Symphony in a Cup
Kopplin's Coffee in St. Paul.
Image credit: Tate Carlson
It wasn’t terribly long ago that coffee was strictly an acrid, utilitarian beast (Denny’s cup might have been endless, but it was questionable whether one should have begun in the first place). Local in-store roasters Dunn Bros and ubiquitous juggernaut behemoth Starbucks raised the ante in terms of flavor and selection, but their greatest strength doubles as their Achilles heel: sameness and uniformity from cup to (resoundingly predictable) cup.
A growing local coffee roasting and preparing movement is bringing another perspective to the java conversation, though, by fostering a handmade artisanal approach. A recent visit to Kopplin’s in St. Paul found the place packed with a mid-day throng of students, parents and commuters—all willing to pay more-than-Caribou prices for individually made coffees and cappuccinos.
“When I opened, there weren’t too many places doing high-end things,” says Andrew Kopplin, owner of the shop that bears his name (which has been in business for five years). “It’s been interesting to see the evolution of this city in general—people are wanting good coffee, and then more coffee shops spring up as the consumer becomes more educated.”
Kopplin oversees every step of the preparation of his drinks, from bean selection to roasting to the techniques used by his baristas. And there’s no arguing with the results. Sipping one of his cappuccinos is revelatory, from its rich and complicated flavors to its considerable smoothness (it’s a coffee that lets you come to it, rather than overwhelming you with bitterness, and rewards you with a series of unfolding sensations). Kopplin adds that the milk in the drink comes from grass-fed cows in Wisconsin, ensuring that its taste changes with the season.
Much of the particular quality of artisan coffee derives from sourcing beans; because of their scale of operations, large chains require massive quantities of blended beans in order to maintain consistency in taste. The smaller players interact with unique lots of beans, roasting in vastly smaller batches (essentially, it’s the difference between craft and manufacturing, with the artisan roaster dealing with the farmer as a fellow craftsperson).

“It’s not an easy philosophy,” adds Kopplin. “But I can say that what I try to do here is to create something that is specifically me—something that only Andrew would create.”
This quest for distinctiveness, and continual change, is creating its own need and countering presumed recession austerity (in lieu of big spending, an extra buck or three more than the norm can buy gustatory luxury). Dogwood Coffee Co. is offering artisanal drinks in Uptown, and wholesale roaster Bull Run has also recently launched a coffee shop in south Minneapolis.
“There are a lot of different angles,” says Bull Run part-owner Brent Ringate, who can talk coffee the way a biologist talks genome. “From selecting coffees to roast and offer, to the craft of roasting, then coffee moving to production.”
Bull Run boasts a $5,000 contraption that enables Ringate and his baristas to regulate all facets of preparation from drip temperature to “pre-infusion,” a process that Ringate casually refers to as “parameter driven.” On a recent visit he offered a new blend of beans that his baristas had invented, a rich and evocative thing that was akin to a single-malt Scotch versus a cup of Southern Comfort (not the easiest contrast to describe, but once you taste it you know).
“There is least a week of research and development into each new coffee,” Ringate adds. “And now even some old devices are coming back—it’s like the analog way of doing things.”
Ringate and Kopplin explicitly consider themselves part of an artisan coffee community rather than avid competitors, and both their shops share an easygoing, inclusive atmosphere. Kopplin, 29, describes wanting to open a shop since his teens; he spent a spell at a downtown Minneapolis Dunn Bros, then drew inspiration from high-end coffees he drank during a nine-month stretch in Oslo—where premium coffee is a part of everyday culture.
“It’s not necessarily better but different,”
Kopplin says of his coffee. “It’s not an elite kind of thing, but do you want to experience things that connect you, the idea that a creation would evoke a sense of place. We’re famous for saying no to things here, but ultimately we want to give you something great. When you come up to the bar, we want to give you something really delicious.”
And that’s the thread that ties together local artisanal coffees: a desire to spread coffee as a sensory experience rather than utilitarian beverage. When you can select blends that not only sound different notes but play in different scales, the routine takes on the potential of the sublime. It is from these small things that distinctive experience is bred.
Before he heads off to deal with a minor shipping snafu, Kopplin pauses when asked to define his artisan’s philosophy, then beams with a flash of insight.
“Is it the same as it was yesterday?” he asks. “If it is, worry.”
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