Moler means ‘to grind’ or ‘to crush.’

After we’ve toasted coffee beans over the plancha (stove) in the kitchen, Doña Rosario produced a wide cylindrical stone out of the other room where she keeps kitchen supplies. Next she wielded the stone base. I don’t know what this thing is called but it is for coffee-grindin.’ They have another stone set that they use to make the tortilla dough/maize. That stays in the main kitchen because they use it every day.

Coffee beans are not called frijoles in Spanish, they are ‘granos’ de cafe.

Before the coffee bean dries, it’s a pretty li’l fruit. The ‘bean’ is the really big seed in the center. The fruit grows first in green and ripens in reds or yellows. The fruit dries out kinda like a raisin and then eventually turns a smooth, light tan. Then you toast it and grind it to your satisfaction. Do-Ro showed me a costal full of beans, so full it stands up straight. She’s got it hiding in the dirt-floor kitchen out back, where she got the stone.

Once she set up the stone base and stone grinder, she said “Esperese, esperese” and reappeared momentarily with something like a thick placemat. It was woven here in Santa Clara out of caña or maybe corn leaves, but it looks so cool! She tossed it on the ground in front of the stone. It’s a mat on which you set your knees to grind the coffee. My body was grateful for the cushion.

Do-Ro began to slowly grind the beans, this requires hefting the stone back and forth but not rolling it. You thrust the stone onto the beans, slowly move it back and forth very subtly, then thrust again. It’s more like you’re massaging the beans with passion. And I must say, I was too afraid to post the video of her grinding them because it looks quite sexual. But, it kinda makes sense to me: the most beloved bean in the world should require some passion to create.

Next up, my turn. If she’s got this down to a science, I’ve got it down to a chemical explosion. As with most things here, I awkward-llama my way through the refined processes that the familiar can do in their sleep. She laughs as I fumble my way through the process, taking double the time, and complain of how hard and heavy everything is. I gripe for a laugh but… it’s true. It’s hard and heavy and difficult. Granules are falling on the ground or the mat instead of staying in the middle of the stone. She tries to coach me through but her saying what I already know doesn’t make it any more achievable. I watched her do it but well that doesn’t mean I can do it!

The Grandmother comes outside, chuckles at my efforts with a “Dios Maria Santisima!” and watches as I awkward turtle to the finish line.

To my relief, DoRo takes over again. Then she gets up “Esperese, esperese” and reappears with a glass jar. She wipes the fragrant coffee dust into a glass jar. I try once more, just to remind myself how hard life is. I actually finish the beans.

She sells me the beans for an open hand- 5 q.
Let me emphasize: for a media-libra of coffee beans she has picked, dried, toasted, and ground with a stone that’s heavy as exactly that, stone, she is charging me 75 US cents.

And to punctuate my bewilderment, we wipe all the coffee granules into the glass jar and she twists on a yellow top. The lid says “Folgers.”

Well, I’ll be damned.