First Hour: Nusa Coffee and Kopi Luwak
I started
my coffee marathon at Nusa Coffee, on 4th Avenue in Kitsilano. Nusa means “islands” and,
indeed, Marcus, one of the partners, told me that most of their coffee comes
from Indonesia, an archipelago of over 17,000 islands stretching an expanse the length of Canada.
Nusa features coffee from beans grown in the Ngada region of Flores, the Toraja Highlands of central Sulawesi, the Kintamani Highlands of Bali and the Gayo Highlands in Sumatra Gayo.
Nusa features coffee from beans grown in the Ngada region of Flores, the Toraja Highlands of central Sulawesi, the Kintamani Highlands of Bali and the Gayo Highlands in Sumatra Gayo.
But I’d
come for kopi luwak—otherwise known as cat poop coffee—made
from coffee
beans that have been digested by a small Indonesian cat called an Asian Palm
Civet (Paradosorus hermaphroditus)—a
small viverrid native to South and Southeast Asia. They help maintain tropical
forest ecosystems through seed dispersal as they feed on pulpy fruits such as
mango, rambutan and coffee.
Why was I doing this? Well, since I’d heard about it, I just
had to try it out for myself. According to The Vancouver Coffee Snob the civets feast on ripe
coffee cherries, which start to digest and ferment in their stomachs. The
enzymes allegedly remove the acidic tastes from the coffee, imparting new
flavours. The cat then poops what’s left and farmers collect the poop, clean
them, process and roast the beans. Civet coffee beans are harder and more
brittle because they have been modified by the digestive juices of the civet.
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| Kopi Luwak at Nusa Coffee |
Because of the new trend for Kopi Luwak, civets are being
increasingly captured from the wild and fed coffee beans to mass-produce this
blend. Many of the captured civets are housed and treated unethically. The
impact of all these captures on the wild population and consequent ecosystems
they live in, is not yet known. The lesson here is: do your research to ensure
that the product you’re buying has been ethically collected from wild Civet
poop. Nusa Coffee is one of them.
Marcus let
me smell the beans before grinding them. The aroma was deep, pleasant and
nutty. That carried into the coffee pour over (which is more gentle than using
an espresso machine). Then it came to tasting it: I found it unpretentious,
earthy with subtle tones that lingered in the back of the throat. As I breathed
in the kopi luwak, I thought of the
jungle where the civet lives…and poos. Nusa Coffee is also unpretentious; a
cozy café with wood benches and tables and no overbearing music.
Second Hour: Platform 7
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| Platform 7 Coffee |
My second
stop was Platform 7, on Broadway and Vine, where I
stopped for lunch. Located in an old house next to a character-book store (a great combination for a writer!),
Platform 7 is a creative take on a bustling “Victorian London train station in
East Vancouver and a Belle-Époque Parisienne train station in Kits.”
The café offers a large variety of coffees from their
espresso bar, cold bar and brew bar. I enjoyed friendly service and pleasant jazz-fusion music as I ate
lunch, a deliciously grilled turkey with cranberry sandwich.
Third Hour: Federal Store
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| The Federal Store |
I continued
east across town along Broadway into Mount Pleasant and walked south along
Quebec Street toward 10th Avenue, where the Federal Store greeted me on the corner. Surrounded with cheerful flowers on all sides
and a vegetable garden in the back, the café-grocer beckons me inside. I enter
and feel like I’ve entered an alternative past: an integration of '50s trompe-l'oeil 3-D
checker floor, plants, and homemade baking in the display with the avant-garde chic
of wood and white.
I ordered
an Earl Grey tea (for a change from coffee) and sat outside, where I enjoyed the loose tea as birds sang around me and bees buzzed among the flowers.
Mia Stainsby
of the Vancouver Sun writes, “One block away, Main Street hyperventilates and cars exhale
carbon monoxide. But here at Federal Store, it’s quiet and I’m caught in a time
warp. The vintage room stirs up romantic notions of simpler times.”
Fourth Hour: Le Marché St. George
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| Le Marche St. George |
It grew hot
as the day progressed, but I kept cool under the thick canopy of maples,
chestnuts and ash trees as I proceeded southeast to my next destination. Once
I’d topped the hill, I turned east on 28th and as I neared my next
destination, I realized that I’d saved the best for last.
When I
caught sight of Le Marché St. George, tucked behind several large poplar trees on
the residential corner of 28th and St. George, I had to smile like a
pilgrim finding a rest stop. Edith Piaff’s sultry voice sang through the open
door of the large old house as cyclists and locals sat outside, drinking coffee
and discussing their day. I entered the café-general store, walls high with
diverse produce. It was no ordinary general store. This was the kind of place—I
recalled my son telling me earlier—where you could buy your next Christmas
gift. A cornucopia of interesting flotsam beckoned: from Woodlot candles and Maison Orphée mustard to black cyprus flake sea
salt, flat breads, gourmet honey and pasta.
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| Inside Le Marche St. George |
I ordered a
flat white, which turned into a cappuccino. The barista—let’s call him
Etienne—apologized and was ready to start over but I accepted the drink with a
smile; I’d noted that he’d really made a European cappuccino, which is
essentially a flat white (a cappuccino with no dry foam). I took the coffee and
sat outside under the shade of a poplar tree and opened my book, “Barkskins” by
Annie Proulx.
Beside me, two young Asian men were discussing an article they’d read about how men get into and out of a bathtub. I realized I’d read the same line several times when one confided to the other that he thought he had sleep apnea and was slowly dying from oxygen deprivation over nights of not quite sleeping.
Beside me, two young Asian men were discussing an article they’d read about how men get into and out of a bathtub. I realized I’d read the same line several times when one confided to the other that he thought he had sleep apnea and was slowly dying from oxygen deprivation over nights of not quite sleeping.
All in a summer's day, I thought, and closed the book and my eyes, then put my feet up on the planter and smiled the smile of pure contentment..
