I owe this Nicaraguan coffee an apology

A few weeks ago I wrote something pretty definitive about a Nicaraguan coffee I roasted.

I said I hated it. Not in a dramatic way. Just in that honest, I”'ve tried everything and it doesn't work for me” way. I tried fast filters, slow filters, different grinders, Third Wave water, my own water creation, different roast levels. Light, medium, dark. I manipulated this coffee every way I know how as a coffee brewer.

And I said, straight up, it's not me. It's the coffee.

I meant it when I wrote it.

But here's the thing about coffee. And honestly, here's the thing about anything you're trying to get better at.

The story doesn't always end where you think it does.

The Accident I Didn't Plan For

A few weeks after writing that piece, I was making my wife her morning coffee.

I wasn't really thinking about it. I just grabbed the beans, started brewing, didn't measure the way I normally would. My wife likes her coffee stronger, so I probably just loaded it up without really paying attention to the ratio.

My normal go-to is somewhere around 1:15. Meaning 1 gram of coffee for every 15 grams of water. That's roughly 2 tablespoons of coffee per 6 ounces of water if you're not weighing. It's a fairly standard starting point for pour-over brewing.

What I accidentally made that morning was closer to 1:10. Twice as strong, basically.

I took a sip.

I stopped.

I was confused in the best possible way.

The coffee I had written off was suddenly talking to me. Like an out of focus camera that somehow found its lens. Notes I'd been chasing for weeks, the ones the importer promised were in there, were right there. Clear. Present. Alive.

Same beans. Same roast. Just more coffee, less water.

That's it.

Why I'm Skeptical of My Own Explanation

Now here's where I have to be careful. Because I'm a roaster. I'm also an engineer by background. And when something surprising happens, the temptation is to immediately explain it.

And I can. I can give you a pretty convincing explanation.

This is a washed Nicaraguan coffee, strictly high grown, meaning it was cultivated at high altitude where the temperature is cooler and the cherries develop more slowly. Washed process means the fruit was removed before drying, leaving a cleaner, more muted flavor profile. High altitude growth tends to produce denser beans with more complex sugars but less natural sweetness projecting outward.

All of that points to a coffee that needs concentration to unlock. At 1:15, it's too diluted to really express itself. At 1:10, the intensity forces those quieter notes to surface.

That explanation makes sense. It might even be right.

But I want to be honest with you about something. I'm not fully sure. And I think pretending to be certain would be doing you a disservice.

Because here's what I actually know: I tried it, it worked, and I noticed.

The explanation came after. And explaining things after the fact is not the same as actually knowing.

What Formula 1 Taught Me About Coffee

Bear with me here because this might seem like a stretch. But it's actually the clearest way I can explain what I mean.

Formula 1 is the pinnacle of motorsport engineering. These teams spend hundreds of millions of dollars designing cars with some of the most sophisticated aerodynamics and mechanical systems ever built. Wind tunnels, simulations, data modeling, the works. Every component is engineered with precision.

And then they go out on the track.

And sometimes, what they built in the lab doesn't translate to the real world. The simulation said one thing. The car is doing something else. The driver comes back to the pit lane and tells the engineers the car isn't responding how it should.

So what do they do? They change something. Sometimes with a clear engineering reason behind it. Sometimes because a competitor's car is doing something interesting and they steal the idea and try it themselves.

They react. They observe. They adjust based on what's actually happening, not just what the theory says should happen.

That's not a failure of engineering. That's how real mastery actually works.

The track is the real lab. The cup is the real lab. Not the spreadsheet. Not the recipe. Not the explanation you built after the fact.

I had an engineering background and a roasting background and years of brewing experience. And none of that found this ratio. An unmeasured cup of coffee for my wife did.

The real world handed me something my theory couldn't.

What To Do With That

So here's the practical part. Because I don't want to just leave you with a philosophy lesson.

When something surprising happens with your coffee, whether it's a happy accident like this one or an unexpected failure, write it down. Or at least hold onto it mentally.

Get as much information about your coffee as you can. Not to build a perfect theory. But to start recognizing patterns over time.

Where was it grown? How was it processed? Washed, natural, honey? What altitude? What roast level? And then, how did it respond to different ratios, temperatures, brew times?

Because here's what I'm starting to believe: you have more power to fine-tune your coffee than you think. Not by knowing everything upfront. By staying observant and letting the coffee teach you.

Washed coffees often need a little more push to project their flavors. High grown coffees can be denser and more tightly wound. That's not a guaranteed formula. But it's a pattern worth paying attention to.

And when something works, even if you stumbled into it, that's real information. Don't dismiss it just because you can't fully explain it yet.

But Some Coffees Still Suck

I have to say this clearly because I don't want this to become a "just try harder" story.

Some coffees genuinely don't work. Not for you, maybe not for anyone.

I've spent 90 minutes trying to fix a cup before and it just wouldn't get there. Not because I didn't try enough variables. Because that coffee wasn't going to give me what I was looking for, no matter what.

This Nicaraguan turned out to be something different. But I didn't know that until I kept going.

So the honest answer is this: try your variables. Go past the obvious ones. If you've only ever brewed at 1:15 or 1:16, try 1:10 before you give up. Try a different brewer. Try a different temperature. Push into the stuff that feels uncomfortable or extreme.

But also know when to move on. Both things are true at the same time.

The craft is knowing which situation you're in.

The Real Apology

So. Nicaraguan coffee. I'm sorry.

I gave up on you. I told people publicly that you weren't for me. That I'd tried everything and you just didn't have it.

And then an accidental cup for my wife cracked you wide open.

What that taught me, and what I keep coming back to, is that getting better at coffee isn't just about learning more techniques or buying better gear. It's about staying open. Staying reactive. Being willing to push past the moment where you think you've exhausted your options.

Because sometimes the answer is sitting right there in a ratio you never seriously tried. Or a temperature you thought was too extreme. Or a variable you dismissed because it didn't fit the theory.

That transfers. Not just to coffee. To anything you're trying to get good at.

The people who get better at hard things aren't always the most knowledgeable. They're the most observant. The most willing to keep going when something doesn't work. The most honest when an accident teaches them more than their expertise did.

We're all just out here trying to make a better cup.

And sometimes the coffee has to drag us there. 

Your Turn

Have you ever given up on a coffee, a method, a variable, and then stumbled back into it differently?

Or is there something in your brewing right now that you've tried a couple times and written off? Maybe it's worth one more round with a ratio you'd never normally reach for.

Hit reply and tell me. What's a coffee or brewing approach you gave up on too soon? Or what's the weirdest variable that ever actually worked for you?

I read every reply.

Oke