Puerto Rico: The Best Coffee You’ve Never Had
The bittersweet twist in my week-long road trip across the island
I pitched the idea for this article to the Huckberry Journal team a while back and I wound up pretty pleased with the result. It’s not often I get to do a bit of content writing, so it feels nice to stretch my legs with a longer format from time to time.
p.s. I also supplied the photos for this post, which probably only matters to me, but hey, I’m proud of myself.
On day one of our road trip the car broke down. It was probably a sign—something about slowing down, appreciating the journey. Whatever. It sucked.
Earlier that day my girlfriend Carolina and I climbed into the car equipped with a week's worth of provisions and a loose itinerary and started our journey zig-zagging through the mountains of Puerto Rico. Carolina is a native, but she's a city girl born and raised in San Juan, so this road trip was going to be a new experience for the both of us. The plan was to bounce from town to town, eat an ungodly amount of food, and stay at the beach until our skin got dangerously close to overcooking.
The next morning, after we'd swapped cars with Carolina's parents and hit "reset" on the whole trip, we woke up at the crack of dawn and drove into Adjuntas, a small town nestled against the side of a mountain. Breakfast was mallorca and a cappuccino from a little kiosk in the main plaza, and we ate and sipped while watching some folks set up a small farmers market.
This was the moment I started to realize that Puerto Rico is home to the best coffee on the planet.
Mind you, it wasn't my first cup on the island—we'd been there visiting her family for two weeks at this point. But while we were in San Juan we'd stop at these nice cafés, where you can expect high-caliber joe. It was at this place, this unassuming little kiosk that also sold candy bars and CDs, when I first noticed that something was up.
The cup of coffee in my hands had no business being as good as it was. Back home a little place like this would remain a secret for all of five minutes, and people like me would crawl out of the bushes and announce we'd discovered the "Best Underground Coffee In The City" and proclaim the guy behind the counter to be the new garage-band rockstar of the coffee world. But to everyone around us, it was just part of the landscape.
At this point in our road trip all of these thoughts had just begun to simmer. We finished our breakfast, visited a local museum, went on a hike around a lake and over an old suspension bridge, loaded back up in the car and headed off to the next red dot on our map.
A twisting mountain highway the width of one and a half parking spaces. A curtain of monstera leaves and rainbow eucalyptus trees between the road and an otherwise unobstructed view to the coastline. A cup of coffee and a tripleta sandwich. Ice cream flavored like arroz con habichuelas. A mansion next to a house destroyed by hurricane Maria. A guy selling piraguas under a palm tree. Rincón.
We took it easy that night, because Carolina was on a mission to reacquaint her soul with the beaches of Puerto Rico, and that mission demanded a full night's rest. It's easy to take the beach for granted when you grow up on an island. Her trips back home are a refueling of sorts—an opportunity to squeeze a year's-worth of beach bumming into a short timespan. She would leave this island six shades darker and reeking of salt water and bacalaítos if it killed her.
Beach bums wake up early, apparently. So when we arrived at what would be the first of three beaches we'd visit that day, we realized we needed a caffeine fix and looked around for something close. We ordered a couple cortados from this small trailer across the street, owned and operated by a woman in her 20s with cool glasses and cooler tattoos. Ah, I thought, just like home. The coffee was ridiculously, maddeningly good.
I should point out that I’m no coffee connoisseur. At best I’m an enthusiast, but compared to people who really know what they’re talking about I’m just your garden-variety addict. And while I can tell the difference between a terrible cup and a good one, most of the time I just taste coffee—which makes it all the more interesting that even my inelegant tastebuds noticed such a pronounced change in flavor.
The main difference is that Puerto Rican coffee is less bitter than your average cup of espresso. It's light, a little sweet, and it goes down smoother than silk. From my sleuthing on the internet the reason behind it comes down to a few things: the variation they grow (Arabica), the altitude it's grown in, the volcanic soil, and the all-natural harvesting and roasting process.
Most of these factors aren't necessarily unique to Puerto Rico, they're shared by plenty of regions around the so-called "Coffee Belt." The difference is, you've had those blends. Hell, even if your java consumption stops at the Starbucks drive-in, you’ve probably tasted roasts from Colombia, Brazil, or Indonesia. But you're just going to have to trust me—in Puerto Rico it's different. It's better.
And yet, thanks to a devastating combination of colonialism, the Jones Act, natural disasters, and just the general way Puerto Ricans and their island have been screwed over at every turn, it's almost certain you've never tasted the stuff. If there's any poetic justice here, maybe it's that this is one thing the world hasn't taken from them yet—it's a treasure only people on the island can enjoy—but I don't know if the coffee farmers see it that way. They may want the spotlight they deserve, and everything that goes along with it.
Maybe we'll see Puerto Rican coffee explode one day. Maybe it's destined to take the world by storm just like reggaetón. Or maybe it'll remain part of the landscape, one more thing of beauty you can't get anywhere else.
Another twisting road through the mountains. The most gorgeous beach I've ever seen. A funeral procession of trucks carrying 10 foot speakers blasting an obituary. Empanadillas as big as my face. A swimming hole underneath a waterfall. A dilapidated radio telescope being consumed by nature. Arecibo.
We drove to these historic caves deep in the rainforest. We showed up early because we were warned it would fill up and we could be stuck waiting for hours. Slowly other folks trickled in, and they were exactly the kind of people who show up for an 8 AM cave tour. Lots of fanny packs and cargo shorts, a guy who kept his sunglasses on the back of his head, a couple with a son and daughter that looked like miniature versions of their parents down to the globs of sunscreen on their noses. It was a tourist trap, and we knew it. I had never felt more like a gringo in my life.
The ticket lady showed up and a herd of feral cats emerged from the woods to greet her and eat their breakfast. She promptly locked herself out of her ticket booth, and from the other side of the glass she begged the cat sitting on the desk, "Hinki! Hinki! Ábrame la puerta! Ábrame la puerta por favor!"
Our growing migraines were soothed by the guy who showed up to run the coffee kiosk. We sat there waiting as he talked on the phone with one hand and set up his stand with the other—bags of Fritos, Puerto Rican flag fridge magnets, and a box of keychain laser pointers. He gave us a halfhearted wave, took our orders, and whipped up yet another cup of the tastiest coffee I've ever lifted to my lips. You, my friend, are something special. I whispered into my cup. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
If you want to buy some Puerto Rican coffee beans and try it for yourself, keep in mind that not all coffee-making processes are created equal. You can put the same grounds through a Mr. Coffee, a French press, or a moka pot and get wildly different results. For my money, a rich and dark shot of espresso is the best way to appreciate Puerto Rican coffee, but if you're thinking, dude, who has the space for a VW-sized espresso machine, I hear you. That's why I'd go for something like this Anza espresso machine—a pro-level appliance that won't bogart your counter space. Also, the concrete one just looks super cool.
However, to be honest, unless I move to the sticks or a TV network finally picks up my Frasier-meets-Squid-Game miniseries idea, I'm a ways away from having a kitchen large enough to support a full-sized cutting board, much less an espresso machine. So if you're in that boat with me, an Aeropress is our best bet for that rich, espresso-like shot of coffee. It's small, super simple to use, and it mimics the water pressurization that makes espresso so special—resulting in a damn fine cup of coffee that punches way above its weight.
Once the coffee is made, you need something to sip out of while you sit somewhere comfy and undergo the transition from sleep-deprived monster to regular human being. I love this HMM Recycled Glass Mug, it's elegant and cool and makes me feel rich. I collect coffee cups like the plague, though, so I'll still need a few more nice ones like this to replace the commemorative mug from The Rainforest Cafe and the one shaped like Mickey Mouse.