Review: Lavazza Tierra coffee

So, I was in Waitrose yesterday…

Shut up, I'm telling a story.
Shut up, I’m telling a story.

I was in Waitrose yesterday and I felt like treating myself to some fancy coffee. I chose Lavazza Tierra because it is ethically produced because it was on special offer and came in a tin.

I like tins.
I like tins. They’re sophisticated.

Upon popping the lid, I found that there was a secondary lid underneath. I aspire to be that guy in the shop who sniffs things and Lavazza had denied me this with their extensive packaging. Bastards.

This would have been a negative, but it only made me want it more. Lavazza Tierra was a mystery tramp and I wanted a taste. I took it home. £2.99.

Mystery tramp. Not as sexy as it sounds.
You get what you pay for.

The second lid was one of those ringpully tin lids. I opened it eventually. It was a struggle, but I won because I have a beard.

The smell was remarkable. It was not unlike chocolate, but more like coffee. Strong, smooth, seductive… the way a good coffee should be.

I prepared it in my tiny cafetiere, which I take to work in an effort to look cultured. The grounds are finer than usual so the plunge is less satisfying and you end up with coffee mud at the bottom, but this also means an easier clean-up and less crap in your mouth when you get some grounds in the cup because you’re shit at pouring.

I considered measuring out a sensible amount of coffee, but I decided that my usual helping of “too much” would do just as well.  This was a mistake. It turns out that Lavazza Tierra is an espresso, although it fails to mention this on the tin outside of the word ‘INTENSO’. Fuck you, Italy.

The caffeine high was instant and ridiculous. I was master of the universe, I was on top of the world, I was King of the fucking Moon. I put on Coltrane’s Giant Steps.  Vinyl, of course.

Of course.
Of course.

Yeah, I was inside the music, man. Riding the grooves in the grooves. Smoking cigars with the ghosts of dead jazzers. On a unicorn.

Side one. Giant Steps, Cousin Mary, Countdown, Spiral. Turn over. Side two. Syeeda’s Song Flute. Naima. Mr. P.C. Fin.

I came to a shocking realisation as the arm returned to its cradle. This coffee was making me pretentious.

I stuck on Dave Brubeck’s Greatest Hits and performed some surgery on my Blackberry. All of the side buttons had fallen off, so I cut up a toothpick with some scissors and secured the bits in place with some red electrical tape.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I performed an appendectomy with a rusty sardine can?"
“Did I ever tell you about the time I performed an appendectomy with a rusty sardine can?”

I came down. I was wearing a skirt, I brewed another cup.

Mmm, nice.