A Six-Part Review of Kopi Luwak—The World's "Shittiest" Coffee

If you've ever seen the 2007 comedy-drama film The Bucket List featuring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, you may remember the scene in which Nicholson's fanatical character learns exactly what Kopi Luwak is. If you haven't seen the film or are unaware of what it is, buckle up.

Animals are quite in tune with nature, which explains why every time you try growing a tomato in your garden, the local rodents, bugs, and birds dive in at the crop's peak ripeness. The civet cat is no different.

The civet cat—a mammal with the face of a raccoon and the slenderness of a meerkat—is native to Southeast Asia and eats raw, perfectly ripe coffee cherries. Although this critter can digest the fruit, it cannot digest the bean. As such, the bean ferments in the intestines of the cat before eventually being defecated, sourced by humans, thoroughly cleaned, roasted, and packaged for sale.

As with most delicacies—from caviar and testicles to raw oysters and brains—there are two primary responses: intrigue and disgust. I tend to lean toward the former, so I purchased an 8.8-ounce bag of Kopi Luwak—often dubbed the most expensive coffee on Earth—from Amazon for $35 to find out for myself whether this coffee is worth the coin.

It's worth noting that others online have reviewed this beverage in its plain hot and plain cold fashions, but from my research, no one has explored other directions like a "pumpkin spice" or affogato version. For this reason, I cover both popular and unpopular approaches to this exotic liquid for a total of six variations: three hot, then three cold, each trio running from black-only basic to more involved to fully invented.

In this article, I risk my wallet, my taste buds, and my dignity to find out just how tasty the world's "shittiest" coffee is.

The Pre-drink Experience

Opening the bag was mostly typical—it smelled like coffee, familiar and comforting. But there was something vaguely different, almost subtle and fruitlike. Placebo?

The beans also looked lighter than the roast would've indicated. The bag mentioned a medium roast with a "4 out of 5" illustration, but from the looks of it, I would've guessed closer to a "2 out of 5." I'd soon find out whether "looks can be deceiving" or "what you see is what you get" would be the more accurate expression.

Two final notes before I bring you along on my caffeinated journey: whenever I ground the coffee, I set my grinder to "12 cups" and "fine," which allowed enough time to reach an almost espresso-level fineness. For the hot beverages, I used a pour-over method; for the cold ones, the methods varied enough to warrant their own descriptions in the sections below.

Straight Black

In the mug, the coffee smelled way less potent than normal coffee. It didn't have the strong, aromatic presence that coffee usually barks; this one purred. (Yes, I know—that cat pun deserves an eye roll.)

Like any pretentious coffee drinker, I experienced my first sip the proper way—I slurped it. What struck me most was that the so-called world's most expensive coffee was like... water—not in its boringness but in its lack of bitterness. Despite looking like a normal cup of coffee, this one tasted way lighter and left my mouth with a vague but pleasant maltiness. The mouthfeel was velvety, and the coffee didn't leave a strong aftertaste either; it was delicate but respectable.

At this point, I started thinking about how weird humans are. If an alien came to Earth and I had to explain what I was drinking, would it even translate? Would it make sense? I just drank hot water filtered through the ground, roasted (and thoroughly cleaned) remains of a jungle creature's dinner. I suppose it doesn't even make sense to most Earthlings, let alone hypothetical extraterrestrial beings. Nevertheless, it was the smoothest cup of black coffee I've ever drunk.

I returned to my remote-work job, and after an hour-long client meeting, my delicate beverage went cold. So what did I do with the most luxurious coffee that's ever touched my lips? That's right—I microwaved it. Then, like any self-respecting Simpsons police officer, I accompanied my reheated cup of joe with a powdered donut. The coffee was just as good as when I first brewed it, and the sweet treat complemented it well. Speaking of classic combos...