I didn't know what I liked

Hello! 

For a long time, sweetness was all I cared about in coffee.

Not like, generic sweetness. I mean that specific thing where you take a sip and something lights up and then it's gone almost as fast as it came. You have to actually be present to catch it. You stop thinking, you just drink, and there it is. Subtle. Alive. Gone.

I was obsessed with finding that in every cup. 

So when I came across a Crown Jewel coffee from Royal Coffee, I was locked in. If you don't know Royal Coffee, they're a green coffee importer known for sourcing exceptional lots. Crown Jewels are their highest tier, coffees they've cupped, vetted, and essentially put their name behind as something special. Rare origins. Specific farms. The kind of bag that comes with actual tasting notes and a story.

This was a Colombian pink bourbon. Lightly roasted. The tasting notes promised something beautiful. 

I was ready.

What Actually Happened

I brewed it on my V60.

Acidity. Sharp, bright, relentless acidity.

I figured it was my recipe. So I adjusted. Different grind size. Different water temperature. Different pour technique. I went online, read everything I could find, tried recipe after recipe. I kept going back to that bag convinced I was one variable away from cracking it open.

Still just acidity. Different shades of it, but always acidity. Sometimes aggressive. Sometimes a little softer. Sometimes something in between that I can only describe as lemon juice water.

I couldn't understand what I was doing wrong.

Here's what I didn't know at the time. The V60 is a cone-shaped brewer. And cone-shaped brewers amplify acidity. That's not a flaw, that's literally what they do. They're built for it. The shape, the single hole at the bottom, the way water moves through the bed, all of it is optimized to bring out brightness and clarity and acidity in a cup.

Which is great. If acidity is what you're after.

I was chasing sweetness. On a brewer designed to amplify the exact opposite thing. For months.

And I had no idea.

The Longer Problem

Here's the thing though. Even after I figured out the brewer situation, I kept struggling with light roast coffees in general.

I tried that pink bourbon on other brewers. I tried it as a different roast profile. I kept going back to it because something in me needed to understand why this expensive, highly regarded coffee wasn't working for me.

And then slowly, over months, I started doing something almost by accident. I'd roast the same coffee a little darker. Not dark dark. Just further. More developed. And I'd drank both versions side by side.

The darker version was better. Every time.

Not because the light roast version was bad. But because the darker version was mine. That balance of sweetness and body and just enough acidity to keep things interesting. That's what I was chasing the whole time. I just didn't know it yet because I'd been so focused on brewing what I thought I was supposed to like.

So I kept testing it. Different coffees, same experiment. Roast it lighter, taste it. Roast it darker, taste it.

The pattern held. Medium to dark, washed process, that's where coffee talks to me. That's where I find the sweetness I was chasing. Not in lightly roasted Colombian pink bourbons brewed on cone-shaped drippers.

The Thing Nobody Tells You

Specialty coffee has a preferred aesthetic. Light roasts. African origins. Ethiopian naturals. Bright, fruity, complex. That's what the community celebrates. And if you spend any time in this world, you absorb that whether you mean to or not.

So you chase it. You buy the Crown Jewel. You brew it on the V60. You try to taste what the bag says you're supposed to taste.

And when you can't get there, you assume it's you. Your technique is off. Your palate isn't developed enough. You just need more reps.

But sometimes the honest answer is simpler. You just don't like that coffee. And nothing about your brewing is broken.

I spent a long time being frustrated at myself for not loving something I thought I was supposed to love. And that frustration cost me a lot of good mornings.

The realization that changed things wasn't a technique breakthrough. It was quieter than that. I just stopped being angry at the cup for not being what I wanted. And I started paying attention to what was actually happening when I drank something I enjoyed.

What I'm Really Saying

We're all going through some version of this. Every one of us.

Some people are cold brew only and couldn't care less about pour-over. Some people are deep into light roasted Ethiopian naturals and that's their whole thing. Some people like what they like and never thought twice about it. Some people, like me, spend years chasing a cup that doesn't agree with them and only figure it out gradually.

The difference isn't really about palate development or technique. It's about awareness. Whether you're watching what's happening or just living inside it without noticing.

And that's what coffee keeps teaching me. If you stay with it long enough and stay honest about what you're actually tasting, it'll tell you something true about yourself. What you like. What you don't. What you were chasing versus what you actually wanted. 

Once I understood that medium to dark roast was my thing, everything changed. Not because I became a better brewer overnight, but because I stopped fighting the cup. I started working with what I actually enjoy instead of trying to force something that was never going to click. 

That's where the fun starts. When you're brewing for yourself. Not for what the community says is the good stuff. Not for what the tasting notes promised. Just for what makes you want to keep drinking.

The journey's going to teach you something either way. The only question is whether you're paying attention.

Your Turn

What's the coffee you kept chasing that never clicked? Or the one you almost dismissed that turned out to be yours?

 Hit reply and tell me. I read every one.

Oke