We didn't expect to find the Beast of Bray Road at a farmers market. But there he was — tall, broad-shouldered, covered in dark fur, wearing what appeared to be a canvas tote bag — standing in line at the coffee vendor two spots down from our booth.
He ordered black coffee. The vendor ran out. He turned, looked at our table, and walked over.
We had our full lineup out for sampling. He looked at everything carefully — sniffed the Dark Roast, picked up the S'mores bag and read the back, set it down, picked up the Ethiopia Yirgacheffe. Sniffed it. Set it down. Picked up the Dark Roast again.
"This one," he said. Voice like gravel and distant thunder.
We poured him a cup. He drank it standing up, looking out at the market, like a man who had somewhere to be and was taking exactly the time he needed and not a second more.
He bought two bags. Paid cash. Exact change — which, given that he didn't appear to have pockets, raised questions we didn't ask.
He comes to the market every third Saturday. Always buys two bags of Dark Roast. Always pays exact change. Always leaves without looking back.
We respect the routine. We respect the commitment to quality. We respect the Beast of Bray Road.
Foxhole Dark Roast — for creatures of habit. → foxholecoffeeco.com