Vol. 6 - Desnudo on a Clear Day
Colombian coffee and Barbra Streisand, almost too good to be true.
Hi everyone!
Truth be told, I almost didn’t send a newsletter this week. This, I’ve noticed, is a classic Miranda pattern: the Week Six Slump, when I realize the main challenge going forward will be consistency, and doubt and fear start to creep into my latest project. However, like the wise tag on my Yogi peppermint tea says, “when fear is forcing you to give up, call upon your heart’s courage to continue”.
Well then, behold, readers, my heart’s courage!!! Another week of A Song and A Cup in your inbox! May your heart’s courage carry you through the week, and may you share something that made you happy with someone you love.
A Song - On a Clear Day, Barbra Streisand
This week I witnessed the inimitable Barbra Streisand in the 1970 movie musical, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever. I knew Barbra Streisand was good - we all know she’s good - but I don’t think I really understood how good until now. This is Barbra at 28, stunning and in her prime, playing the chain-smoking and clairvoyant Daisy Gamble.
At the request of her conservative husband, Daisy goes to see a psychiatrist to try and quit her smoking habit. Through her hypnotherapy sessions, we learn Daisy has ESP and has lived a rich past life as Lady Melinda Winifred Waine Tentrees, a very sexy 19th-century coquette. Her hypnotherapist, Dr. Marc Chabot, falls in love with Lady Melinda, and Daisy falls in love with Dr. Chabot. Hilarity, musical numbers, and incredible hairstyles ensue. It’s a lot of fun and not much else, which is exactly what the doctor ordered to lighten my mood amidst the dread that seems to find me every January.
The movie is indulgent and fantastical, ostentatious, and full of 1970s camp. More than once I found myself rewinding and replaying the YouTube rental just to watch Barbra’s face, specifically the part when Lady Melinda seduces her future husband Robert Tentrees by toying with a tulip wine glass across a banquet table.
The main title is a whimsical overture featuring a harp, bells, and a lush choir. I don’t know quite how to describe it other than to say it sounds like the late 60s, or maybe a technicolor dream. Music like this feels so time-and-place, rarely replicated today. The closest thing that comes to mind is the soundtrack for Kajillionaire, or maybe La La Land.
I’ve always been drawn to this kind of music because it sounds like how my brain feels, like an overgrown garden in harsh sunlight, tangled and spread wide, pining after some formless thought.
When Barbra reprises the theme at the end of the film, her 24-karat voice cuts right through the haze of the last 90 minutes. “On a clear day / rise and look around you / and you’ll see who you are”.
I’m reminded of the sheer clarity that inevitably follows each spell of depression, no matter how long. It’s the moment when the fog finally lifts and I realize how long I’ve been gone, seduced by the trance of work, sleep, eat, repeat. Remember how this feels, I once wrote in my journal. This is how good it can be. Get out of your own way. There’s so much stuff out there.
A Cup - Colombian Drip, Desnudo Coffee
I sucked at making coffee this week.
The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is brew a cup of coffee. It’s a non-negotiable routine, even if I don’t have the necessary materials. If I wake up and realize I only have 10 grams of coffee, we’re brewing 10 grams of coffee (weak and sour). If I use the last of my coffee brewing water on my bedtime tea, I’ll boil the tap water (sharp, mineral-y, a faint scent of jasmine because I burn incense in my sink and I think the smoke got up in the spout somehow… Can that happen? I think that happened). If I’m out of filters, I’ll make do with a paper towel or a tea strainer or I’ll cut up the Chemex filters I never use (I think the Chemex makes a better vase than a brewer) to suit my small Origami dripper.
I love these hasty, careless cups of coffee because they remind me that I am resourceful and not picky. Yes, I can enjoy and discuss the complexity of a Panamanian geisha, but I can just as well down three or four cups of diner coffee without a complaint. This is an essential part of my personality: I am not a fancy person, even if I have a fancy job.
Anyway, I promised myself I would make a nice cup of coffee this morning, if for no other reason than to have something to tell you. So last night I made a plan; I would wake up and take a nice long walk to Greater Goods (where I work) to get some proper filters, then swing by Desnudo on my way back home for a bag of beans that I would dial in, enjoy, and write about.
I set out at 6:45 a.m. into a dark morning, a strip of reddish pink peeking over the hill on Pleasant Valley Rd. The cold air revived my tired eyes as one strap of an empty tote bag slipped down my shoulder. I crossed empty streets sprinkled with a few dedicated joggers and cyclists, someone walking a dog, a new house with a Tesla in the driveway, a dilapidated yard littered with Bud Light cans. Greater Goods was glowing just across the railroad track, a diffuse yellowish light emanating from the large glass windows. I went through the front door like a customer and purchased a pack of 2-cup filters.
“No coffee today?” asked my coworker Joey.
“No, I promised myself I’d make it at home,” I replied, repeating the mission so I wouldn’t cave. “Thanks, though.”
The sky was brighter now, more orange than pink, as I made my way back down Pedernales to Desnudo Coffee. It’s a tiny trailer in a food truck park in East Austin, run by two brothers with a mission to simplify the supply chain and change the world one farm at a time. They serve single-state Colombian coffee, meaning each and every offering is sourced directly from farmers in a single department of Colombia. The goal is to put farmers first, provide them with education and maximum profits, and showcase the coffee in its most unadulterated form - “desnudo” (naked in Spanish).
This kind of business plan isn’t something you see every day, especially not in the States, but the main reason I like going to Desnudo is to see Juan and Sergio. To put it simply, the brothers can hang. They’re clinically optimistic, a little bit silly, and genuinely passionate about coffee. A visit is never just a transaction; they’re curious about you and you’ll get curious about them, and when they tell you they love you you’ll let it warm your heart and say it right back. I could go on, but I need to finish this story.
“Look who it is,” said Juan as I walked up to the 1955 San Gabriel camper. “Early riser!”
“No, early running riser,” Sergio chimed in. He passed me a shot of freshly dialed espresso, which was bright, tart, and drying, like a sauvignon blanc. We chatted about run club and music and Sergio’s upcoming birthday until finally, I told them what I really came for was a bag of beans. They looked at each other and laughed nervously.
“We don’t have,” said Juan. “We are running low for the trailer, but we are going to be roasting tomorrow or later this week -”
I smiled. Of course. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I said, bummed but amused. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to brew after all. Perhaps I’m in my go-out-for-coffee era. That’s fine. I’m not picky. So be it. Less work for me!
The brothers hooked me up with a black coffee in a to-go cup, double cupped to protect my hands from the heat, then promised a bag of beans. I could’ve stayed and lingered a little longer, but Juan lifted an 8-ounce cup and his eyebrows to the customer behind me, presumably a regular, and I decided to get on with my morning walk.
The sun was all the way up then, the generously filled coffee spilling down the side of the cup and onto my hand. It wasn’t as hot as I thought, and I instinctively licked it off (this might be gross, but it’s true).
The taste was much like the espresso; bright, a little drying, like an unripe nectarine or a white grape. But it was strong, too, and not at all delicate, the pronounced acidity sparkling on the edges of my tongue and the slicking roof of my mouth. I sipped it all the way back to my house, sipped it as I fried two eggs in olive oil, sipped it as I scrolled Instagram and ate breakfast, sipped it as I write this newsletter and it cools and becomes sweeter, almost like caramel, still like wine.
I’ll definitely be back at Desnudo sooner rather than later, and I can’t wait to share my recipes for their beans with y’all. Feeling eternally grateful to live walking distance from so many coffee shops and friends.
