Without being stirred, the resulting brew was then allowed to cool and form a crust. Rudy would break one of the crusts with a tap from the back of his spoon, as if cracking an egg, then quickly dip his nose almost into the liquid to catch the initial burst of aroma, and then slurp up a spoonful. The others would follow suit. There would be murmurs and gurgles. They would scrutinize, smell, bite, and pinch the sample of beans that lay in a small tray beside each pair of glasses, and they would render their opinions, with Rudy usually leading off, befitting his position as roastmaster.

Thus far, they'd accepted beans from Ethiopia, Kenya, and Sumatra as worthy of purchase and rejected samples from Venezuela, Costa Rica, and New Guinea. Under consideration at the moment was a Colombian Excelso.

Rudy was ready with his judgment at last. “In my opinion, this is…” He paused, brows knit in concentration, mouth still puckered to extract the last remnants of taste. Abruptly his face cleared. “… coffee! Yes, I'm sure of it Don't you agree?"

John burst out laughing. Rudy often went through one version or another of this routine when he was in a playful mood, always managing to make it funny and surprising, at least to John. But then John hadn't sat in on as many tastings with him as the others had.

"Very amusing,” said Nelson, on whom playfulness, Rudy's or anyone else's, tended to be lost. “No, if you don't mind, can we get back to business?"

"Certainly not,” Rudy said indignantly. “Are you seriously suggesting that I permit my dedication to amusement to be diverted by work?"

Nelson sighed, or rather hissed, exhaling a stream of air between clamped teeth, and turned to the others, pointedly ignoring Rudy. “I would say,” he said through jaws that were even now only barely separated, “that this coffee has decent body, with medium-high acid.” He stroked his thin, perfectly symmetrical mustache with the pinky of his left hand. “Also, it's reasonably piquant."