There's something freeing about admitting where you really stand with coffee. Not the polished version you present to fellow enthusiasts, but the honest truth about what ends up in your cup day after day. As someone who roasts coffee and thinks deeply about every brew, I've reached a point where I need to confront my own preferences, biases, and the gaps in my coffee education.

I'm a pour-over person. Not just occasionally—this is my primary relationship with coffee. The Hario V60, the Origami Dripper, anything with that classic cone shape speaks to me in a way that other brewing methods don't. I'll occasionally experiment with the AeroPress or do an immersion brew with the Switch or Bonavita, but these feel like side quests rather than my main journey. Espresso? Maybe once or twice a month. I've noticed that coffee drinkers tend to fall into camps—you're either predominantly one way or the other.

The Dark Roast Revelation

Here's where I diverge from much of the specialty coffee world: I've become a dark roast person. Not just medium-to-dark, but genuinely dark. Before you write this off as unsophisticated, let me explain what I'm chasing.

I'm looking for style, flavor, intensity—a balance of sweetness and acidity that, believe it or not, comes alive in darker roasts. Yes, dark roasts can be too sweet or muted, especially with certain origins like Brazilian coffees. But when it works, it really works. I can manipulate the profile with temperature adjustments, play with acidity extraction through cone-shaped filters, and find complexity that resonates with my palate.

The specialty coffee community tends to lean heavily toward light roasts, and I understand why. But for me, light roasts have become increasingly frustrating. I used to enjoy them. They used to speak to me. Now? I find them one-dimensional despite their complexity—if that makes sense.

The Light Roast Problem

The biggest contribution light roasts make to my coffee experience is complexity of acidity. There are multiple layers, different expressions, interesting notes. At first sip, it's intriguing. But even within the same cup, that complexity can become boring and one-note.

Here's my genuine question for light roast enthusiasts: when you talk about sweetness in light roast coffee, what exactly are you tasting? I'm not being contrarian—I genuinely want to understand. Because I don't get sweetness from light roasts. I get acidity in various forms, interesting and sometimes beautiful, but not what I would call sweetness.

Even more concerning is that medium roasts are starting to taste like light roasts to me. There's no balance anymore, no sweetness—just darker acidity. This troubles me because medium roast used to be my sweet spot.

Origin Preferences and Processing Realities

I gravitate toward African coffees and certain Colombian offerings—provided they're not too experimental with processing. Washed coffees are my preference, though lately they're losing some of their appeal. I suspect this has to do with the coffees I've been selecting rather than the processing method itself.

I've realized through this reflection that I may have overexposed myself to fruit-forward profiles. It's interesting to taste cherry and strawberry notes occasionally, but if there isn't genuine natural sweetness backing those fruit characteristics, it becomes frustrating rather than enjoyable.

Perhaps I need to return to chocolate and nutty flavor profiles. Not a 50/50 balance of characteristics, but coffee with actual character—personality that tells me this isn't a one-hit wonder. Something with style, substance, depth that I can genuinely connect with.

The Clarity Question

Here's an unpopular opinion: clarity is overrated. Or at least, it's over-emphasized. The ZP6 grinder is known as the "Clarity King," and yes, it produces clean, clear cups. I used it yesterday with a Kenyan light roast and it was actually quite good—probably because my expectations were extremely low.

But here's what I've noticed about ultra-clear coffee: as it cools down, it often loses its appeal. That pristine clarity that everyone chases can become flat and uninteresting at lower temperatures. I don't mind fines in my coffee. Sometimes that bit of texture, that slight lingering quality, adds to the experience rather than detracting from it.

The Challenge Ahead

All of this confession serves a purpose. I'm embarking on a year-long challenge to master coffee in a way I haven't before. The goal isn't to try fifteen different iterations to nail a brewing recipe. The goal is to understand coffee well enough that I can dial in any coffee in two to three attempts.

This means fundamentally changing my approach. Instead of relying on familiar recipes and my go-to Third Wave Water profiles, I'll need to make my own water. Instead of defaulting to what I know I like, I'll need to objectively evaluate each coffee and ask: What am I chasing here? What flavor profile am I seeking? What is this coffee telling me through its aroma, its structure, its origin?

This challenge will push me because I'm admittedly set in my ways. I know what I like. I have my recipes ready to go. I understand my preferences intimately. But mastery requires going beyond preference into true understanding and appreciation.

The Bigger Question

By sharing this coffee confession, I'm hoping you'll ask yourself similar questions. What kind of coffee drinker are you right now? Do you feel pressure to like what the specialty coffee community says you should like? Do you feel excluded from the "cool kids" because your preferences don't align with current trends?

Or do you simply like what you like, regardless of what others think?

Do you want to get better at coffee? Do you want to understand it more deeply? Because here's the truth: you don't have to like everything about coffee to appreciate it. I certainly don't. Some days, I'd rather drink tea than certain coffee preparations.

But there's something valuable in pushing past our comfort zones, in understanding why we prefer what we prefer, and in developing the skills to make any coffee shine—even if it's not our preferred style.

Moving Forward

As I stand at the beginning of this year-long journey, this is my coffee truth: I'm a pour-over person who loves darkly roasted African coffees and interesting Colombians. I want coffee with both sweetness and acidity, with lingering qualities and substantial character. I'm skeptical of over-hyped clarity and frustrated by one-dimensional fruit-forward profiles that lack genuine sweetness.

These preferences aren't wrong, but they're limiting. They represent where I am now, not where I could be.

The ultimate goal is appreciation—not in a superficial way, but as a genuine homage to coffee in all its forms. The way I currently connect with coffee is magical and deeply satisfying. But imagine being able to find that magic across the full spectrum of coffee expressions.

That's the journey. That's the challenge. And you're invited to come along, to examine your own relationship with coffee, to question your preferences and biases, and to grow alongside me as we explore what it truly means to master this remarkable beverage.

Because at the end of the day, coffee is more than what we drink—it's how we think about what we drink, why we make the choices we make, and whether we're willing to grow beyond our current limitations.

The journey begins now.