Any coffee named "Seattle Roast" should be expected to give the drinker a "Seattle" feeling, you know, like watching jets land at Boeing field or ferries unload passengers, Ethiopian cab drivers insult Gore-Tex-clad cyclists, shit like that.

Sorry to shatter anyone's illusions, but Fire "Seattle Roast" elicits no such Proustian associations. It's a watery concoction packed in a masculine hand grenade of a can, sort of inoffensive and bland, like many Seattleites themselves, come to think of it. One strains to catch tones of mahogany and chocolate but they remain just out of reach.

"Mahogany" and "chocolate"? Who am I kidding? If residents or visitors to Seattle want a real, native roast, I'd suggest hitting Cafe Vita on Capitol Hill, whose beans are also sold around town at places like Georgetown's All-City Coffee. The soy there tasted a bit weird

to me at first, but I warmed to it and I like their dog-friendly policy. I usually hit that place on the weekends.

And in terms of corporate coffee, I've lately given up on Starbucks pretty much for good and started patronizing the RC Cola-ish Tully's Coffee instead. As far as canned coffee goes, I still prefer the Boss line.

Thanks for the opportunity to review a can of coffee, bitches.

Love, Ryan.

Ryan Boudinot's "The Littlest Hitler and Other Stories" will be published in 2006 by Counterpoint. He lives in Seattle.

COMMENTS:
Discuss with other coffee lovers. (7)