Coffee and wine: two terroirs, the same tasting pleasure

A Burgundy Pinot Noir does not taste like a New Zealand Pinot Noir. A Malbec from Cahors does not tell quite the same story as a Malbec grown at the foot of the Andes. For wine, this seems quite obvious: where the vine grows matters.

But what about coffee?

We easily think of Italy and its espresso, much less of Ethiopia, Colombia, Brazil, or Guatemala, where coffee trees actually grow. Yet, before ending up in a cup, coffee is also an agricultural product. And like grapes, it does not grow just anywhere or in any way.

So, can we speak of "terroir" for coffee as we do for wine? Not exactly in the same way. But enough for wine enthusiasts to find some familiar landmarks.

From bean to grape: a story of terroir

Let's start at the beginning: neither wine nor coffee is born in a bottle or a package. They come from a plant, cultivated somewhere by someone.

In wine, the final taste depends on the grape variety, soil, climate, altitude, exposure, vintage, and, of course, the winemaker's choices. For coffee, some of these parameters are found: geographical origin, altitude, temperatures, rainfall, coffee tree variety, fruit ripeness, and harvesting method.

Altitude, for example, plays an important role in many producing regions. At high altitudes, cooler temperatures can slow down the ripening of coffee cherries and contribute, along with many other factors, to the aromatic profile found later in the cup.

This should bring back some memories for wine lovers.

When terroir meets agricultural practices

But origin isn't everything. Choosing organic ground coffee can also be a way to take an interest in what happens before the coffee reaches the cup: how it was grown, harvested, and then processed. As with a bottle of wine, two products from the same region can yield very different results.

When we talk about terroir, it's hard to focus solely on what's under the plant's feet. How it's grown also matters.

In both coffee and wine, organic farming adheres to specifications that regulate the use of plant protection products and synthetic fertilizers. It certainly does not, by itself, guarantee that a coffee will be better. No more than an organic label alone is enough to make a great bottle of wine.

But it provides information on how the product was grown. For those who like to know what's behind what they drink, it's therefore a criterion that can be considered in the choice, alongside origin, variety, or the producer's work.

And on this point too, wine lovers and coffee lovers can easily understand each other.

Arabica, Bourbon, Typica… coffee also has its varieties

At a restaurant, no one simply orders "fermented grapes." We choose a wine, a region, sometimes a grape variety. For coffee, our habits are often less precise.

The first known distinction is between Arabica and Robusta. But behind these large families lie many varieties: Typica, Bourbon, Caturra, Geisha, and many others.

A bit like Pinot Noir, Grenache, or Nebbiolo, each has its characteristics and reacts differently to its environment.

The comparison obviously has its limits. A Geisha is not the "Pinot Noir of coffee," any more than a Bourbon is its Grenache. But the principle is interesting: the variety constitutes part of the product's identity without, by itself, determining its final taste.

A Pinot Noir grown in Marsannay, in the Willamette Valley, or in Central Otago will yield three different expressions. In coffee too, variety and origin work together.

This is enough to make you look at your coffee packet with a different eye.

Tasting a coffee like tasting a wine?

If you have ever participated in a somewhat serious coffee tasting, the vocabulary can cause a feeling of déjà vu. We talk about acidity, body, length, balance, texture, and of course, aromas. We look for floral, fruity, chocolatey, spicy, vegetal, or roasted notes.

No, no one slipped a handful of red berries into your coffee. No more than cherries were added to a Pinot Noir or pepper to a Syrah. These are aromatic families used to describe the perceived sensations. And, as in wine, not everyone will necessarily use the exact same word for it.

Acidity is a good example. In common parlance, calling a coffee "acidic" sounds more like a criticism. However, a controlled acidity can bring freshness and complexity to the tasting. Some coffees thus present sensations reminiscent of citrus fruits or certain red berries. Riesling or Chenin lovers should understand the idea.

Same goes for body. Some coffees give a full and dense mouthfeel, while others seem lighter and more delicate. Again, it's hard not to think of wine.

But there's an intruder in the comparison: roasting

The parallel between coffee and wine becomes more fragile when we talk about roasting.

Before being consumed, green coffee beans are roasted. This transformation by heat plays a considerable role in the final aromatic profile.

Light roasting can allow certain characteristics of the coffee to express themselves more, while with heavier roasting, roasted, chocolatey, or caramelized notes can take a more prominent place.

Wine also undergoes stages that can strongly modify its profile: fermentation, maceration, aging in tanks, amphorae, or barrels... But none is quite comparable to roasting.

This is an important difference: talking about terroir in coffee makes sense, provided we don't forget everything that happens to the bean after it's harvested. The coffee we drink is the result of a rather long chain, from the variety planted to how it will ultimately be prepared.

And at the table? Coffee and wine still speak the same language

When it comes to pairings, the two worlds easily come together.

With wine, we rarely look for a mathematical rule. Instead, we play with a few major balances: acidity, sweetness, bitterness, aromatic intensity, richness, and texture.

For coffee, we can reason in a fairly similar way. A coffee with notes of cocoa, dried fruits, or roast can easily accompany a chocolate, hazelnut, or caramel dessert. A brighter, fruitier, and floral coffee can be interesting with lighter desserts, featuring red fruits or citrus.

We find two well-known strategies for wine lovers: extending flavors or playing on contrast.

With a dark chocolate dessert, for example, one can seek continuity with an intense coffee with chocolate notes. On the wine side, one might look towards a Maury or certain Portos. Same dessert, two different beverages, but a fairly similar thought process.

And as with wine, intensity matters. A very rich dessert risks overpowering a particularly delicate coffee, while a heavily roasted coffee can dominate a light pastry.

No need for a chart of 48 pairings to hang in the kitchen. Often, all it takes is a taste.

Drinking an origin rather than a simple beverage

Ultimately, this is where wine and coffee perhaps have the most to tell each other.

For a long time, a large proportion of consumers primarily bought coffee based on its brand, intensity, or preparation method. Wine also follows this logic: red or white, light or powerful, Bordeaux or Burgundy.

Then we start to look a little more closely. A region. A variety. A producer. A parcel sometimes. We gradually understand that a taste does not appear by chance.

Taking an interest in coffee by its origin, variety, or processing method ultimately stems from the same curiosity that drives one to compare two Pinot Noirs or to discover what Malbec tastes like when it leaves the Southwest to cross the Atlantic.

It's not necessary to turn every morning coffee into a tasting session with a notepad. But the next time you open a packet, see where the beans come from.

You might find yourself applying some wine drinker's reflexes.