The real truth about Kopi Lewak coffee...
Regular visitors to this blog will recall that I have twice mentioned Kopi Lewak coffee, possibly the most expensive and pointless variety of coffee that one can purchase. Just as a recap; the beans are harvested from the Sumatran forest floor, but only after they have passed through the digestive system of the kopi lewak civet cat. They are exceedingly rare as the harvesting process is very labour intensive, and presumably rather unpleasant to boot.
While I have been toiling away in Auld Reekie, the Arts Correspondent undertook to investigate this culinary curiosity, and bought a sample packet from Imperial Teas and Coffees of Lincoln (google it yourselves, they do mail order). We ground the beans and made the coffee (pictures to follow), and accompanied by the AC's superior madeleines, we sat in the sun and sipped our coffee. Our unanimous verdict? Not bad, a trifle bland, definitely not in the league of a good colombian or brazilian. So, other than the fact that it's come out of a lemurs bum, was it worth it? No, not really, but at least we never need to worry about it again.
Our verdict reminded me of a dubya joke I heard in rehearsals; GW is in the Oval Office when a general comes in and says 'Bad news sir, three brazilian peacekeeping soldiers have been killed.' To his amazement, GW starts sobbing, tears running down his face, and he asks, 'Are you alright Sir?'
'I guess so,' the president answers, 'just a bit of a shock, remind me would you, how many is a brazilian?'
What are we going to do without him I wonder...
dogs...
Just a quick note today, although for transatlantic foecal coffee obsessives I promise a new blog (with pictures!) in a day or so.
I'm rehearsing a show in Edinburgh, nothing particularly unusual about that I hear you cry, and I agree. We're rehearsing on the top floor of The King's Theatre, in what would have been the managers apartment (or Charles Wyndhams shag pad in the theatre that bears his name). I'm not very familiar with Edinburgh, my mother's antipathy having had some effect, so I'm just beginning to find my way around. I'm intrigued by the variety of street activity that I encounter around the theatre; not the staggering belligerant drunks familiar from Glasgow, but a whole spectrum of alternative loonies. For example; every day I meet a podgy pony tailed character, unremarkable other than the fact that he has a fully grown rottweiler (or something similar) slung limply over his shoulder. The unfortunate canine can't be dead, although I have never detected any motion, it doesn't even drool. So, for some inexplicable reason, this chap wanders around Tollcross with a six stone dog draped like an albatross across his neck, he always looks a bit grumpy, but under the circumstances so would I.
On a slightly more enchanting note, we have a show dog, ward of the principle actor, she is of sheep dog type, and generally very well behaved in the rehearsal room. However, for the last few days, as the video artist has been working in blackout, we've been stumbling about in the dark with the aid of torches, and Maggie loves torches, more specifically, she loves to chase the blobs of light. Today her excitement was almost overflowing, as my lighting hire arrived, and I was able to offer her a choice, not just of a very bright blob from a follow spot, but also an image of the moon as drawn by Galileo. She sat on her haunches, watching the faux moon, tail wagging attentively, I hope my audience will be as easily pleased.
Labels: dogs
