See below for DoubleShot Holiday Hours of Coffee...

It's Christmastime again. I've received a few cards in the mail. Most of them were not really cards, just dressed-up requests for money from one charity or another. That's irritating.
I remember when I was a kid, flipping through the JC Penny catalog, looking at all the toys, and I remember that unmistakable smell of the catalog pages and seeing pictures of such lucky kids getting to play with the coolest stuff ever, and I would find the letter that corresponded with the letter next to the picture and I would read all about the best ones. I would read the whole toy section of the catalog. And I remember writing down things I wanted and noting what page each thing was on, dog-earing the pages, so my parents could find it quickly and with the least amount of effort because less fuss maybe would mean they would find it easier and buy it for me and maybe since I made it so easy they would buy more stuff, as if they were on some sort of shopping time crunch. I remember always asking for a horse.
They bought us too much. My parents must've put on soft music and slowly filled my brother's bedroom with sleeping gas, where we were determined to stay up all night coloring in our coloring books, listening for Santa Claus, watching through the curtains for the red dot in the sky that was Rudolf and not some small aircraft flying over. And the next thing I knew, my brother would be waking me up on Christmas morning telling me that Santa had come while we were asleep, and I would run out and check to see if the milk and cookies we left for him on the table were gone because I knew if those were gone it was really Santa who had been there. And the living room was always filled with presents, wrapped in colorful paper and curly ribbons, so much that we had to tip toe around it all just to get close to the Christmas tree.
It seems hard to believe now, looking back, because now I know that we didn't have much money, and I just ascribe it all to my being so small and seeing things as being so much bigger and more plentiful then. I've no doubt that they spoiled us too much and suffered on our behalf in order to make us feel like we were special, like we were rich, like we were no different than everyone else. And it worked. My parents gave us more than we needed, and I can only guess how much they had to sacrifice in the course of it all. And, for the most part, we just felt lucky that Santa Claus was so generous.
So I guess this should be a time where we look back and think about the traditions we grew up with and smile at the silly memories of the Muppet Christmas record and Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas on the TV with the rabbit ears and the channel-change knob that sometimes had to be jiggled to keep the static away. And fighting over who got to put the first ornament on the tree, which, back then, still smelled like evergreen and dropped its pokey needles about our shag-carpeted living room.
Christmas should be a time to think about the people who have made us feel special and say thanks for caring.

This Christmas I want coffee.
Every year, we try to find unique coffees to sell over the holidays. This year we have two coffees to offer. One, we started selling at Thanksgiving and the feedback has been phenomenal. Kenya Peaberry Karimikui is a nutty, rich, savory coffee that lends itself amazingly well to traditional breakfast pairings. Kenyas have been hot coffees this year in the marketplace, and I selected this lot specifically because peaberries are unique anomalies in coffee, and my experience with Kenyas have taught me that peaberries are superior and I know you'll notice the difference in the cup.
The second coffee I'm offering this year is one you may have tasted by now. Tchembe is a coffee that was sourced by a company called Ninety Plus who is out working the front lines in Ethiopia, learning what makes coffee taste great, and implementing that knowledge for us to drink. Supplies of Tchembe are pretty slim because it's such an amazing coffee. Sweet, fruity, blackberry aromas emanate from the cup, accentuated by Belgian chocolate and banana esters like you'll find in Belgian beers. Definitely a smooth cup, one of my favorites, and a strong partner with desserts and fruity breakfast items.

Both of these coffees are extremely limited in their availability. We are selling both in commemorative 12-ounce quart cans, which are great for gift-giving and help to preserve the coffee from its environment, keeping it tasty. I only have 36 quarts of the Kenya and 85 quarts of Tchembe to sell.
There are two ways you can get them.
1) Take your chances and come in and hope we have some when the time comes.
2) Or guarantee yourself some by purchasing a voucher. Come in and pick one up at the counter or buy one (or however many you need until they run out) online.
Purchase your vouchers here for IN-STORE PICKUP after I roast:
Tchembe - http://doubleshotcoffee.com/store/index.php?productID=137
Kenya Peaberry Karimikui - http://doubleshotcoffee.com/store/index.php?productID=136

Of course, you can still order online and I'll ship them to you. But get it soon because both of these special coffees will be gone before you know it.

Happy holidays.
Brian

ps. If you're wondering what to get me, I like New York Strips (preferably dry aged) and I still haven't gotten that horse I've been asking for.

It's a bit wild on my porch. With moths flittering about and the tiniest hummingbirds hovering precisely, pointy beaks inside cone-shaped flowers three shades of pink. The three-foot-tall bouquet of green onion stems sprouting from my concrete steps. An army of green vines straight out of the Amazon, slowly marching across the entry all Summer long. One night a rat-tailed possum climbed the Crape Myrtle next to my green-cushioned love seat, and three brave and curious raccoons scampered up to try and make off with the round slices of venison sausage and club crackers that are so often my dinner.

But I love contrast, and so I sit smoking a Nicaraguan cigar, sipping Russian River Pinot Noir, listening to Mendelssohn and reading iPhone texts from my winsome girlfriend about the beauty of the moon (which is glowing from behind my arched roofline) and the bright planet hanging below (and behind a tall, tall tree).

Contrasts are important. All of one or the other and you might not notice either.

We had driven for hours along a graded dirt road strewn with rocks and the holes they dislodged from, occasionally passing another vehicle and its trailing red cloud of dust, sporadically stopping to look at a care-free elephant or a distant ostrich, a black orb overing on the horizon, or an almost-imperceptible serval cat with its over-sized ears, pouncing on a snake in the knee-high grass. We passed wandering Maasai warriors in tartan shukas driving emaciated cows and goats, and awkward, skittish, knobby-kneed giraffes chewing leaves of the thorny Acacia. The road became paved and began climbing and I nodded, fighting drowsy, motion-induced slumber. The plains turned to forests as we ascended the side of a volcano that was probably one of the tallest mountains on the continent of Africa before it blew its top and formed a 12-mile-wide crater. The cool green rainforest was a far cry from the brown, endless plain we spent days criss-crossing, pointing out perfectly camouflaged antelope and their predators. The smallest Dikdik, the fastest Topi, the ugliest Wildebeest, the sleekest Cheetah.

In high-elevation mist, Baboons sat on the road, licking the pavement and plotting, like Yogi Bear, to steal our pic-a-nic basket. And as we rounded a switch-back, our Tanzanian guide quickly stopped and exclaimed, "Oh look at this!"

Five lionesses and a great, maned, muscular beast walked down the road toward our Land Cruiser and warily but confidently skirted by, three feet from our faces pressed against the nippy windows. A wild kingdom. Our hearts raced, and we continued our windey, ascending drive. Until suddenly, the trees opened up before us, over the edge of the crater into the clouds below and the ridge beyond, and the wilderness transformed into a palatial hotel, colorfully-robed and kufi'd bellmen dashing here and there, fetching bags and escorting us, like foreign dignitaries, into a grand lobby. Marbled floors and huge, carved, wooden columns, exquisite lounge furniture next to glowing fires, under an ominous, thatched dome. We lived like royalty, sipping Scotch in the bar overlooking the crater, fine dining on white tablecloths, and escaping to our '70s-style quarters to where we were escorted by an armed guard, wary of the predators about.

A shocking change. But I don't think it would've had the same effect on us, had we not spent the previous three days in a primitive safari camp, washing in a gravity shower, eating in a mess tent, and zipping our door behind us at night to slumber with the sound of hyena calls.

We'll be exploring contrasts in coffees through a coffee tasting that you are invited to on Thursday, October 27 at 7pm. I'll brew a few of my favorite coffees for you, tell you where they were cultivated, how they were processed, and together we'll taste and smell and enjoy the variety that DoubleShot Coffee can offer.
Entry is $10 and we're using the funds through our 501(3)(c) not-for-profit, Coffee Illuminati, to give to projects that support coffee-growing communities.
Spots are limited, so register right away by emailing me at Brian@DoubleShotCoffee.com.

I once rode my mountain bike 180 miles from my parents' house in Galesburg, Illinois to where I was meeting my dad for work in Shelbyville, Illinois in the middle of the summer, down sometimes-sticky, freshly-oiled and pea-gravelled roads, long, undulating plains where all I could see was corn and soybeans until a watertower from the next town would appear on my horizon. I had no map, except for a crude printout of the towns in between, and I followed my instincts which led me to a dead end once but generally steered me south and east until I reached my destination. And then I went to work.

I grew up in a town and a time when kids could ride their bikes to school, and a lot of us did. It was that feeling of independence and self-reliance that I could ride my bike all the way to Farnham Elementary, past my older brother's middle school, when I would leave him and be truly free. Up over the bridge that spanned railroad tracks and down alongside the playground, past the grumpy old crossing guard who used to catch us climbing up the tubular fire escape during recess and send us to Mr. Douglas' office for detention. And then I would be late coming home on my metallic green Schwinn Stingray and my mother would worry and I would have to confess that I had to stay after school.

Bikes have always been a mode of transportation and a doorway to liberty. I rode my bike to little league baseball games and to my friend Wayne's house and down country roads to Spoon Lake where I was a lifeguard at a private club called Oak Run. And once I discovered that wheels were an accelerated version of walking, of hiking, I found my freedom in the vistas of Moab and the valleys of Crested Butte.

And I found my front tire on many a starting line, cross-country racing and 24-hour racing and adventure racing and rolling out of transition on my fastest leg of a du- or triathlon. After my 180-mile commute to work, I took second place in a Cat 2 XC race in Telluride and then watched the pros flow through the ribbons of singletrack that bucked me like a wild stallion. And their finesse and fitness inspired me like poetry. Like the first time I roasted coffee and discovered that it could be SO MUCH BETTER.

I found this again, much to my surprise, at Tulsa Tough. I've been at almost every single race every year, at first because I wanted to support a local event, but it got me right off, the speed, the power, the sounds of chains being turned by professional lungs and legs and the wind that blows my hair back when they pass. And two years ago, it inspired me to actually buy a road bike. And at the end of last year I upgraded to a really nice road bike. And now I'm about to compete in my first criterium races. Tulsa Tough is this Friday night, all day Saturday and Sunday morning.

So this year, not only am I turning over a new set of pedals, but we've teamed up with Tulsa Tough to bring you a special coffee, the Tulsa Tough Coffee Blend. It's a smooth coffee with notes of berry and nut and chocolates, and it's suitable for espresso or drip or presspot. We got you covered. I roasted it today and they'll be selling it for $20 a pound at the races this weekend. If you're doing one of the Gran Fondo rides Saturday, you'll have a chance to sample this limited coffee before you roll out. If not, drop by the Tulsa Tough merchandise tent while you're watching men and women pour their hearts into their pedals and pick up a pound to brew at home.

I'm going to keep riding and roasting. Because it's possible that the bike brought me to where I am today. Bikes and coffee. Ask any real cyclist. It's possible that the faster the cyclist, the more they love coffee. I know why, but I'm not telling you.

Tomorrow is my birthday.

I drew a diagram... (You're welcome)