THEY CALL IT THE SECOND CRACK, the last of
two audible micro-explosions that occur when a
superheated coffee bean expands and changes its
chemical composition. To coffee professionals it
is an alarm of sorts, an indicator that the
roasting process is nearing its end. Soon enough,
this ingredient would be used to fire up the
senses with a dose of caffeine.
At 18 Days Coffee Roaster, a processing
faci lit y nea r Ma ni la , t hat second crack ca me in
quick succession, the popping sound filling the
room as a load of freshly cooked coffee beans
emerged from a roasting machine. The
smoldering contents tumbled onto a basin
where they cooled down. I picked up a handful
and noted their familiar aroma, slightly oily
sheen and beautiful brown color. As a coffee
enthusiast I’ve roasted many types of beans
throughout the years, but this batch was
special. This was coffee that my wife and I had
planted at our farm.
It was exciting to see our efforts in a fragrant
pile of whole coffee beans. With little more than
basic knowledge of coffee farming—and some
help from our resident farmer, Leonido—we
managed a decent crop of some 80 kilos of
coffee. This was t he fi rst of hopef u l ly ma ny
years of a viable harvest, an undertaking that
Joanne and I started five years ago. To be frank,
we were totally unprepared for this—she is an
IT professional and I am a photojournalist—
but our love of coffee inspired us to plant a
small orchard in the highlands of Cavite, in our
native Philippines.
From day one we knew exactly what kind of
bea ns we wa nted to cu ltivate. Most fa r mers
grow robusta—the most common type of
coffee—while others favor arabica which is
used for gourmet coffee and espresso-based
drinks. Instead, we planted coffea liberica, a
breed so ra re t hat it is practica l ly un know n
outside the country, though variations do exist
in Bali, Malaysia and India.
Known locally as kapeng barako or simply
barako, liberica is a drink that has deep cultural
and historical roots. It was first planted by
Spanish colonists here in 1740, which made
these islands a major coffee exporter for more
than 100 years. Although liberica’s heyday
ended at the turn of the 20th century—when a
coffee blight decimated crops, and farmers
shifted to the hardier but lower-grade
robusta—its reputation has remained etched in
the Filipino psyche.
“This coffee’s name refers to the native
barako, or wild boar, which is said to eat ripe
liberica cherries,” says Brian Tenorio who runs
KapeTayo Coffee, in Quezon City. “I think
Filipinos like barako for its bold taste and
tapang—its manly caffeine kick.” When
someone needs to stay awake, they drink
barako more than regular coffee.
The blue-collar connection is something I
have seen in my travels throughout the
Philippines. While high-end arabicas fromCLOCKWISE FROM
LEFT: Coffea
liberica cherries;
kapeng barako
served with
barquillos, a
biscuit; farmers in
Cavite offer their
own backyard
brew. OPPOSITE:
Plucking beans.TRAVELANDLEISUREASIA.COM / SEPTEMBER 2019 29