Coffee professionals have a secret that isn't often discussed: sometimes, we're too critical of our own creations. As someone who has spent years roasting, brewing, and analyzing coffee, I've fallen into this trap more times than I can count. It's a strange phenomenon where you taste your own coffee, convince yourself it's subpar, only to have customers rave about how much they enjoy it.

The Critic Within

When you're deeply immersed in the coffee world, you develop a hypercritical palate. Every slight flavor imbalance becomes magnified. That subtle astringency? Catastrophic. That hint of underdevelopment? Unforgivable. But here's the reality check I've been working through: most coffee drinkers aren't experiencing your coffee through this hyper-analytical lens.

The average coffee enthusiast is looking for something enjoyable and interesting, not necessarily something that checks every box on a professional cupping form. This disconnect between how I evaluate my coffee and how others experience it has been both humbling and enlightening.

The Light Roast Saga

Recently, I've been experimenting extensively with light roasts, and I've come to a somewhat controversial conclusion: they're often not as interesting as the specialty coffee world makes them out to be.

Light roasts typically showcase high acidity with just hints of sweetness. While many coffee professionals celebrate this profile, I find many light roasts one-dimensional. They don't "speak" to me the way a well-developed medium or dark roast can. Even when perfectly extracted (I recently pulled a shot at 24% extraction with no bitterness), they often lack the complexity and depth I personally enjoy.

This isn't to say light roasts are objectively inferior—they're just not always my preference, despite their elevated status in specialty coffee circles.

The Romanticization of Coffee

We tend to romanticize coffee. We describe it in poetic terms, talking about how it "speaks to us" or creates "magical experiences." But sometimes, coffee is just coffee. Sometimes it disappoints. Sometimes it's boring.

This reminds me of a conversation with my late father. He once candidly admitted that aspects of everyday life can be boring—watching the same TV shows, drinking the same beverages, following the same routines. His honesty was refreshing. And it applies to coffee too.

Not every cup will be transformative. Some brewing methods will fall flat for you. Some trendy coffees won't align with your preferences. For me, cold brew and iced coffee have never excited my palate, regardless of how popular they become.

Developing Thick Skin

Putting yourself out there as a coffee professional means inviting criticism. Recently, someone pointed out that my brewing equipment was dirty in a video. Was it a little embarrassing? Sure. Was it true? Absolutely.

Years ago, I worried I didn't have the "thick skin" required to share my coffee journey publicly. But I've discovered that taking feedback—even the unsolicited kind—helps you grow. Not just as a coffee professional, but as a person who understands that different perspectives are valuable, even when they're uncomfortable.

Finding Your Coffee Truth

The most liberating realization for any coffee enthusiast is that you don't have to like what everyone else likes. If light roasts don't excite you, that's okay. If you prefer your coffee brewed in an unfashionable way, that's fine too.

What matters is developing an honest relationship with your preferences. We can acknowledge what works for us personally while respecting that others experience coffee differently.

Coffee is subjective. What tastes like an unremarkable, acidic cup to one person might be a transcendent experience for another. The joy comes not from conforming to coffee trends, but from discovering what truly resonates with your own palate.

So the next time you taste a highly-rated coffee and think "this isn't doing it for me," know that you're not alone. Even coffee professionals sometimes look in the mirror and admit: not every cup sings.