What's the Buzz: Richmond's coffee crawl lands at Catahoula Coffee

Catahoula Coffee Company: 12472 San Pablo Avenue, Richmond

Catahoula sits on San Pablo Avenue, the same stretch some people have started asking for a nickname for, calling it the Richmond Gourmet Ghetto, hot dog stands giving way to popular taco shops. Before any of that showed up, though, Catahoula was already here, the first place on this stretch that figured people might want Real Coffee.

Catahoula opened its doors here back on New Year's Day 2008. The founder's own telling of it is simple: he got tired of driving five miles for a decent shot of espresso and figured the neighborhood deserved better than that drive.

We remember when the roaster first showed up, a San Franciscan sitting right in the front window like a piece of machinery that wanted to be seen working. It's not there anymore; the roasting's moved elsewhere as the place has grown into an actual regional roaster with a Berkeley location and shelf space well outside Richmond, but the space it used to fill still feels like it's holding a memory of it.

There's a guy out front hawking Street Spirit, the same guy who sometimes shows up at council meetings, and he's got a handful of papers by the door, and he is already drinking coffee. 

Inside Catahoula, the signage does the talking before the coffee does. A neon clock on the wall says FRESH ROASTED in red and blue, the kind of sign that would look ironic anywhere else and looks completely sincere here, because they actually roast it.

We ordered our normal coffee run. The cappuccino came out with the foam doing real work, tight microfoam with a little shine to it plus real coffee flavors punching through. When we ordered, they didn't ask what size cappuccino; always a good sign since we're not looking for a little latte wearing a cappuccino's name, and it doesn't hurt that they're pulling shots on a La Marzocco. 

The latte got a fern pulled into it, unhurried, like the barista had done it ten thousand times and stopped counting. The mocha showed up under a pile of whipped cream. Three drinks, three different jobs, none of them phoned in. The blend under all of it holds up whether it's straight, cut with milk, or fighting chocolate for attention, no burnt-milk sourness, no artificial sweetness.

The room is small, tile floor, seating along the window facing The Avenue, black chairs that have hosted a lot of laptops and actual conversations. A merch rack runs the wall: sweatshirts, tees, a tote, and a hoodie that just says DEATH BEFORE DECAF across the chest, which is either the most honest branding decision on San Pablo or a mission statement, possibly both.

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