By Rachel Beebe
As Rumplstiltskin taught us, names are powerful things, but they’re especially powerful in specialty coffee, which prides itself on transparency. In a transparent world, the name of a thing should point to what it is. But it turns out, in coffee it’s not so simple.
At Steampunk we’ve long had a naming convention of using the name of the producer as the name of the coffee. If it’s not a single producer, we name it after the cooperative to which the producers belong or the washing station that they deliver cherry to. Basically, we get as close as possible to the person whose hands produced the coffee, and name it after them. This works really well with microlots, which make up the bulk of the coffee we buy. And many individual producers have become famous in specialty coffee because of their eponymous competition-winning coffees such as Nestor Lasso, Jamison Savage and Sebastian Ramirez, to name a few.
It’s our thinking that naming coffees after the people who produced them is an effort to recognise and show respect for the value they bring. And it’s an important pushback against what happens to commodity coffee, which is blended indiscriminately, resulting in a market where individual producers are erased and their efforts aren’t remunerated fairly. The basic proposal of specialty coffee, by contrast, is that if the market recognizes individual producers and rewards them for quality, they’ll be paid fairer prices. This is why there’s such a focus on transparency with regards to where coffees come from. The value proposition of specialty coffee depends on consumers (or, at least roasters) becoming familiar with growers and the quality they offer.
The issue of names came up recently because we’ve bought several lots named by the exporter/importer, including the Guatemala Hunchouen, Mexico Huehuentones and Mexico Tiliche. In talking with the importers about these we’ve found slightly different reasoning behind the decision to use alternative names for their lots. For instance, the importer who brought us Hunchouen, Javier Gutierrez of Caribbean Goods, used this name to brand a product in his offering and communicate to roasters about a consistent flavour profile. The name of this coffee references a Popol Vuh creation myth that tells the story of Hunchouen, a monkey god that is a deity of art and music.
“I always try to return to the same coop each year,” Javier says. “The long-term idea is to keep working with the same coops, give feedback, and grow with them.” But, Javier explained, establishing relationships and building trust takes time. As a fledgeling importer, just beginning to give feedback to producers and build a strong customer base amongst roasters, he decided to curate and manage the coffee he uses in order to maintain his target quality and flavour profile.
We did the same type of thing when we used to call our Brazilian offering “Basecamp”. It’s one of our highest volume products because we sell it to wholesale clients to be used in cafes as their espresso. The specific coffee changed twice a year, but the Basecamp name was a way to convey to customers that they’d be getting coffee with a reliable, well defined flavour profile year round. It’s the same as a roastery offering a house blend, or an equivalent product. The coffees in the blend will change depending on what’s available, but the flavour will remain consistent.
Another importer we spoke to, Evie Wojtas of Que Onda, who brought us the Mexico Tiliche told us that they used short, simple names for all the lots they created using different experimental processing methods. In the case of Tiliche, which is named after a traditional Oaxacan character that people dress as during Carnival, the processing method used on the coffee is as responsible for the flavour in the cup as the raw beans themselves. It was fermented using lactic acid bacteria derived from red wine.
“This project came about after spotting a common issue at origin—lots often get rejected because of quality, which always felt wrong.” Evie told us. “So this year, we bought fresh cherries from a community where quality hadn’t been great in the past, and where producers weren’t too focused on improving their processing. Instead of walking away, we took the cherries to the wet mill and handled the fermentation ourselves.”
Similarly, Ensembles, the importer who brought us the Mexico Huehuentones, names all of their lots using words significant to the indigenous smallholders who grow the coffee they trade. For instance, this year they have one called Indii, which means jaguar in the indigenous Me'phaa language. The predator can be found in the mountainous region where that coffee is produced and has significance in its history, culture and biodiversity. Another lot, Bankilal, is named after a figure in Tzeltal culture that symbolises the responsibility of an older sibling, who selflessly cares for the younger children. The lot we roasted this year, Los Huehuentones, is named after the figures in a traditional Mazatec dance ritual that happens around the time of Día de los Muertos celebrations.
Finally, Laura Meunier, founder of Minga, which specialises in Colombian coffees, highlighted another reason exporters might name a coffee themselves. She explained how much work goes into selecting lots for regional blends. The majority of specialty coffee is grown by smallholders whose coffee is combined to create lots large enough for export. Unlike the random blending that happens in commodity coffee, specialty coffee regional lots are carefully tasted and combined to highlight particular flavour qualities. It’s a massive amount of work to cup through all the coffee and create exportable, marketable lots with well defined flavour profiles.
Ludwika and Rachel with Laura Meunier from Minga
Sometimes exporters use the name of the region, but sometimes they choose names that are more evocative. So, Minga sells blends grown in Huila called Guarapas (a river in the region) and Mandarino, and blends of the Pink Bourbon variety called Pitaya (spanish for dragon fruit) and remolinos (spanish for swirling motion, like the one used to make a pourover coffee).
It can also be true that two coffees that taste totally different can sometimes be named the same thing. Coffee farms don’t produce crops that are the same from beginning to end. Within the harvest there is a ton of variation in quality and flavour. Ludwika has talked about being in Burundi and cupping day lots (coffee picked in one place on one day) from the different hills around Migoti Washing Station. Some of these lots were quite large, others as little as half a kilo. Some were more floral, some were more fruity, some more chocolatey. Sometimes, two lots of coffee from the same hill, subsequently sold under the name of that hill (e.g. Masenga Hill), would actually taste quite different from one another.
Or, a producer might take some coffee and process it differently to the rest, creating a lot that has a different flavour profile to the rest of their coffee. For instance, Coborn Coffee roasted a lot from Martha and Ana Albir, whose coffee we chose to be our Christmas Coffee last year. Corborn’s lot was processed using the natural method, with anaerobic fermentation, while ours was a washed process. The two tasted really different (though equally delicious).
In fact, our 2025 Christmas Coffee is an example of a coffee we were unsure of how to name. Our naming conventions dictated that we use the producers’ names, but “Nicaragua Martha and Ana Albir” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue (or fit well on printed labels and cards). We thought about using the names of the sisters’ farms, Finca Bethania and Finca Hortensias as the coffee is a blend of beans grown on both, but again, it felt long and clunky. Eventually we decided to follow our own rules and go with Martha and Ana’s names.
Stepping back a bit, the whole line of enquiry calls into question whether we should be using producers' names at all. Is the actual effect the opposite of what’s intended? Simply from a linguistic point of view, using the name of a person to refer to a product on a retail shelf seems at best reductive, and at worst objectifying. Also there’s an argument that companies selling specialty coffee rely too much on the images, and maybe by extension the names, of producers to sell coffee. By evoking African, Hispanic, Latin American and Asian farmers to sell coffee, companies are venturing into the territory of the white saviour myth. This is especially thorny territory for specialty coffee companies, who really do pay more for green coffee with the intention of creating a sustainable livelihood for producers.
The unequal power dynamic between the supply side and the demand side of coffee has been a feature of the industry from its colonial beginnings. Interestingly, with global coffee prices soaring for the last two years, that dynamic is finally shifting a little. In hindsight it seems quaint to think that recognising producers by using their names could significantly influence a power dynamic that is rooted in post-colonial economics. And possibly, using the producer’s name helped to manage consumers’ cognitive dissonance about this entrenched power dynamic.
What is definitely true is that in many ways specialty coffee is following the lead of the wine industry. Ordering off a pourover menu isn’t dissimilar to navigating a wine list, with tasting notes, variety and growing region all listed. And, like wine buffs, specialty coffee geeks are beginning to know their favourite producers by name. At Steampunk we think this is a good thing, and we’ll continue to name our coffees as we have, highlighting farmers and sharing their stories in a way that we hope feels respectful and connecting.