How coffee growing in the center of Taiwan changed my life for good

Ancient knowledge challenged my notion of what plants are.

The City of Taipei, Taiwan.

My name is Josué Morales and I have been in the coffee industry since 2003. In 2011, during one of my visits to the City of Taipei, in Taiwan, I learned a lesson that would permanently change the way in which I grow my coffee. 

I can describe my first visit to Taiwan in two words: cultural shock. 

This visit made such a long lasting impact on me that, if any given night I close my eyes, I can clearly see the colorful lights of the Linjiang Street Night Market, near the Taipei 101 building. This is where I experienced some of the most bizarre foods I’ve ever seen. 

From deep fried battered duck heads that are sold with the long neck inserted into a stick, to the unmistakable smell of the stinky tofu that announces itself from half a block away. This is where I tasted some of the strangest foods I’ve ever tasted. Even foods that at first sight appear to be very similar to Western foods are not only different but completely unfamiliar. 

My sole purpose of this visit was to sell coffee. 

By that time, I was convinced that I was producing Specialty Coffee of outstanding quality in Guatemala. For that reason, it was obvious to me that hoards of roasters would come running to throw their money at me. Turns out, that didn’t happen. 

For starters, I was used to going to trade shows in the Western World. Specialty Coffee Trade Shows, where I would stand out because I was producing High Altitude Organic Coffee in Guatemala and I had strong relationships with producers through my traceability programs. 

Things were different in Taiwan. The trade show that I went to was not exactly a Specialty Coffee Trade Show. It was a Beverage Trade Show that consolidated Tea, Coffee and Wine. My coffee, the very special product that I was so proud of, was to this audience just another beverage.

I had fallen under the spell of what I now call the Chinese Fairy Tale, or the idea that because the economies of the Asian countries are so dynamic, especially China, that they are dying to consume whatever is placed in front of them. Turns out, they are not. 

The vast majority of the Asian population has a very strongly rooted culture of drinking tea, not coffee. The coffee that is so dear to my heart was for them nothing more than a curiosity, perhaps a souvenir. 

And then, I met Van Lin. 

Van Lin is the owner of a coffee shop and consulting company in Taipei called GaBee, which means “coffee” in Taiwanese, and the man who introduced me to a very different definition of Specialty Coffee that blew my mind. 

The very first beverage he ever served me at GaBee was one of his signature drinks which involve espresso, brewed coffee, frozen grapes and Pop Rocks candy. The drink is a revolution to the senses, as you sip you get the acidity of the grapes, the taste of the coffee and immediately the shock of the candy popping in your mouth. 

This was an awesome heresy to me! 

Van Lin and Josue Morales at GaBee. November 2011.

I came from a world where Specialty Coffee had everything to do with the coffee itself, brewed in a way that would reveal its origin, and explained in the context of its traceability. And here was this guy who had built a very successful business around the concept of messing around with the taste of the coffee! 

Every aspect of the taste that would reveal its origin was lost in the process –on purpose! And he was not alone. The whole industry –incipient at that time– was doing exactly the same. I was perplexed. 

Van later explained to me the importance that rituals have in their culture. How they were much more focused on the experience than in the coffee itself. What they valued the most was a taste that would reveal the process, rather than its origin. From this point of view, coffee is not a finished product; it’s only an ingredient. 

The standards of taste from the Western World meant nothing here. It was all about perfecting the rituals around a completely new interpretation of the craft. 

Van has always been restless in the pursuit of being at the forefront of innovating and perfecting these rituals. He was the first Latte Art Champion in Taiwan, and became famous for inventing the technique of pouring milk into a latte in the form of a swan. He has also published many books about coffee pairing as an ingredient in cocktails and other beverages.

One day, a peculiar crowd of people spontaneously gathered at GaBee. A multicultural gathering from Tokyo, Hong Kong, UK, the USA, and myself, from Guatemala. These were people who were coffee professionals like me, and we were all there because we had heard about this place and wanted to experience it firsthand. 

We went out to have lunch together. I remember having some of the spiciest food that I’ve ever eaten. I also remember how easily and naturally a sense of community and genuine friendship was born among us, around the love for coffee, and congregated around the magic of GaBee.

This friendship with Van Lin also led me to learn about a community of coffee producers in the province of Tainan, in the center of Taiwan. Something I would remember later on, during my most desperate search for answers to the Leaf Rust Crisis we were living back home. 

The Leaf Rust, as I have explained in a previous article [What does Organic Coffee mean to me?] is a fungal disease that makes a host out of coffee leaves, restricting their capacity to perform photosynthesis, thus affecting coffee production and even the survival of the plant.

I spent months trying to find a way to go visit the producers in Tainan. I was convinced that going to one of the most isolated coffee production areas on the planet would allow me to learn something new. 

First, I needed a translator for the trip. This was finally arranged for me by the Guatemalan Embassy in Taiwan. Then, I needed the producers to actually accept to host me. I traveled to Taiwan without the certainty that this would happen, finally coming all together a day before I had to fly back home. 

The visit was to be hosted by the Growers Association of Taiwan. It was a surprise for them that a foreigner wanted to visit their fields. It was a surprise for me that there had never been a coffee producer from another country who had ever requested to visit them. For this reason, they didn’t have a protocol in place to receive a foreign visitor. I insisted so much that they created one for me. 

As I sat in the fast train that goes from Taipei to Tainan in only two hours, I anxiously went over and over the questions I wanted to ask these producers. Taiwan is an island. Coffee had been brought there by a Japanese Emperor back when the Island was controlled by Japan, over a hundred years ago. 

Two hours later and an hour’s drive and we were sitting at the office of one of the associations. They had an elaborate reception according to their custom, with many greetings and many protocols that I am very grateful for. But that was not what I was looking for. 

Right before leaving, by mere accident, I found the first clue that would later lead me to what I was really looking for. I wandered into a room where the fertilizer they use was being portioned to be distributed to the members of the group and I was able to snap a picture of the bag with its formula on it. Then we left. 

It was pouring rain and it was starting to be used as an excuse not to take me to the mountains. But I needed to go to the mountains. I wanted to see and touch the coffee trees. This was one of the main reasons why I had made it all the way to that point. The uncomfortable combination of my stubbornness and their hospitality ended up leading my hosts to agree to take me to the mountains.

Coffee plantations in Tainan, Taiwan. November 18, 2014.

As we drove up the hills, all I could make out were these tall shrubs shaded by palm trees. I grew impatient and disappointed. I feared that I wasn’t being taken to see what I wanted to see. 

I hopped off the car. I was blowing steam. Frustration was creating even more clouds inside my head. Were we here to drink coffee? Were we here for more meetings? Were we here for more protocols? That was absolutely not what I was looking for. 

As we walked towards the canopy, I was hit by yet another surprise. Those tree-like shrubs were actually the coffee trees that I was so desperately looking for. I didn’t recognize them before because of the idea of what a coffee shrub is in my head. These were actual trees that produced coffee. They were very tall and very wide. It made sense, I thought. They had been growing here for a hundred years. Coffee has changed a lot during that span of time, even in the way the plants look.

As I came near one of these trees I was surprised, relieved and anxious to see that even with its staggering size it seemed to be very healthy, and productive, and bearing a lot of coffee cherries. When I finally reached for one of the branches and was able to turn around one of the leaves, I could feel the pulsations in my veins. There was rust on the leaf. 

How in the world did it get here? In this place, in an island, in a coffee growing region that was completely isolated from all others, in a coffee region whose only foreign visitor up to that day had been me?

The protocols of the reception and the visit needed to happen. We ate lunch on a terrace on the side of a river, surrounded by coffee trees, and under the pouring rain. Food was memorable and plentiful. The experience was magnificent. But I had questions. 

With the help of my translator, I established fluid communication. But when I finally got to the part when I asked the questions, she stalled. I was trying to ask questions that were too technical and too specific. It was evident that she was doing her best, but she wasn’t getting the message across. I wasn’t being understood, and I was running out of time.

Out of impatience, I started drawing on a piece of paper, as an aid to communication. But that still wasn’t enough. Hours had gone by and I was still not being understood.

Mr. Chen and I, at one of the warehouses for the Taiwanese Coffee Growers Association. 2014.

In essence, all I wanted to know was how were their coffee trees so vigorous despite the rust? How come they hadn’t lost their leaves despite having the leaf rust? Why were they so productive despite having the leaf rust? 

As a last resort, out of pure despair, I took out my camera and showed them the picture of the bag of fertilizer that I had snapped before. 

That sparked deliberation among them. A lot of deliberation. To the point that I was sure that I had offended them. 

I waited in expectation. 

Finally, Mr. Chen, the leader of the group, took me out into the fields. As he was doing this, he explained to me that it wasn’t about the formula of the products they use, but the way they use them to interact with the plant. He then proceeded to demonstrate to me how they interact with each plant.

He went on to explain that, just as each person has needs and each person has reactions to your behaviors, also each plant has needs and each plant has reactions to your behaviors.

Each plant is alive, as an individual and as part of a community. 

Nurturing that life is about guiding it the right way, not about forcing it to produce. By feeding it the right things to properly develop its strength, not force feeding it with all the fertilizers available. It’s about working with the plant to widen its root system, to allow for it to thrive amongst adversity. 

My mind was blown. My Western constructs and ideas had been challenged beyond repair.

These producers have the concept that they are dealing with a live organism when dealing with the coffee plants. Simple as it is, this concept changed my life for good. This concept alone made it worthwhile to overcome so many obstacles to come this far. 

I spent the rest of the afternoon asking very different types of questions. They were not technical anymore. They had to do with interaction, with communication, with caring.

I took the train back to Taipei that same evening, and went from the train station directly to the airport. I had a lot of work to do.

What does Specialty Coffee mean to me?

I was in the Specialty Coffee industry before I even knew what it was.

The Roastery at San Marcos El Tigre. La Terminal. Ciudad de Guatemala.

My name is Josué Morales and I have been in the coffee industry since 2003. I started in the Specialty Coffee segment of the industry. The funny part is, back then, I didn’t even know what Specialty Coffee was.

Back in the day, I was just a nineteen year old kid. I was in my second year of university and I had a job at the City Hall of Guatemala City, which was a dream job for someone my age.

I’ve always had a knack for trading. Buying and selling stuff has always made me happy in a way that no other profession could ever do. It was through that window of thrill that coffee came into my life.

Every day, during my lunch break, I would take a bus from the City Hall to the God-forsaken market called “La Terminal,” which is the place where most of the city’s businesses have sourced their produce and supplies for over a century.

“La Terminal” is a place like no other. With its crowded streets so full of people that cars can barely move. I walked the dirty streets under the midday sun blazing on top of my head, full of noise, smoke, and the smell of rotting fruits and vegetables filling up the air. On rainy days the heat and the moisture made the smells so pungent that it was hard to breathe.

The crowd. The smoke. The noise. The filth. It was definitely the worst place to be for the senses. But it was also the pulsating heart of the city. It was exploding with life. A majestic dance of vitality. I fell in love with it.

I would get off on Segunda Calle and walk about twelve blocks into the far end of the market to a place called “Comercial El Éxito.” At the end of its narrow street I would find a roastery called “San Marcos El Tigre.” This is the roastery that I had hired to roast and package the coffee that I was selling.

Upon entering the shop, the crackling sounds of their ancient roasting machine would greet me by spitting out the smoke that lingered in the air once coffee finished roasting. It was here, at the foot of this machine, that I discovered that working in coffee made me happy.

The roasting machine at San Marcos El Tigre.

I acquired the fondness for the sensation of holding the shiny roasted beans in my hands. It was also here, in this roastery, that I met the first coffee producers that helped me get started with my own business.

These coffee producers were here purely out of tradition. Their parents had brought their coffee to be roasted here and their parents before them. They would come at the end of harvest to roast the coffee they would drink at home during the rest of the year. We probably ended up coming here because of the same reasons, upon calling all the roasteries listed on the phone book this one offered the lowest price.

I made the best imaginable use of this tradition. While I was there, instead of minding my own business like everyone else did, I got the producers permission to pull out small samples of their coffees. I brewed and tasted it with them as we waited for their coffee to be packaged.

I can clearly remember when Ovidio, the owner of “San Marcos El Tigre”, allowed me to set up the most precarious tasting station on a tiny corner of his desk.

It was here, in this negligible tasting station, improvised on the corner of a messy battered desk, where I started discovering taste.

The taste of coffee would differ from one region to another; from one farm to another. Even within one farm it would be different from one batch to another, and the very same coffee would completely vary its taste if it was roasted at a different temperature.

Having grown up in a producing country, most of what I had tasted before was second and third grades of pre ground and pre blended coffees. The coffees that I was tasting on my little corner of that desk were something completely new to me. They were exciting.

Fast forward one year and I was opening my own roasting business. I had landed a couple of fairly good accounts and I had somewhat of an idea of how much I needed to be making to keep my startup afloat.

My financial situation wasn’t strong. I was only able to buy from producers who would give me credit.

Doing all the manual labor triggered my imagination. It allowed my obsession with numbers and my obsession with measuring to be able to register everything.

I personally received each and every bag. I personally roasted each and every batch. I personally packaged each and every pound. I personally delivered each and every order.

The unavoidable result was that I got to know each and every coffee very, very well, to the point that I was able to detect even the slightest change in taste and appearance.

There were variations from one batch to another, from one delivery to another, and even coffee that was delivered on the same truck sometimes looked, smelled, and roasted differently. These variations were something that I never saw coming. They keep messing with my mind till this day.

I tried to make sense of these variations with every resource that I had at hand but nothing really worked. Nothing that I tried really meant a thing. And believe me, everything that you can imagine, I tried. Multiple tests batch after batch, day after day. But nothing that I did was helping me develop the right metrics to understand the changes each coffee presented.

I got to the point where I was disappointed with myself because I couldn’t explain these variations. I was hitting a dead end. In my sleepless nights I figured it out, it became evident to me that there was one thing and only one thing that I could do to figure out what was going on.

I had to go out into the fields.

And so I did. I went out on a research expedition to find out where the variations in taste came from. Reconnecting with my friends, the producers that had helped me this far was the starting point of understanding. The only things I took with me was a notebook, a sleeping bag and my obsession with measuring, registering, and documenting everything.

But how do you recognize the variables that affect taste out in the fields? How can you tell from looking at the plants? How can you tell from watching how the people handle the coffee in each farm?

For the purpose of my initial research, it was very lucky for me that the producers I worked with weren’t many at the time. I visited each and every farm, from the high mountains of Huehuetenango, to the lowlands near the Pacific Coast, and everything in between, including the very special regions of Antigua, Palencia and Atitlán. 

I walked each and every path, and shook the rough hands of each and every coffee picker that touched the coffee beans that I was buying.

Nineteen year old Josué Morales. Finca Montes Eliseos. Guatemala.

Yes, I know, probably most of this work was not necessary, and it had been done before by many others. But my obsessive mind made me go through each and every detail of the whole process, and it made me document it.

From the individual trees and their health, to the harvesting and the quality of the selection –WHEN was the specific day that each bean had to be harvested, or not– to the handling and the shipment of each and every single batch that I bought, so that in the end, I could trace the taste that made each coffee unique back to its handling, back to their harvesting, and even back to their development on the coffee trees.

Before I knew it, I had created a system that could trace the occurrence of any specific taste back to the whole process that was behind it.

This personal and exploratory research made me aware of how each step of the process of producing coffee could affect its taste. I got to the point where I developed a taste of the farms. Just by looking at how the people were taking care of the trees and how the people were harvesting and handling the coffee I could tell what the result would be in the cup.

The taste of the cup, I discovered, always came down to the actions that people do along the process. And my obsessive-compulsive mind made me register, document, synthesize, and analyze all these actions.

Based on that, year after year, I started guiding producers away from the practices that would end up in tastes that were less desired by my customers and closer to the practices that would end up in the characteristics that were more greatly desired and rewarded.

I was orchestrating a very complex process involving many different people in many different circumstances in such a way that they would end up delivering coffee of such quality that I could roast them in extraordinary ways.

It was years later that I learned that the things that I was doing had a name. The process of documenting where each coffee bean comes from and how it has been harvested and handled is called Traceability. And the pursuit of the best quality in the cup, to which I’ve dedicated my entire adult life, is referred to as Specialty Coffee.

Learning these words has not changed the meaning I assign to my work. One thing is how Specialty Coffee is defined. A much different thing is to realize what it means to me.

I personally know the owners of each and every one of the farms I buy coffee from. I have been in those farms. I have eaten at their tables. I have slept in their houses. I have walked those farms end to end with the producers. I have memorized every corridor formed by their trees. I have learned their stories. 

We have a personal bond such that I can make any specific request on the standards that any specific batch must meet; and they can ask me for help or advice immediately whenever things are not going as planned or an unexpected event has happened.

One of the best byproducts of my research has been the very strong personal relationship with each and every one of the coffee producers I work with. We have spent so much time together that they know for sure that they don’t need to hide anything from me and that I reciprocate by understanding the importance and the value each bag of coffee represents to them.

This amazing result of friendship and trust, focused on excellence, is what Traceability or Specialty Coffee mean to me. Two concepts that are two sides of the same coin. 

Specialty Coffee is knowing who produced my coffee and where it comes from; and through this combination understanding that coffee has the ability to reflect the characteristics of the place it comes from and the personality of the people who produced it.

It occurs that in my case practice came first and the vocabulary to define it came later.