We roast to the morning, not the calendar

Every September someone asks when the pumpkin drinks start. The answer is never, and it is not a stunt. We roast what Number Nine gives us that morning and we write it on the board in chalk. That is the menu. There is no other menu.

Some mornings the board says a bright washed Ethiopian, all jasmine and lemon peel. Some mornings it says a dark Sumatra with a finish like wet bark. We do not decide in August what October is supposed to taste like, because in August we do not know what the weather will do, and the roaster does not either until it gets there.

A season is not a flavor. It is weather, and we already account for weather, because Number Nine accounts for it whether we ask or not. If you want a drink that tastes like a candle, there are places for that, and we wish them well, sincerely, from a distance.

What is on the bar today is on the board today. Tomorrow the board says something else. That is the whole arrangement, and it is enough.