ten-bar

£17 a cup. That’s the cost of brewing and drinking one of the rarest coffees on the planet. When a coffee exists in quantities measured in kilograms rather than tonnes, there’s very little room for error – especially when pulling a shot of Coffea Racemosa.

Racemosa is widely regarded as the world’s rarest coffee bean, and it’s easy to see why. Native to a narrow coastal belt stretching across southern Mozambique, eastern Zimbabwe, and northern KwaZulu-Natal in South Africa, the species exists in tiny numbers. Estimates suggest there are fewer than 11,000 cultivated trees producing as little as tens of grams of green coffee per year, depending on growing conditions. In total, global annual production is believed to sit somewhere between 50 and 100 kilograms.

To put that into perspective, global coffee production across all species totals millions of tonnes annually, overwhelmingly dominated by Arabica. Racemosa represents a vanishingly small fraction of that total.

Scarcity isn’t its only distinguishing feature. Racemosa has naturally low caffeine content – roughly half that of Arabica. Its flavour profile differs too. Rather than the acidity or sweetness typically associated with coffee, Racemosa leans earthy, often drawing comparisons to specialty teas rather than espresso bar staples.

We were lucky enough to encounter Racemosa last year while working with a local roaster Goat Herd Coffee, who generously supplied us with a small bag to sample. Even visually, the beans signal that this is no ordinary coffee. They’re noticeably smaller than Arabica or Robusta – closer in size to lentils – which means they require specialist roasting equipment. Standard or perforated drums risk damaging the beans entirely.

What really caught our attention, though, were the tasting notes: Weird. Cannabis. Dried tomato. Umami. Honest, if nothing else.

They turned out to be surprisingly accurate. Opening the bag released a powerful, distinctly unpleasant funk – pungent and savoury rather than inviting. Before handing it over, we were warned that dialling Racemosa for espresso was both unusually difficult and an expensive mistake waiting to happen. With such limited supply, filter brewing was strongly recommended.

The filter brew softened the intensity immediately. The aroma mellowed, making way for a lighter, more delicate cup that felt closer to speciality tea than coffee. Earthy and slightly unclean, it finished with gentle liquorice notes that lingered long after the cup was empty.

It would have been easy to stop there – but curiosity got the better of us. Against advice, we attempted to pull an espresso shot. Adjusting the grind did little to slow the extraction; shots raced through regardless. The result was unusual, to say the least. Slightly under-extracted yet lacking acidity, the espresso was bitter and almost dirty – but not in a way that suggested a technical failure.

Interestingly, serving a second, marginally improved shot as a cortado transformed the experience. Milk softened the bitterness entirely, revealing a smooth, subtle aniseed sweetness that lingered pleasantly on the tongue.

Getting to taste coffee like this is a privilege – experimenting with it even more so. Racemosa offered a reminder that coffee is far broader, stranger, and more nuanced than many of us assume. Not everyone will get the chance – or be willing to pay – to try the “rarest coffee on earth”. But there’s value in expanding your palate. Step outside your usual order, take time to really taste what’s in the cup, and you might just discover something extraordinary.