Review: Kopi - Your Gourmet Monthly Coffee Delivery

Since New Years Day, I had decided to forego my daily diet of 3 large buckets of Starbucks coffee. The new year would see a new, coffee-free me. Not because I have any issues with caffeine - I still knock back 6 cans of diet coke a day like any good office worker. No, this abstinence was because coffee went far too well with whichever sweet treat I was dining finely upon and my waistline was suffering. Toasted bagel as big as your face, slathered in blackcurrant preserves for breakfast. Chocolate Brownie for elevenses. Oaty biscuits for the afternoon lull. All accompanied by COFFEE! You see my point.
Coffee, and it's accompaniments, was making me fat (ter).

I never make New Years Resolutions. I feel that the very nature of them means you are setting yourself up to fail. Thus it was my coffee abstinence was never to be permanent. Had I known it would be broken in such spectacular fashion, however, I would not have mourned my 'final' cup in 2011 with such abject grief. For, little did I know, I was to be sent a curious idea that would bring me, with a suitably caffeine-infused jolt, to my senses.
Let me introduce you to the world of Kopi.

Kopi is kinda like Graze for caffeine fiends, and they had asked me to sample their product. Each month you get sent a 250g pack of ground coffee, and based on your subscription level (which currently ranges from £7 - £9) you can either cancel immediately, after 6 months, or after a year. So far so good.

Along with your coffee, you get a detailed tasting card giving you notes on the varying coffees they send, along with some guidance on brewing and information about it's provenance. Oh, and a few of those lovely caramelised cafe biscuits you get in restaurants in individual packets. You even get a code that allows you to trace your coffee on www.trackyourcoffee.com.

The website also states Kopi pays its social conscience dues to Fairtrade, Soil Association and Rainforest Alliance initiatives, and clarifies its views on Fairtrade - not all of their coffee is, but they state clearly why. Principally, Fairtrade only certifies co-ops which excludes small growers that Kopi could otherwise not use. They still ensure they pay these smaller growers premium prices for a premium product, and crucially, above the Fairtrade minimum.
This months (I reviewed Decembers coffee) selection, an Arabica coffee and roasted on 6th December according to the pack, was Mexican Terruño Nayarita Reserva, described as 'An indulgent Grand Cru of a Mexican coffee' from the West Coast of Mexico. A rare product, only 20 bags of it having been produced.

So far so interesting. But what of the taste?
One of the things, as a food blogger, I feel I owe to a reader is honesty. I only ever blog what I genuinely think. Whilst its nice Kopi have sent me a lovely pack of coffee if it doesn't ring my bell, I shall darn well say so, or else how do you know when I genuinely love something? I cannot abide it when food bloggers only ever tell you that what they produce, try, review etc is amaaaazing. Not everything I make is amazing, simply because I am human, and I read recipes or try products invented by humans, and as such, we can get things wrong, or we can have different views and opinions on what is nice or good. You need to hear the rough to know that the smooth has value.

Fortunately, I have only good things to report in this case, bar one niggle which I will come to. This coffee is really very, VERY good. I spend at least £7 a day on extremely so-so coffee. If this is all it costs to have something of this quality delivered to my desk for a year, well - I'm blown away. As soon as I smelt the aroma wafting nostrilwards, I knew this was going to be good.

A bright, zingy fruitiness with underlying rich toffee, mocha notes. The guidance card said that there was a delicate orangey sweetness and they weren't wrong. The roast is excellent - not an acrid note in there, and it has a rather pleasing tangy backnote in the aftertaste. It fills your mouth almost like liquid chocolate, it's so velvety. It filled my mouth, anyway - I literally gulped it back. This is sublime stuff. I encourage, nay, urge you to sign up immediately, and then sign up your families, and then your friends. If this first pack is anything to go by, I think Kopi is about to become a phenomenon.
Now, I did mention a niggle. And it is probably being pettish, but I have to tell you when I am not digging a vibe, so, here goes. Kopi - take note! This is easily solved!
The pack, as you can see, is filled to the gunnels, which is lovely of them. You can also see, there are some notches to help you rip open your pack, and a handy press'n'seal strip to seal in the flavour. Except, because of the generosity of the pack, you end up having to use a knife or scissors to open it.

 

And because of the nature of coffee grounds, the press'n'seal strip did not seal. The grounds get into the strip and block it. See what happens in this video (excuse quality - was done on my iPhone).


This is such a shame, because they have quite obviously really tried. However, for me, I think a sticky tab would have been a better solution. Maybe their market research said otherwise, I don't know. But I want to stress this absolutely should not deter you in any way from trying this product. If you are partial to a caffeine blast, then this hits a deep, profound and previously unchartered spot. The whole concept behind this brand is very well thought out. The fact you can trace the coffee, the information on where its grown, the altitude, the grading process, the little graphics, the quality packaging - it all adds to a certain romance and exotic allure. There is even a recipe for spiced mexican coffee! Personally, with a product this refined, I would not want to sully it. But it's a demonstration of how well the company has thought around the whole coffee drinking experience, right down to the little biscuits on the side. But most importantly, the taste is, quite simply, exceptional. Kopi have found my caffeine G-spot and that, my friends, is good enough for me! Go and visit their coffee subscription page immediately!

Website: www.kopi.co.uk
Twitter: @wearekopi

Some fruity kitchen garden ideas for the year ahead

Now is the time I usually turn my mind to my garden planning for the year ahead. The autumn/advent hiatus is over, and the land is at its most dormant, waiting to be woken from its slumber by the warm spring rays of sun. How will I reorganise my beds? What can be consigned to the compost heap? And most exciting, what new things might I try this year? One of the delights of home grown veg is that you get to try things that, ordinarily, are not readily available in the supermarkets. Varieties or species that are just not 'commercial'. I'm no gardening expert, but that doesn't mean I can't broaden my horticultural skillset. So, what to try?
Cast your minds back to last April (2011), when what appeared to be a rather elaborate April Fools day trick was much publicised through the internets and old-school press alike. People were not sure whether to believe that there was an actual strawberry that appeared to be in reverse, or back to front, or inside out, or opposite or whatever. The berry in question was a Pineberry. A strawberry that was white, with little red seeds, and taste of pineapple. Yeah right! Yet there also appeared to be an SEO agency that was also called Pineberry – was this a very clever example of viral marketing, or did the things actually exist?

The somewhat cynical web team I work with was wholeheartedly on the side of it being an April Fool. But in a BBC article, it stated that Pineberries were sold by Waitrose. I thought it odd that a hoax would be so specific, and unless Waitrose was in on it, this started to look promising. So I did no more that call Waitrose at their head office in Bracknell. The lovely chap I spoke to thought I was having a laugh, initially, when I enquired about the nearest Waitrose that stocked them. He did not seem overly well-versed in the berry range that Waitrose offered their customers. Thus when I mentioned our suspicions that this was a hoax, he concurred without much persuasion. But what he then did, and this is why I love the John Lewis Partnership, was to go off and check with his manager. Even though he probably thought his manager was about to laugh her head off at him, he bore no malice and martyred himself on the alter of superior customer service. His manager had obviously read her dispatches that day, for she confirmed that this berry was no hoax. It was real. The hallowed berry was a horticultural truth. The lovely chap confirmed that the nearest stores to me that sold it were some distance from me. I think that was their politically correct way of saying ‘we are only selling it in areas where people fall into the 'right' demographic’.
Thus, I had to suffice with knowing that the Pineberry was an actual berry and not the brainchild of an ad agency, without actually managing to get a taste of it.

However all is not lost! For this year, I am pleased to announce you will be able to purchase your very own supply of white fruits with red-seeded pock-marks. Crocus.co.uk will now be stocking Pineberries on their virtual garden-centre shelves! Which means you won’t have to live in exorbitantly priced, stock-broker belt areas in order to purchase them. Now you too can pretend you are one of the Softfruiteratti. All you will need is a sunny spot, some decent soil, a bed of straw, some organic fertilizer and water. Organic fertillizer because, when it comes to things I eat, the act of dousing my home-grown foodstuffs with chemicals renders them psychologically inedible for fear of the carcinogens that lay within (said the ex-40-a-day-smoker). Even though I don't buy wholly organic at the supermarket. Go figure.
I read the following review in The Guardian which was less than complimentary about these curious fruits, however this has not disuaded me. There are those for whom the aesthetics will be persuasion enough to buy them, and those, like me, who enjoy the novelty factor. I am not persuaded by a one punnet experiment either. I have been waiting a long time to try the little blighters, and will be putting in an order for them immediately!
There are other varieties of white strawberry available, with excellent flavour, and you can purchase seeds for the White Soul variety from Suttons. These have no red on them at all. Right now, it's just about the right time to sew them under glass.

Here are a couple of other ideas for your garden that aren’t quite so run-of-the-mill:

Medlars

From the dimiutive strawberry to the enormous tree. These have started to re-appear in the food-blogs & telly progs over the last year or so. I remember seeing them discussed on QI some time ago, and I do wonder whether this mention got people pondering upon them. The nerd in me wants to look at broadcast dates of the show in question and check medlar sales in comparison, but that would be phenomenally sad. There is something rather pornographic about these fruits, indeed their nickname during the middle ages was ‘open-arses’. If you take a look at the photo you will understand why that name is rather apt. Medlars require ‘bletting’ before they are edible – you will read in varying sources that this means you have to leave them until they are rotten before they can be enjoyed, but I am here to reassure you this is not quite the case. They do not rot in the true sense of the word, i.e. decay - there is no bacterial activity. It’s just their ripening process is rather lengthy and extreme and indeed you could be forgiven for thinking it had gone bad. The texture is a somewhat grainy, reminiscent of pear, applesauce and the taste is like appley booze or boozy sweet apples. Acquired, but worth acquiring.

Mulberries

A fruit immortalised in the famous nursery rhyme, this is a plant that again seems to have fallen from edible favour, possibly since they do not store or travel well. Perhaps it’s because of their association with silkworms that children find them off-putting, I don’t know. However these are also tasty little fruits and come in a variety of colours, from white to deep red and black. The white mulberry (the silkwormy one, native to China and available from Reads ) has white fruits which turn pinkish, so not white in the strictest sense. Happily, no doubt due to our renewed interest in heritage fruits and foraging, Crocus.co.uk is also selling the common black mulberry too. Be warned, though - it will need space and a suitable site. This is a full-sized, albeit magnificent, tree.

Now, if you happen to find yourself with white strawberries and white pineberries, I am envisaging a rather minimalist white pavlova, swathed in snowy, softly billowing whipped cream and scattered with your collection of white fruits, and a frosted bunch of whitecurrants adorning it, with a scattering of glitter for that sparkly touch of the camp. You could guarantee nobody else would be serving it on your dinner party circuit. And that's the joy of growing your own!

Small batch baking: Cherry crumble

Ok, so not strictly baking in the sense of a cake but it satisfied my need to smell butter, sugar and flour caramelising in the oven!
As I have previously bemoaned before on my humble bloglette, baking for one or two, indeed cooking in general for one or two, can be bothersome. Regardless of how expensive it can be to cook large batches that either get wasted or given away, there is also the irritating recipe reduction part. What I mean by this is the time spent prior to actual baking putting my (lamentable) maths skills to good use (or rather my iPhone calculator to good use), and infrequently realising that this recipe is now so diminutive it cannot be mixed in my beloved Kitchenaid. Instead it requires me to break out into a sweat whilst I process my ingredients manually. The ignominy! So it's rather pleasing when one happens upon a recipe quite by chance, and in the habit of all great inventions, it was borne of necessity.

This recipe came about after I had a self-generated glut of cherries in the fridge. I'm a sucker for a plump, shiny, tight-skinned red fruit, and these cherries were looking all appealing and winsome at me in the supermarket. It was physically impossible not to pop them in my basket. However, with a plethora of apples, tangerines, grapes, mangoes and the like already cascading out of my fridge, after a few days I decided these would possibly require cooking into a compote for storage in the freezer until a later date or else they would not get eaten.

I promptly popped all 250g into a pan, along with a tablespoon of caster sugar, a tablespoon of cherry jam (my favourite), a tablespoon of water and a healthy splosh of Chambord (although I was torn between this and my trusty bottle of supercassis).

I warmed it through, dissolving the sugar, and made sure it didn't boil.
Oh good heavens, it was marvellous. As soon as I tasted the ambrosial juices I knew this would never see the inside of the food no-mansland that is my freezer. This was going straight in my tummy, possibly via a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I mean, there wasn't enough for a pie. Or a cheesecake. I couldn't think of anything more imaginative than hot cherries over a blob of Green & Blacks Vanilla.
And then I had the brainwave!
I quickly dug out a couple of mini Pyrex casserole dishes (glorified ramekins) I'd never had use for, and divided the contents of the saucepan between the two. I then grabbed a mixing bowl, and emptied the contents of a sachet of Dorset cereals porridge oats into it, along with 2 dessertspoons of brown sugar, two dessertspoons of plain flour and two dessertspoons of butter. I threw in a half teaspoon of cinnamon, and started rubbing in.

The flour was fairly absorbent so took another couple of teaspoons of butter before I was happy. I didn't want a crumble in the true sense of the word - I wanted something rather more nubbly. So I wet my fingers with some cold water, and started to squeeze the crumble into little rough clumps of flapjackyness. I then scattered my broken sandstone lumpoids over the two casseroles of Cherry compote. Dinner was already in a 170 degree fan oven, so that's what my crumbles went in at. For about 15 - 20 minutes.

Art is not always about straight lines, perfect angles and intent. Sometimes the artist gets the best out of the materials by just watching what happens. By the happy accidents.  
The cherry compote had a lot of liquid. Some would say too much. And the rubbley flapjack crumble left little holes the juice seeped through. But shown the heat of the oven, this seepage turned to glorious toffiness, forming a sticky shell around the knots of oaty crumble. The fruit was deliciously tart against the warmly spiced, sandy, biscuity topping. This was pudding art.

A little scoop of cold vanilla ice cream melted gently into the sauce creating a magenta, cherry-scented custard. It was everything I had hoped it would be. I'd have been happy to consume the other pot the following day, but the teenager devoured it with unashamed gusto, declaring it fabulousness in a dish. I think she might just be right.

One of the joys of small batch baking is the happy fact that you can afford to be a little luxurious. A standard crumble made with just cherries is ludicrously expensive unless you are lucky enough to have a tree. But a crumble made for two allows a little more decadence, and satisfies the small batch baker all at the same time! Huzzah!