COWBOY CUT

$30.00 USD

Sale Sold out

Grind Whole Bean Standard Coarse

Size 1 LB 12oz

Quantity

The Frontier Didn't Wait for Soft Starts

Before the shop had a sign, before the chair had a name, before anyone was keeping track — there was just the work, the fire, and whatever was in the pot. That cup didn't ask questions. It just got you moving.

There's a reason the West and the barber chair have always ridden together. Back then the barber was the surgeon — he pulled the teeth, he set the bone, he did the bloodletting. The red on the pole is the blood, the white is the bandage; that's not decoration, that's the job. Late 1800s into the early 1900s, the barbershop was where a town's men got squared away, and the coffee that fueled it didn't come with a flavor wheel. This blend is born out of that epoch. If coffee could carry a gun on its hip, this would be the one.

A medium-dark blend drawn from specialty-grade regions across the finest coffee-producing corners of the world — full-bodied, with rich cocoa, caramel, and a quiet vanilla finish that grounds the whole thing. Bold enough for the long day, smooth enough to actually taste. It's one of our best sellers and one of the most versatile cups on the menu: it holds up to a long, slow extraction hot or cold, so it's offered in a coarse grind that makes an approachable, well-rounded cold brew damn near anybody can enjoy — and it'll still hold its own in a drip pot that's seen better days.

A note on the name — and a dedication.

This shop was built on a handshake. I asked a client of mine, David Patrick, to build it for me. He was a builder, but he'd never done a commercial buildout in his life. We shook hands on it — no contract, just two men giving their word, which is a thing you don't hear about much anymore. Me and my kids did a lot of it ourselves. My ten-year-old son and I put in the tin ceiling. My thirteen-year-old son and I laid the floor with a friend from church. My daughters — Sam among them, still in high school then — stained the wainscoting and the baseboards. All of us ripped up the old carpet and broke the tile and mastic off the slab so we could lay the wood panel floor. Back-breaking work, and worth every minute.

When the shop was finished but not yet open, David and I sat down in the antique courthouse chairs in the waiting area, poured two fingers of Bulleit, and smoked two Cuban cigars. He handed me a mount he'd made — a euro deer skull and an antler tyne set on an old piece of barn wood — and cradled in that lower antler, an antique black powder revolver. It hangs right by my station to this day. You can see it in just about every YouTube video I've ever shot.

David was about twenty years older than me, one of my first regulars when I moved to Texas. I gave him free cuts and beard trims for the rest of his life. He lost his fight with cancer about a year after we opened. He told me getting a shop off the ground would be like a plane taking off — slow at first, then building faster and faster until you're at full blast and forty thousand feet. He was right about that too.

So this one's his. For David Patrick — the handshake, the chairs, the bourbon, and the revolver by my station.