Her Name is Aida

Aida is a coffee farmer. A coffee farm owner, to be precise. An owner of three different coffee farms, to be most accurate.

She makes the El Salvador Kilimanjaro that I would murder you one and all to have.

Last night, I had a cup of Aida's Grand Reserve. This is a blend of berries from each of her farms, each washed in a different way, or sprinkled with a different kind of pixie dust, or... something. I'm not really "into" how coffee gets made. For all I know, coffee beans are sometimes mined out of mineral veins deep inside the earth. Or possibly there are vast geysers of geothermally-brewed coffee sitting under our feet. Brown gold. Seattle tea.

A half pound of Aida's Grand Reserve will cost you $22. That's a steal for a coffee that is smooth, rich, and has no hint of bitterness to it. It's like drinking heaven. I wouldn't just kill you for a cup of this stuff. I'd fuck the corpse, too.

Also, for the record, Chuck doesn't live here anymore. He is probably a frequent visitor, but as near as I can tell, C. P. lives in Vancouver, WA these days, which isn't that far away.

I'm currently vegging out in the lobby of the Ace Hotel, a tragically hip venue that puts a turntable in every room along with a random selection of (presumably) ironically out-of-date vinyl records. My room has The Sonny Side of Cher, Fleetwood Mac's opus that is Rumours, a Simon & Garfunkel live album, and Aerosmith's Toys in the Attic, which I un-ironically already own on vinyl.

This morning was an hour-long shower and shaving über-session followed by a chocolate-orange scone and some Kilimanjaro — I'm saving the Grand Reserve for when there are some good-lookin' corpses around. The dudes (and dudesses) of Stumptown are like trendy, MTV2-watching kings of amazingness. I didn't endear myself to them, I'm not their buddy. I have done nothing to warrant anything more than their basic level of pleasantness and service, and yet I've had a complimentary demitasse full of a rich Panamanian coffee pushed into my hand. It's delicious, it's got a tropical fruitiness to it, and it goes for $85 a pound and up.

No charge, just "Here, try this."

I love this place.