Robusta & Respect

A metallic groan greeted me as I entered Sea-Tac’s baggage claims area. The sole carousel running that evening was quickly attracting a crowd but a lucky tailwind carried me to a front row spot and from there I could see luggage materializing from a dark portal hidden behind black rubber strips. The Spring 2025 collection of suitcases, cardboard boxes, and duffel bags glided single file up one side of the oval catwalk before rounding the bend to head down the other way.

My eyes hunted for two unfashionably taped cartons containing the prize of my trip: 100lbs of the best single origin robusta I’ve ever tasted. Months of email exchanges and laggy video conversations had brought me to Đà Nẵng and in front of Tín and Thảo, husband, wife, mom, dad, farmers, roasters, baristas, and cafe owners. A year prior, their cà phê đen, a simple black coffee, had completely reshaped my understanding of Vietnamese robusta. In a few days, I would receive another drop of wisdom from them, this time in the form of a text message.

“Thank you for respecting our product,” it said.

The unusual note of gratitude followed me as I went about my preparations for reopening. I mulled over what it meant to respect someone’s work. I fumed at the contempt that small business owners endure. I began searching for signs of dis/respect in every encounter: purchasing supplies, paying bills, getting parking tickets while unloading, calling customer service when the internet went down, looking for new internet providers, and on and on.

One afternoon, after a deep clean session at Phin that ran longer than expected, I beelined over to Ton Kiang as I tend to do when hunger takes over. Just a few blocks away, this Chinese BBQ take out shop is as close to a regular spot as I’ve come to have. I know this because the cleaver-wielding auntie recognizes me. We usually just exchange nods and smiles before I get my lunch combo. But this time, she added, “Oh, late lunch today ha? You want soup?” No extra charge. Just…free soup because I probably looked like I needed soup.

To be given soup in that moment was to be seen as a person worth more than a transaction. I found the respect I was looking for in the tender pork, crunchy pickled mustard greens, and lightly seasoned yet rich broth. It’s in the hours Tín and Thảo worked late into the night to fix their burnt up roaster so the coffee would be ready in time. It’s when guests see a note that I’m closed for a break and are happy for me. It’s every time we treat each other as humans in an economic system intent on strip-mining every last nugget of our humanity for profit. It’s how I want to do business.

—

To Bear, who always treated me with respect.