There’s a reason Tarrazú keeps pulling me back. It’s not just the altitude—though, at 1,200 to 1,800 meters, it’s a big part of the story. The coffee sings. It is clean and bright, with a sweetness that feels almost impossible, like someone whispered a secret to the beans.
This lot came to us as a microlot honey process from a small cooperative in the heart of Tarrazú. Honey process is that in-between step where the coffee cherry’s mucilage—the sticky, sugary layer—stays on the bean during drying. It’s riskier than washed coffee and less extreme than natural. When it works, it’s magic.
“Honey process is like walking a tightrope over a river of flavor. One misstep and you’re in sticky, fermented territory. But when you nail it, you get this clean, caramel-kissed sweetness that feels like it’s been plucked straight from a Costa Rican cloud forest.”
The altitude here matters more than most realize. Higher elevations mean slower maturation. The beans tighten up, concentrate their sugars, and develop those complex acids that make you sit up and take notice. You can taste the morning mist and the way the light hits the cherries at dawn.
Roasting this lot was a bit of a dance. Honey process coffees are unforgiving. Too much heat, too fast, and you lose that delicate sweetness. Too slow, and you risk a flat, muddy cup. I’m not going to lie—this one had me sweating a little. That’s part of the fun.
The cupping notes? Classic Tarrazú. Citrus. Maybe a hint of apricot. Then there’s that honeyed sweetness, almost like a whisper of brown sugar. It’s clean, but not sterile. It’s bright, but not sharp. This is the kind of coffee that makes you pause mid-sip and think, “Okay, this is good.”
We’ve been roasting in Lakewood since 1979. Over the years, we’ve learned that the best coffee isn’t just about the origin or the process. It’s about the story, the care, and the attention to detail.