LIKE CATCHING AN EGG

Outgoing Mail Club #8. April 2022.

Nick Oddo of Capacity Coffee, on roasting and much more. Interviewed by Seth LeDonne.

 S: What’s your first memory of coffee?

N: A combination of coffee and ice cream, or coffee ice cream. Maybe an after dinner at my grandparents’ house sort of smell. Or at my parents’ house, hearing the coffee grinder in the morning, waking me up before I knew what was happening, what it meant…grinding that coffee in the morning. The burrr…

S: The burr, yeah. My parents didn't have a grinder and even now I just grind it at the store and whatever coffee I'm getting is infiltrated by refuse in the public grinder. I’m okay with it. Growing up, was your family drinking Folgers or Maxwell House or something else?

N: I don’t really remember to be honest. I can’t imagine they went too over the top with it. I don’t even know if you could back then. 

S: It was a very different perception of coffee…It seemed like it was just one thing, one flavor. 

M: I remember going to this diner with my dad and sister and getting coffee. That was like a primordial memory. 

S: Just the coffee?

N: We would get toast. Toast with all colors jam. That’s what we called the mixed berry jam when we were kids. We still do. 

S: I love familial nicknames for things that no one else uses. When I was a kid, I called Full House ‘the baby show’ because of Michelle Tanner. So my family just humored me and called it that too. But in kindergarten I suddenly learned that no one else knew what I was talking about. 

N: Yeah, you get your own special language.

S: I suppose that's a quirky thing I have to look forward to in parenthood.

N: You guys will have your own little universe that will last forever—for a lifetime.

S: As the birth approaches, I realize there is no other option than to embrace this upcoming, all-consuming future. I think back to people who I perceived to be annoying parenting people and really admire their cool and calm enthusiasm. On the subject of family, your cousin Joddo is also in the food world. He’s a farmer and you both work with restaurants. 

N: Yeah, we are both involved in food and food systems. 

S: Do you think that mutuality pushed the two of you? 

N: I don’t think I would have the same approach without Joddo’s influence—the way he approaches what he does and how he does it. I think what I'm doing might look a little different. There’s something that feels sort of rare or unique in the two of us having these businesses that are things that we love to do. I feel really fortunate to have that and I don’t think a lot of families get that.

S: I think that’s really cool.

N: I helped him in his first year. It felt like a lot of work, but I kind of just saw how this thing went from absolutely nothing to absolutely something…farming is a unique thing to watch from square one. At first it’s just dirt. Clay and a clay pot. A couple months later you’re eating things from it…it’s wild. Now it's this much bigger thing that’s pretty inspiring. It’s funny though, in my case all the hard work is done by the time it gets to me, whereas with a farmer they’re doing all the hard work and then it’s getting sent to a restaurant (for a different kind of hard work there.) 

S: I’met your cousin once at a party. We were with two other farm/food world people who are brothers. It struck me that you all did similar things and you were also kind of aesthetically similar. There’s not a huge difference between Pittsburgh hipster and Pittsburgh farmer. Looking back, I miss how casual a person can dress in Pittsburgh. In New York, it feels like everyone is trying to look good all the time.

N: It’s true. In Pittsburgh you can get away with being a little dirty. Here it's so dirty you need the contrast. If you have dirt on you here it’s like:“Why? Where were you? What were you doing?”

In Pittsburgh it’s like:“I have a farm 20 

minutes from here, I was helping old Guffy.” 

“Oh shit, I know Guff.”

S: How long have you been in NYC?

N: Almost five years, maybe. I can’t even remember the month I arrived. It’s all lumped together.

S: Would you want to go anywhere else or do you want to be here forever?

N: I mean I like it, but if I don’t have some sense of eventually leaving, there will eventually be a sense of some missed opportunity.

S: Yes, I can definitely relate to that feeling. It’s like, where do you go from here? 

N: What gets you to leave, what could that even be?

S: So back to coffee. I’m trying to envision what roasting coffee is like, and I’m picturing a feedback loop of guitar pedals and how the more you have, the more you can do. Is it like, if you only have a few factors you can expect a finite amount of results that you kind of learn, or are there so many factors at play that you can end up with infinitely different results? 

N: The way I look at it, you have a series of limitations that come from where the coffee comes, the quality of the soil in which it’s grown, and subsequently processed, dried and stored. There’s a general, specific window that a coffee is going to taste like. Plus, style of roasting, the level you roast at is going to impact it quite a bit. I don’t think you can make it taste like something it doesn’t taste like. You can make an impact, but it's more of the darkness, the roast itself. How did you achieve the final temperature? And how do you get to that final taste? Did you do it cleanly or not?

S: Reeling in what’s already there. 

N: I just don’t feel like there is that much creativity available to me. I feel like I have a way that I think I like to drink my coffee and I roast it to that level, and that’s working well for. It's just not about me. I like what I do and I'm trying to get better at it all the time. I don’t feel like I have much of an agenda or need a platform to expand on anything. 

S: For you it's just really about the coffee.

N: It's a personal endeavor into creativity and taking chances. I’m trying to allow myself a taste of what success feels like. Whatever that means.

S: Just simply feeling good about doing something. Where’s your mind when you’re roasting? Is it really intense or automatic at this point?

N: When I’m roasting the coffee I think about balance. I think about catching an egg. That’s what roasting coffee is like. 

S: How do you do that? 

N: Well there’s a roast curve. It’s a line that’s like 45 degrees. Like a square corner to corner? I’m generally looking for this slope. The screen is like a three dimensional cube with a 45 degree slope. It’s monitoring the ambient temperature of the roaster, monitoring the flames, and the beans. That’s my point of focus. 

S: We’ve traveled across the country together, and have stopped at Wall Drug, of course. Do you think their coffee can stay 5 cents forever? 

N: They’ve made it this long...What a place. 

S: Do you listen to anything while you roast? 

N: Godspeed, Phillip Glass. Stuff that makes you think. Noise. Harold Budd. I try to get into a little cloud. I cross my legs. I think of the cube and the 45 degree angle. 

S: What percentage is sexy and what percentage is funny? 

N: 90% sexy. 

S: What is funny about coffee? 

N: They’re cute little beans. They’re cute little guys. I don’t think it’s that funny. But as far as sexy, its aroma, the machines—elegant. There’s something to be said about a dimly lit cafe where just about any time of day you can meet somebody, like any other kind of bar. It’s an industry that likes to sell stuff—products, new tech, new gear. Beyond sexy there’s romance, a nostalgia that is kind of a faded form of sexiness. 

S: I feel like now I’m thinking the same question about art. I think art is like, you have to be 100 % sexy or 100% funny. If you’re both it’s still probably like two transparent layers put together, more than a symbiotic 50/50 thing. Sexy…I don’t really like that word and I’m the one who asked the question. There’s something about merchandise and capitalism that unsubmerged it from my mind. It’s really odd for sexiness to be this, like, signifier or component. There’s a “sexiness” that is maybe just the prestige of something being put together and pretty and polished. 

N: Desirability. 

S: Do you ever notice coffee when you’re watching TV or a movie? 

N: All the time. I notice sugar, cream, how they stir it, the way people drink it. I just watched the Sopranos. There is something to be said about how Tony eats pasta. About the way he is always forking it. Agitating the plate with his fork. I like watching it and I like watching characters drink coffee. 

S: I’ve still never seen a single episode of the Sopranos. But it feels like everyone has absorbed it. I know the gabagool thing. I get pumped when I hear the theme song. It’s all very knowable. 

N: I mean, it was good. I won’t take it back but it could have easily not happened and everything else would have been fine. 

S: Shows feel colossal when you’re watching them. Do you ever have this experience where you’re watching a show and you start to really feel connected to the characters? A feeling like you miss them when you haven’t watched it in a few days. You watch to catch up on their situations. 

N: I have a hard time with TV. I feel like I have a hard time suspending disbelief. I’m just watching the people do the thing and I’m watching the show on the merit of being a show. But I’ll rewatch a movie if I really like it—infinitely. It doesn’t matter who the actors are, I’ll believe a movie. There’s something about a TV show being a product. You do one season and that’s it. After that it’s created an engine that it needs to feed itself. There are writers that need to be paid, contracts, etc. It feels like a weird business. That’s one reason I don’t normally watch a show like The Sopranos, I don’t really get attached to the characters. 

S: I’ve felt a similar suspicion of the medium. With shows now, every episode ends with a twist or a hook to either make you click to stream the next one or keep you thinking about the show. I guess perhaps there are books that do that shit too but usually you’re just invested because you’re in the process of reading a literal paper book. Like a book’s weakest chapter is okay, people will trot through it for the sake of the book. But every episode of a tv show has to be a stellar 30 minutes with no commercial break level good. Ok, getting sidetracked…are there foods that you love to have coffee with? 

N: Buttery things, chocolate, fruit, maybe an apple. Having a glass of water with it or just having coffee with another coffee. Generally I’m always having it with toast or a chocolate croissant. 

S: You have literally eaten an apple with coffee on the side? 

N: Yeah. It’s a little like the ice cream and water on the side thing. 

S: Love the Pennsylvania water with ice cream thing. So there was this movie I remember from when I was a kid where this guy takes in this kid who has no family or something, and he takes the kid to a diner and they order burgers and coffee. I guess there’s an idea that it’s funny or special for the kid to get to have coffee. That combo has been in my head forever. I’ve always wanted to order it but never have. Where’d you spend your childhood? 

N: I grew up in Irwin, it’s like a suburb. It’s like nothing. Just like…a suburb. 

S: How was it? How was high school? 

N: I went to a Catholic school for high school. I was miserable. I hated everything about it. I was really unhappy. I was probably a prick but I remember being very well liked. I was just a little shit. I was an unhappy young man. They sent me to a Catholic school because I didn’t get very good grades and they thought I was going to fall off the map. They thought the smaller school would be better. 

S: Were you brought up Roman Catholic? I sure was. 

N: Yeah. me too. It’s definitely not something I wanna be involved with, but I do, like, still always think about the mythology and rituals that are so specifically Catholic. 

S: Have you been to the chapel with all the relics in Troy Hill? 

N: Oh yeah, it’s pretty weird. I was there once. I feel like I went during high school, naturally. 

S: It’s funny to me that you went on a school trip, like it was related to your studies. I know the relics are just objects like teeth, splinters, cloth fragments from saints, but I guess I do feel some power from that stuff, even if it’s just being implied. But I went once with a friend who is sort of eclectically spiritual and I felt like she was having a way richer experience. Like mine was mostly novelty, but it seemed thousands of relics at once could be a real trip to some people. 

N: I’ve been to some shrines in Sicily, like anointed shrines. It feels, like, awe inspiring. 

S: Awe is really valuable. 

N: The places are precious but the awe itself is precious. 

S: My mom taught preschool at a Catholic school but we went to public school, so we had to attend CCD, to learn all the Catholic stuff. Some Sundays after church there would be a social hour with coffee and donuts. I think it was like weak coffee to say the least. 

N: I’m sure it was. 

S: Last question, why Capacity? 

N: Actually, the name of the coffee company comes from this book called Capacity, by Theo Ellsworth. It’s a graphic novel, sort of a series of zines that are made into this book. I read it at some point during my first couple years in coffee, and I thought if you can write a book like this, you’re bound by no one, you can just do whatever you want. I think that sense of inspiration represents my relationship with coffee, and is why I named the brand Capacity.