Roasted slow. Poured warm. Begin again.

Every harvest we work tells on itself. The high washed Huila lots arrive tasting like the cold mornings they grew through — bright, papery, a little stubborn. The naturals from Sidama carry the heat of the patio they dried on. Our whole job, the entire craft, is to listen to what the green coffee already is and turn the heat down before we erase it.

So we roast small — fourteen pounds at a time, by ear and by nose, the night before a bag ships. We chase first crack and stop just shy of where a roaster's ego usually takes over. Less char. More fruit. The kind of cup that tastes like the place it came from, not like the machine it passed through.

We pay our growers above the Fair Trade floor and publish what we paid, every lot, on the bag. Transparency isn't a marketing line here — it's the receipt.