My first anaerobic coffee was on a café terrace in Paris — an Ethiopia from Sidama, sealed 96 hours without oxygen, roasted by Terres de Café. Fruitier and more syrupy than I knew coffee could be. It changed what I thought the drink was capable of, and from then on it was mostly all I drank.
Then I moved to New York, and it became a hunt. I walked into every coffee shop I could find that sold beans, looking for something close. What I found was rarely controlled — boozy, wild, different in every batch, and usually sold with more marketing than information.
It is less a job than a reflex. I like fine-tuning things — finding the variable that matters, then holding it steady — and I spent years doing exactly that professionally, in data and AI. I wanted to bring it to coffee. Coffee obsesses over origin and altitude but leaves fermentation — the variable that changes the cup most — to chance. So I went looking for the producers who don't. The wild lots I tasted along the way set the standard: controlled, not funky. Consistent, not lucky. Specific, not vague.
Anaerobic is the coffee I couldn't buy. Sealed environments, measured hours, named variables — a cup that tastes like the fruit it came from.
— Alex, founder
