by Matt Charney

See, North Star Fine Coffees provides a gourmet five star rated fresh roasted, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  I’ve had this explained to me, but James Beard I’m not.  So I won’t belabor North Star’s gourmet credentials.  Simplified, it means they make exceptionally good coffee, and it’s easily the best coffee I’ve ever had.  Sorry Dad. 

**Full disclaimer: I am receiving no monetary compensation for writing this testimonial, but instead, complimentary North Star coffee.

But of course, I didn’t receive the complimentary North Star Coffee in exchange for writing this article!  I got it because one day, I saw a question posted on a popular social networking website (figure it out, they don’t need the SEO help). 

It was a pretty good prompt, and I think I probably just quaffed a quad shot.  So I wrote a detailed exposition to the oh so deep Web 2.0 query:  How do you make coffee Gen Y would want to buy?  Or something in that rhyme scheme.

My answer then, as now, is this: I’m a Gen Y member.  Have you ever been in a 7-11 and wondered who in the hell orders those cringe inducing coffee-energy drink fusions?  Who was the target market for the inexplicable Coca Cola Blak?  That’s my generation, baby.

In other words, we don’t really care about where the coffee comes from (obviously, a bottling plant will do).  The threshold of acceptable quality is non-existent.  We want three things: it’s got to be fast, convenient and have enough stimulants to help us get through another day, as we’re recent comers to the wage slave trade.

To my surprise, the CEO of the company, Bryan-David Scott wrote me back the next day, asking if he could ask me a few more questions.  I warned him that I knew as much about coffee as Stevie Wonder knew about guiding tours.  Which is to say, not a lot.  He called anyway.

He told me about North Star Fine Coffees, and what he was trying to do.  I expressed skepticism at the ability of a start-up wholesaler with zero name recognition to make a dent in the hypercompetitive upscale coffee category (put much less delicately).  His impassioned response: “It’s the best coffee you’ll ever taste.”  

To be honest, I tuned out the parts about the awards the coffee’s won, the global itinerary of the locally sourced beans, the sophisticated roasting process.  See, that only sounds like copywriting generalities because I don’t remember specifics.  Cross my heart.

He must have sensed this, because he offered to send me some to try before continuing the conversation.  The catch?  I had to tell him what I thought.  Honestly.  So, I told him my address, as it seemed a fair trade, which matters in coffee these days. 

Only a few days later, however, a guy shows up with a huge package.  From UPS.  Stop smirking.  Inside, a huge wicker gift basket immaculately wrapped in a neat little bow (for crying out loud), which, being a guy, was completely lost on me.  My girlfriend, on the other hand, loved it, informing me when she saw it the wicker basket was, in fact, a coffee cup resting on a saucer.  I have it on good faith that it’s the cutest thing in the world.  She actually gave it to her Mom for a gift (now that’s value), and I have it on faith that it fits great on the counter, right next to the coffee maker!

I, on the other hand, went straight for the homemade biscotti.  Yeah.  Unexpected, but welcomed.  It was, as you can deduct, amazing, because you don’t really go the biscotti route if you aren’t damn well sure what you’re doing.  And they go great with coffee.

I got three kinds: North Star’s Black Label, Seattle Reign, and L’Chaim.  Being a Jew, I first opted for North Star’s Black Label.  The L’Chaim would wait until last, so I could display it in my cupboard of irony next to the “Heroes of the Torah” drinking glass set.

I set water to boil, carefully following the instructions on the handmade greeting card that B.D. wrote and placed in the basket.  I had mentioned in our call that on the rare occasions I drank coffee at home, I used a French Press.  The note informed me that the beans had been specially ground for the French Press, as this, along with exact preparation, was necessary to guarantee maximum flavor. 

Opening the air packed bag (and I think the first was the least aromatic), the smell was overwhelming, in the best way possible.  My run down, 70s era lime green kitchen became the olfactory doppelganger of a Parisian café at breakfast.  Better yet, it reminded me of the kitchen in the house I grew up in.  Strong coffee breeds strong memories.

Then I poured a cup.  Did I mention it was strong?

I am relatively dependent on caffeine to get me through innumerable deadlines and late nights.  And out of bed on Saturday mornings.  Of course, after the initial burst, it’s a long slow road to irritability, mental fatigue and a second pot to kill the headache. 

Warning: Do not drink North Star Fine Coffees if you have heart palpitations, are pregnant or nursing, or have any plans of sleeping within the next 7-8 hours.  Do, however, consider making yourself a pot if you want to see what stock brokers in the 80s felt like. 

I had two cups the first time, as I do every morning.  12 hours and a week’s worth of writing later, I looked up as my girlfriend walked in the door, asking if she had entered the Maxwell House by mistake as she sniffed the air.  I told her about the coffee, and my day, and she noticed something off: “You’re in a really good mood.”  Yes, odd indeed.  She also noticed we were now the owners of a cute wicker coffee cup and saucer.

Of course, most days I’d be three pots to the wind, eyes bloodshot and head ringing.  But despite its, shall we say, “go pill” qualities, the weird thing was that there was absolutely no crash.  I know this sounds suspect, and told B.D. the same during our conversation.  He was right.  I made dinner that night for the first time in months. 

Two weeks later, the coffee, my good mood and a bunch of looming work I’d been procrastinating had all vanished.  I had to keep my end of the bargain and called up B.D.

I told him the whole hand written card and ornate packaging was a little over the top; I mean, I hadn’t even paid for the coffee.  He told me that he does that for every customer, and he wanted me to get, “The full North Star Experience.” Every customer?

“It’s important to know there’s someone behind the coffee who cares,” he replied.   

Finally, the question: “Did you like the coffee?”  I thought he’d be flattered when I told him, “It’s the best coffee I’ve ever had.”  But he already knew that, I think.  North Star Fine Coffees easily stand on their own merit.    

Starbucks it most certainly isn’t.  I’m thankful for that, although the most ubiquitous chain in America has kind of been ruined for me now.  I know I can get way better coffee and avoid the soccer moms, hipsters and mediocre smooth jazz medleys. And I know that there’s indeed someone behind the coffee who cares.

The only thing I didn’t know is how to get more*; that’s why I’m writing this testimonial. 

It’d have been better with stronger coffee.
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* Lucky for you the NSFC online store is available now.  You can easily get all you want and order more before you finish it.