Fire first
Oak flame is slower, moodier and harder to run than gas. It also builds a depth no dial can fake. We'll take the hard way.
Our story
Ember started in 2019 with a hand-cranked drum over a fire pit and a stubborn idea: coffee tastes like where it grew and how gently you treat it. Six years on, only the drum got bigger.
Farm to cup
Eleven partner farms across Ethiopia, Colombia, Brazil, Indonesia and Panama. We contract before harvest at prices the growers set, and every bag carries the farm's name — not a vague "single origin".
Cherries come off the tree by hand at peak color, then get sorted once at the wet mill and once more at the dry mill. The under-ripes become the farm crew's own morning brew — nothing wasted.
Green coffee crosses the ocean vacuum-packed and temperature-logged. If a lot arrives above spec, it never meets the flame — it becomes the shop's iced batch brew and we say so on the chalkboard.
Our drum rides an oak-fed flame that breathes — hotter when the wood catches, softer as it settles. It makes every batch a small negotiation, and it's why the same bean never tastes flat twice.
Fresh-roasted coffee is loud with CO₂. Two days of rest lets it settle so the sweetness can step forward. We cup every batch at dawn on day two — the ones that sing get bagged.
The last ten meters belong to you. That's why the roast date is stamped on every bag and the brew guides are timed to the second — the farm did its part; so should we.
Coffee is a crop before it's a craft.
We try to never forget the order. June & Marcos Vega — founders
What we won't budge on
Oak flame is slower, moodier and harder to run than gas. It also builds a depth no dial can fake. We'll take the hard way.
Every bag names the farm, the family and the elevation. If a coffee wins praise, the people who grew it should hear their own name in it.
The forty-eight-hour rule is absolute: rested, cupped, shipped. If a batch sits a week, it becomes staff coffee — never your order.