EMBER

We’ve all got an accent, yeah? Coffee’s no different.

Different origins mean different climates, soils, and growing conditions, and all of that quietly shapes flavour long before roasting ever begins. It’s why coffee from Brazil tastes different to coffee from Ethiopia, even if you brew them the same way.

Single origins show off one place and its personality. Blends bring multiple origins together to create balance, consistency, and a very intentional result.

Think of origin as the coffee’s home turf. You can take the bean out of the ground, but you can’t take the ground out of the bean.

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Processing is what happens to the coffee cherry after it’s picked — basically how the fruit gets taken off the bean before drying. Same bean, very different outcomes depending on how it’s treated.

Washed coffees have the fruit fully removed early on. They tend to be clean, bright, and tidy — flavours show up clearly and don’t muck about.

Natural coffees dry with the fruit still on. That extra time usually brings more sweetness, a fuller body, and bolder, fruit-forward flavours.

Honey processing sits somewhere in the middle — some fruit removed, some left on — giving a balance of clarity and richness.

Think of processing as the bean’s finishing school. Same genetics, same farm — but how it’s handled along the way makes a big difference to how it turns out in the cup.

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Varietal is simply the type of coffee plant — the genetics it starts with before growing, processing, or roasting come into play.

Different varietals grow differently and bring different personalities to the cup. Some are bright and lively, some are sturdy and comforting, others are a bit high-maintenance. Same region, same conditions — totally different behaviour.

You’ll see names like Bourbon, Typica, or Caturra pop up. They don’t lock in flavour, but they do set the tone — a bit like knowing whether you’re dealing with a racehorse, a stubborn mule, or a trusty old ute.

Built different, right from the paddock.

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As a rule of thumb, beans raised at higher altitude tend to come out tastier.

Up high, the air’s cooler and the coffee cherries grow slow. Like no rush, watch the weather, take the long way home slow. That extra time lets the beans get denser and build more flavour, which usually shows up as brighter acidity, fruitier notes, and a cup that just hits different.

Most of the magic happens between about 1,200 and 1,850 metres above sea level. Lower-grown coffees are more easygoing — softer, earthier, happy to cruise. Still good company, just not buzzing with hill-country energy.

Same plant. Different upbringing. One’s had a few more character-building moments.

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Tasting notes are our way of setting the scene before you go all in. They bundle up flavour, body, acidity, and finish into a few words — the same way a bottle of red might promise dark fruit and spice before you’ve even pulled the cork. Coffee shifts depending on how you brew it, how you hold your tongue, and how fresh the beans were when they met the grinder. This is simply how the coffee shows up for us when it’s behaving at its best. Think of them like wine notes — suggestive, not bossy.

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This is where we decide what kind of glow-up the bean gets.

Think of it like cooking — because, well, it is. Take things off early and you keep brightness and edge. Leave them on longer and flavours deepen, round out, and start leaning towards chocolate, caramel, and toastier territory.

Lighter roasts keep things lively — higher acidity, clearer flavours, more zip.

Medium roasts let sweetness and body settle in, smoothing the edges without losing detail.

Darker roasts push flavour further — richer, heavier, and more dominant in the cup.

There’s no right level, just different outcomes. Where you stop roasting decides whether a coffee tastes bright, smooth, or bold — and that choice shows up immediately when you drink it.

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