SMALL CHERRY COFFEE TABLE : COFFEE TABLE
Small Cherry Coffee Table : Round Pedestal Kitchen Table : Round Cottage Dining Table.
Small Cherry Coffee Table
- A coffee table, also called a cocktail table, is a style of long, low table which is designed to be placed in front of a sofa, to support beverages (hence the name), magazines, feet, books (especially coffee table books), and other small items to be used while sitting, such as coasters.
- (Coffee Tables) While any small and low table can be, and is, called a coffee table, the term is applied particularly to the sets of three or four tables made from about 1790; of which the latter were called 'quartetto tables'.
- A low table, typically placed in front of a sofa
- red: of a color at the end of the color spectrum (next to orange); resembling the color of blood or cherries or tomatoes or rubies
- any of numerous trees and shrubs producing a small fleshy round fruit with a single hard stone; many also produce a valuable hardwood
- The wood of this tree
- The tree that bears such fruit
- A small, round stone fruit that is typically bright or dark red
- Small items of clothing, esp. underwear
- the slender part of the back
- limited or below average in number or quantity or magnitude or extent; "a little dining room"; "a little house"; "a small car"; "a little (or small) group"
- on a small scale; "think small"
First Cup February 3, 2011
After spending the night back in San Jose, we headed out this morning for the West Valley region of Costa Rica to meet with the folks at Helsar. We stopped along the way at a couple of other Micro Mills, the first belonging to the Aguilera Brothers and the next to famed producer Antonio Barrantes from Herbazu.
We then connected with Ricardo Perez, one of the partners in the Helsar de Zarcero Mill. He daughter was there too, home for the weekend from school.
After lunch we headed up to the mill. Eileen made a cup of Helsar, the last of which was roasted just before I left. We realized only at that moment that we had Ricardo Perez listed as the producer instead of Osvaldo Gonzales, the actual owner of the El Cipres farm that we roasted this year.
Graciously, when Osvaldo showed up and we handed him the bag with our apologies for the mix-up, he said that Ricardo was like a brother so there was no harm done. Very sweet guy.
I wanted to capture this moment of returning this coffee to its birthplace. As a testament to this quality, even now, almost a whole year later, this coffee is very sweet.
I should recap yesterday's adventures as well. We started in Tarrazu, driving up the mountain to the Los Angeles Micro Mill, which is down the mountain from Monte Copey. The Calderons were gracious hosts, taking us to the different farms that supply the mill and to their home for a refreshment of homemade coffee liqueur.
We'd were riding around in Francisco's truck, Don Calderon and I in the back. There was a sudden jerking motion of the truck and Don Calderon spilled out the back. I grabbed his ankle before he went completely over and I thought I was helping. He was kind of in an awkward position and a moment later I realized he was telling me to let go (my Spanish is not awesome). Kind of a funny miscommunication, I just hope I didn't hurt him.
After visiting for a while, we headed out for Chirripo and Piedra de Rivas, home of the Los Crestones Micro Mill. It's from Los Crestones that we see coffees like El Alto, which was a star on the cupping table the other day. Really wonderful.
We got to meet the owners of El Alto, as well as the other producers who contribute to Los Crestones. I also met Ned Gordon, who works as an advisor to the producers of the region. He is very happy with the progress these producers have made and excited about the projects for the future. After lunch at El Alto, we rolled back down the mountain to the Los Crestones Mill. It's been a joy to put faces to names finally (one of my greatest concerns before setting out) so now at least I feel a little more familiarized.
The mill is small but efficient, with small and large drying tables and good separation of the various lots. The mill is manned by Hermes Calderon, who also contributes from his farm. Most of the other work is shared among everyone. There are ten families contributing cherries and labor, the result is wonderful coffee.
After taking many pictures, we set packed ourselves back into the car and headed back to San Jose. A little SNAFU with our reservation had us staying in a different hotel last night, but no big deal there.
Tomorrow we're back to the labs for cupping.
I enter the cafe like it is a sacred temple gate in Japan. Entering gives sense of place, a transformation into a fresh new world.
Scent of coffee instead of incense. Cafe goers seated at tables, some reading the morning paper, others chatting, still others writing and gazing through windows open to the day. There are no bells here, no hands clasped together in prayer to Kwan Yin or Avalokitesvara, no blow from a wooden stick to wake you up. Cafe walls are not decorated with thousands of small white paper prayers twisted on pine boughs around which an altar of wafting incense, weathered bronze bell, stacked barrels of sake, fragrant mandarin oranges, and small gold bowls of uncooked rice are found.
Here, secular art adorns each wall. Opera, rap, rock, and jazz add to the pulse of coffee beans grinding, laughter, baby crying, steaming whirr of espresso machine, dish atop dish, metal spoon against china cup stirring. Strains of shakuhachi are not heard.
No orange koi in the pond. There is no pond. No lotus leaves floating gently upon dark water. No pine-green mossy shade. No gray robed monk raking gravel into circular patterns around great gray stones. No tatami coolness to step onto barefoot, leaving sandals behind on smooth wooden platform.
Here I write, sip coffee, sip tea, eat a salad, taste sweetness of chocolate morsels. Here I chat with friends who are my friends only inside these cafe walls. We inhale the creamy, earthy, warmth rising from our cups. Our memory is jarred upon seeing these words: “Tipping is not a city in China.” Clank of coin in glass jar is said to bring great merit. We give thanks for this: our spiritual home away from home.
Ninety-five cents is not a steep price to pay for a cup of small cherries hand-picked ripe from the bush then placed under the sun where they dry a matte green in tropical highland air. Roasted and ground, infused with boiling water, this magical blend becomes an elixir.
Behind the counter, coffee house priestess and priest serve my every need. I chant the sacred syllables: decaf latte, cappuccino with cocoa, iced mocha to go.
Steam, whirr, clank, slurp…. “O, sutra for all seasons, may your bittersweet essence lead me to rhythmical creations of poetic splendor for the benefit of all sentient beings.”
OM MANI PADME HUM
© Nicole Raisin Stern
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