I am a man who enjoys a good cup of crap. Not just any crap, but the kind that makes the Seattle coffee-snob inside of me feel all warm and happy as if the sun were out (which of course it isn't.) It's the kind of crap that has traveled through the intestinal tracts of a nocturnal marsupial, cutely called a Civet. It's the kind of fermented brew that everyone should lay their lips on at least once.
Find the nearest Indonesian jungle and plunge into the heart of darkness. Be sure to bring a very crappy motorcycle to carry.
Locate some friendly coffee farmers deep in the mountains and ask them if you can stay and help in their gardens.
Eagerly scour beneath the coffee trees to find the lovey spots where the civets left their midnight masterpieces.
Hint: treat it like an Easter egg hunt.
Fill your basket full with the delectable defecation.
Break apart the chunks with your hands and sift the crap away from the coffee beans.
Lay the beans out in the sun atop concrete or rocks to dry. Diligently guard against afternoon rains.
Break the coffee beans out from their shells by repeatedly pummeling them with bamboo.
Blow the chaff to the wind without letting a precious coffee seed fall.
Load pounds and pounds of green beans into your suitcases, declare as "gifts," and fly home to Seattle.
Medium roast and off-gas the beans just like any other type of coffee.
Grind that s@!t up and toss it into a French press.
Finally, pour it out slowly, remember the long journey it has taken, and enjoy an incredibly smooth and consistent taste that boasts of so many unique features, none of which even come close to crappiness.