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He opened the cupboard and stared in disbelief at the emptiness within. There wasn’t any coffee left. He had forgotten to stop at the Algerian on his way back to his room and had used every bean in the barren tin that sat topless, open and forlorn, on the most reachable shelf above. Yesterday, when he had thought about replenishing his stock, he considered purchasing a packet of Kopi Luwak - Sumatran civet coffee. It was similar to the Vietnamese Ca Phe Chon – better known as ‘weasel coffee’ - except the Sumatran civet (a cat-like animal that looks something like a mongoose) shits the beans out whereas the Vietnamese weasel regurgitates them, so the berries of these two prized varieties stew a while in either weasel puke or civet crap before being collected by luckless peasants whose job it is to bag those pungent droppings. Connoisseurs (namely Daisy – a coffee snob if there ever was one) thought it superb (the roasted coffee, that is – not the trip through civet gut) but at £22 for 57 grams it was a high price for a fix, he told her (even though only 500 kilos of the stuff was produced each year for the entire world market – whatever kinky market that was). Coke was cheaper (snort versus sip) and more efficient if it were speed she was after, he said. But it didn’t linger on the palate, she replied. The civet stuff had an aura of the wild. And with that he couldn’t argue... To read more of this preview - click here |
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