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Cool beans: Ryan Harden hopes to open his new cafeteria (429 12th Street) by late open “if all goes right, that it substantially won’t.”
Until then, a co-owner of Camellia Coffee Roasters says beans can be tasted in a Kenyan—a dark ale done in partnership with Ruhstaller that’s infused with cold-brewed coffee—or online in an unobtrusive breakfast mix from Brazil ($15). He claims that his roasts opposition any other Sacramento distributor’s—not a quite special achievement, according to Harden.
“Everybody’s coffee is accurately a same,” pronounced Harden, a conduct roaster, who left Old Soul Co. “We’re all specialty coffee roasters. We all buy from a lot of a same importers and farms. … [That said], we take coffee seriously. But we mean, we’re not mind surgeons or rocket scientists. We’re coffee roasters.”
Harden wants to interest to connoisseurs though alienating infrequent coffee-drinkers. He’ll examination with darker roasts to re-explore “earthier” flavors that have been overtaken by lighter roasts, that (allegedly) enclose fruity, sharp or herby flavors—descriptions Harden can find a bit silly.
“Like [some people say], ’Oh man, this unequivocally tastes like blueberries right now,’” he pronounced as an example. “No. It unequivocally only tastes like coffee, a neat coffee. It’s good. And that’s it. There’s zero wrong with creation good coffee.”
(Still, Camellia’s website says a breakfast mix tastes like “milk chocolate lonesome peanuts,” which, c’mon.)
Harden’s partner, Robert Watson, managed Insight Coffee Roasters’ Southside Park plcae before withdrawal to run Camellia’s business end. At their new shop, they devise to have fantastic Wi-Fi, though to forestall people from “setting adult their office,” there will be no plugs. They haven’t nailed down a aesthetic, though oath it won’t be reclaimed wood—a trend Harden wishes “would die.”
Resist this: Kipp Berdiansky, owners of a horror-film-themed Donut Madness (2648 Watt Avenue), drew from a terrifying existence to make a “Dough-nald Trump” donut.
Served with possibly a Russian or American flag, a lifted doughnut gets filled with a Greek yogurt custard, coated in an orange liking glitter and ornate with a chocolate-icing open-mouthed scowl. At a top, Berdiansky sprinkles baked strips of a thin, phyllo-esque dough.
“They’re flaky and golden,” he said. “Just like his hair.”