Red apple lands first and lands bright, caramel right over the top, then cocoa nib running through the middle like feedback nobody bothered to fix. Clean, sweet, holds its shape at volume. The name says this one does not exist. Your cup says otherwise.

A phantom is the one with no catalogue number and no press release, the one that turns up in a crate with a hand-inked label because somebody decided the music mattered more than the paperwork. Half the best records anybody owns got made exactly like that.

We built the cup to match: one origin, no blend, nothing on the front to credit. Colombia Huila, washed, grown up around 1,500 meters, red apple and caramel the whole way through. Roasted medium so the cocoa nib still cuts.

Roasted in Detroit, twelve ounces, ground however you take it. Put on the loudest thing you own and pour it to match. Built for the front row, the back of the lawn, and everybody who taped it. Corky sez: if it is not on the label, it is usually the good stuff. Strictly limited. When it's gone, it's gone.