is a difficult thing to do well, and Huckleberry is providing a solid quality decaf option for those who don’t want the caffeine.

On a few trips, I’ve had three different espressos in a Cortado, and all are interesting and complex. They currently have a Single Origin Rwanda that is a fascinating chameleon in the cup: for me, it started off with a floral, lemony note with a hint of sweetness, and then the sweetness took over as the drink cooled. The sweetness turned to a huge sugary note that kept changing as it cooled. Yummy.

I haven’t yet had a chance to try it, but they also have the now-seemingly-required V60 pour over for drip, and I also spotted an Aeropress as well.

There’s a window over to their roasting room with their Giesen roaster: they do their roasting in the same facility. It’s fun to peek in and see the remnants of the day’s cupping of their roasts to evaluate their coffees and also to see the burlap sacks of unroasted beans.

All in all, it’s a great addition to Denver’s ever-growing craft coffee community, and definitely worth a visit.


It occurred to me recently that I hadn’t had a Cappuccino in years. I’d been so set on Cortados that I just stopped drinking anything with more milk. It’s funny though, before I started my roasting business, I used to drink Cappuccinos daily at the Trident in Boulder Colorado. I’d walk in, and the barista there would say: “I’m gonna bust a cap in you,” and we’d have a good laugh at our geeky coffee humor.

But, that was before microfoam, and they were Cappuccinos that now represent all that was so-so about 2nd wave espresso: huge heaps of foam with gigantic bubbles in them. Hey, we didn’t know any better back then, microfoam didn’t exist yet. Actually, these beasts still exist, a friend of mine sent me a picture of one he ordered recently. The microfoam revolution hasn’t taken hold everywhere just yet apparently.

So, what is microfoam, and why is it such a big deal? It’s a different way of frothing milk, and it means exactly what the word implies: tiny bubbles. When air is introduced into the milk during steaming, for microfoam, you set up a vortex in the steaming pitcher that breaks down the bubbles into progressively smaller and smaller bubbles. The result is incredible taste and mouthfeel. Another result is the ability to pour latte art, which is always fun.

So, what is a Cappuccino in the age of microfoam? I set out to find my cappuccino. James Hoffman has a fairly famous blog post about Cappuccinos that says a few very interesting things. One is that he takes serious issue with the traditional “rule of thirds” for cappuccinos, which says a cappuccino is one third espresso, one third milk and one third foam. James’ Cappuccino isn’t that at all, he leans on the milk side somewhat.

James also issues a “plea for foam,” saying that for him a cappuccino is all about the foam and the microfoam mouthfeel. I’m onboard with James here, it seems like so many Cappuccinos are essentially mini-latte’s, with the milk textured the same way as a latte.

In my search for my Cappuccino, so far I’ve come to a bit of a blend: my cappuccino follows the rule of thirds, but solidly follows James’ plea for microfoam goodness. Here’s my Cappuccino in the age of microfoam:

I start with 2 oz espresso from my Bezzera Strega, and then add microfoamed milk that has been seriously stretched to about twice its original volume. This adds way more microfoam bubbles than “usual” cortado or latte milk texturing. I experimented with the old-school method of waiting for the foam to settle out from the milk and using a spoon to place it on top of the drink, but I had more success with just free-pouring it right after texturing.

For me, this results in a poster-child drink for the rule of thirds: in a 6 oz glass, there is 4 oz of espresso and milk, and then about 2 oz of microfoam settles out on top after a minute or so.

So, to answer the question: “What is a Cappuccino in the age of microfoam,” apparently my answer ends up to be fairly mundane: it’s a Cappuccino with microfoam. My Cappuccino follows the traditional rule of thirds, but I just make it with microfoam.

The result though, is anything but mundane. It’s a drink with stunning microfoam mouthfeel that stands apart from it’s milk-ratio neighbors, the Cortado and the Latte. It definitely has its own personality and character. Yum.


I enjoy just a bit of half and half in my single origin coffee. As a committed coffee third wave-er, it’s a tough thing for me to say publicly, but it’s the truth. When I was roasting with Flying Five Coffee, I never added anything to the single origins we offered. I mean, it’s common third wave knowledge that you just don’t add anything to your single origins. After all, you’re after tasting the bean and the terroir of that origin, right?

As my other posts in this blog might indicate, I’m a huge fan of Cortados for espresso. For me, it’s the perfect balance of espresso and microfoam milk goodness. I feel that the sweetness in the milk always brings out interesting tastes in the espresso. Much more milk than a Cortado and the espresso’s character typically gets lost, drowned out in the milk.

For me, it’s the same with single origins. Actually, truth be told, I like tasting single origins both ways: on their own, and with a little half and half. It’s interesting to taste the differences between the two, and I find that the slight sweetness of the half and half often brings out some interesting tastes in the single origin coffee that I’m drinking.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about dumping a ton of cream into the single origin. I’m talking about just a teaspoon to a tablespoon of half-and-half in an 8 oz cup. Pouring a ton of cream into a coffee is the same thing for me as a latte: all you really taste is milk, and the origin character of the coffee is lost.

So, I say challenge the common third wave wisdom, and do the unthinkable: put just a bit of half and half in your favorite single origin coffee and see how it turns out.

Macchiato Thoughts

In Seattle, a Cortado is a Macchiato, so I ended up ordering a number of Macchiatos so I could enjoy my favorite drink on vacation – a Cortado. Ordering so many Macchiatos to get my Cortado made me wonder what exactly a Macchiato is to me, so I went looking.

I’ve never been a huge fan of Macchiatos. I’ve occasionally had them over the years, but I can’t say I’ve ever gotten the gist of the drink. Back in the Flying Five days, I drank a decent bit of straight espresso, and also a lot of Cortados, and I explored the in-between region some, but really only to pass through on the way to finding Cortados.

I’ve ordered a decent number of Macchiatos, and it’s amazing how many different drinks you get from the same name. Putting Starbucks’ interpretation of this drink name aside, I’ve been places where a Macchiato is espresso with exactly one tablespoon of foam placed on the top, period. Then, on the other end, visit Seattle and ask for a Macchiato and you’ll be enjoying a very nice 1:1 Cortado.

Personally, I think the Microfoam revolution is to blame. Back in the old days before we figured out how to make delicious creamy texture-y Microfoam, a Macchiato was clearer. Translated from Italian, Macchiato means “marked”, and you could make a strong argument from that that a Macchiato should be espresso with some foam on top. But, as James Hoffman points out in his Macchiato post on his blog, even that tradition-based description is flawed: apparently in Italy, baristas were marking espresso with milk way before anyone figured out how to steam milk and make foam.

For me, microfoam changes everything, and it made me realize that I hadn’t tried to find my Macchiato in the age of microfoam. So, I went looking. And what I found surprised me.

I started off by playing with ratios of milk to espresso. I took a shot of espresso, and started adding milk a bit at a time. It didn’t seem this way to start, but a rule of thumb emerged: for it to be a different drink for me, the drink character had to be different in some way.

Here’s what I mean: when I took a teaspoon, or something like 0.1 oz of milk and added it a shot of 1.8 oz espresso, it didn’t really change the character of the drink much. It tasted basically like espresso with a tiny bit of milk in it. But, not really different.

It wasn’t until I got to about 1:4 milk to espresso that I felt that I had a different drink. Let me back up and be detailed here: I’m using my Bezzera Strega lever espresso machine, and for this exploration, I was using Storm King espresso from Thump coffee (a new arrival to Denver). And, as is typical for me, I was obsessively weighing both the shot and the amount of microfoamed milk that I was adding.

As straight espresso, I get a big chocolate note from this espresso, as well as a deep cherry note. As a 1:4 ratio, the chocolate note fades a bit and morphs into a big deep cherry-chocolate note. Really enjoyable, and really a different note than the espresso alone.

So, perfect, for me, a Macchiato is 1:4, which seems to fit with tradition: in my mind, you’re still “marking” the drink, and it neatly fits my rule of thumb in that it changes the espresso character. 1:4 is my Macchiato, case closed, right?

Well, I was enjoying the espresso so much, I kept looking and I found what for me is yet another drink down below the happy Cortado-land that I typically live in. At 1:2, for me, the deep cherry-chocolate note changes: a milk-chocolate note emerges and the cherry starts to fade somewhere in the direction of peach for me.

And, of course, I couldn’t stop myself from also making a Cortado and drinking that as well. In the Cortado with Thump’s espresso, I get a very pleasant faded milk-chocolate note, and a nice peach note. Interestingly, despite having had many Cortados with this espresso before this exploration, I never thought to call that note “cherry”, it was always “peach”.

So, if I take my rule of thumb seriously, I have to call this drink at a 1:2 ratio a different drink that lives between Macchiatos and Cortados. I’m sure this varies by individual taste, type of espresso, pump vs lever, pressure profiling and probably the phase of the moon too.

But, for me, it’s a drink that stands on its own, and is worth a look.

In Seattle, a Cortado is a Macchiato

Over the summer, my family went to the Pacific Northwest on vacation. One of the fun things we did on our trip was go and try different coffee places when we were in Seattle. As I’ve written here before, my favorite coffee drink is a Cortado, which in my mind is a perfect balancing of 1:1 espresso and microfoam milk.

When we were in Seattle, Cortados weren’t on anyone’s menu. That’s not unusual though, it’s sort of an insider drink at a lot of places. You just have to ask for it. In Seattle though, when I asked, nobody knew what a Cortado was. I explained the 1:1 ratio, and then suddenly all the baristas I talked to knew exactly what I was talking about and made the drink immediately, and without any trouble at all.

I’d end up with a perfect 1:1 Cortado in a cup that was seemingly sized exactly to fit the drink. I got a little suspicious: usually when you ask someone to make a drink that isn’t on the menu, they won’t have a cup that fits it perfectly. Plus, a number of shops were pouring latte art into Cortados with amazing skill. That’s tough to do in a Cortado: there’s not much milk to work with. It’s not called “latte” art by accident.

Then, at the end of the trip, I noticed someone ordering a Macchiato, and out popped what I call a Cortado. Mystery solved: In Seattle, a Cortado is a Macchiato.