A Cautionary Tale

Sheer curiosity brought me to the idea of roasting two different kinds of beans together. Normally I have been roasting the beans separately and blending them in the grinding process. I wasn't trying to make a shortcut. I enjoy the process of roasting too much to try and cut corners. I was just truly curious. The cat barely survived.

Instead of roasting outside like I have taken to doing, the record highs of temperatures in the upper 90s dictated that I would have to roast inside if my husband and I were to enjoy a fresh cup of coffee this Memorial Day weekend. So apart from the location all started normally.

I put two ounces of Sumatra Takengon with one ounce of Mexico Chiapas in to the roasting cup. With the face set to medium high, the temperature to high and the timer to 9 minutes the roasting began. The first crack was with 5.4 minutes remaining and was followed by the second crack with one minute remaining. That was when things went wrong.

Note the timer. This picture was right before the impending doom to my ears.

A loud, obnoxious beeping blared through the house. I was beside myself with confusion as my husky howled and wailed his dismay. I had wanted to watch the beans before the timer ran into the cooling cycle in hope of adding time to ensure a dark French roast (dark brown bean with oily surface). That didn't happen. At the table I was holding the disabled fire alarm; battery in my left hand and the alarm my right. My teeth were beginning to resonant with the piercing sound that was still coming from somewhere in the house. I followed the pain my head experienced from the sound to the hallway. Near the ceiling was another alarm.

I poked my head into the backyard where my husband and son were playing in the shade. As soon as I opened the sliding door to the deck, my husband looked in my direction and started walking in. Once inside I led him to the noise maker. Being the handy and wonderful guy he is, he disabled it with ease. I couldn't even reach it, but since he is a foot taller and in some places has to duck under doorways, it was not a problem.

Needing to empty the chaff and place the beans in a brown paper lunch sack for cooling, I had worked my way back to the kitchen. At the sink while cleaning the roaster, I felt a large furry head bump the back of my knee. I grabbed the edge of the sink as my knee gave away and looked down. My husky, Denali, was glaring up at me for the disturbance to his nap and then I saw my husband.

"I didn't know we had two fire alarms." We had lived in this house for a year. I have yet to become acquainted with all its quirks. "It seems rather silly to have them both in the hallway."

"That wasn't a fire alarm, it was a carbon monoxide alarm."

"Oops."

I finished wiping down the roaster, when I suddenly felt light headed. I walked around the house opening windows and doors with sadness for all the cold air now caressing the plants instead of me. Walking to the shade of the front porch, I held the door open for Denali who moppingly left the delightful temperature of the house for the outdoors. The record temperatures made our Midwest home feel like it had been transported to the deep south. It was a definite 'Toto we're not in Illinois anymore' moment.

The next day, we got to sample the roasted blend of Sumatra and Mexico beans. Thankfully, this tale had a happy ending, a delicious cup of coffee. The flavors were more complex than a single bean roast. However, I have gone back to roasting the beans separately for now. As I said at the beginning, the cat didn't die, but I was nearly asphyxiated. So, this is a cautionary tale for home roasters, if you must roast in your house, be sure to properly ventilate.