Origin Story
A Coffee That Smells Like Sunday Morning — Any Hour of the Day
Hazelnut Decaf is the aroma that pulls people out of bed and the cup that lets them sleep when they get back in — roasted medium on a decaffeinated Latin American base that knows exactly what it's here to do
| Roast Level | Medium |
|---|---|
| Decaf | Yes — Swiss Water Process |
Roast Notes
Medium roast on a decaffeinated base — enough heat to draw out the coffee's natural nuttiness and round the edges, not so much that it overpowers the hazelnut character. The decaf process preserves the warmth and body so the hazelnut settles in like it's been there all along
I have a theory about hazelnut coffee — the decaf version especially. The theory is that it’s not really about the caffeine at all. It never was. It’s about the smell. You grind the beans and suddenly the kitchen is a bakery. Toasted nuts. Warm butter. Something sweet happening in the oven that you can’t quite identify but absolutely trust. You haven’t brewed a drop yet and already the day feels more generous than it did two minutes ago. Add decaf to that equation and you get something rare: a coffee that gives you the entire experience — the aroma, the warmth, the ritual — and still lets you sleep like the world is waiting patiently for morning.
We build this coffee on a base of decaffeinated Central and South American Arabica — the kind of clean, balanced, naturally nutty coffees that have made Colombia, Guatemala, and Costa Rica the backbone of specialty roasting for decades. These are not background players. They’re the structure. The body. The reason the cup feels substantial instead of just scented. The decaffeination process leaves the beans with their sweetness and body intact — no hollow center, no watery thinness, none of the compromises that gave decaf its reputation a generation ago. We roast to medium — far enough to draw out the base coffee’s caramel and toasted-nut character, short of anything that would darken the hazelnut into bitterness. It’s a narrow window. We’ve been aiming for it since 1979.
The hazelnut character in this cup is roasted and genuine — not raw, not candied, not the syrupy sweet of a coffee-shop pump bottle. Think of hazelnuts spread on a sheet pan and toasted until the skins crack and the kitchen fills with that deep, woodsy, slightly sweet aroma that makes you check the oven even when you know nothing’s in it. That’s what surfaces the moment hot water hits the grounds. The first sip is smooth — medium body, low acidity, no sharp edges. The hazelnut is forward but not aggressive. It doesn’t demand attention. It just assumes it. And because it’s decaf, it assumes it at any hour you choose.
“You grind the beans and suddenly the kitchen is a bakery. You haven’t brewed a drop yet and already the day feels more generous — and tonight, you’ll sleep.”
As the cup cools, secondary notes start threading through. Caramel — not the hard-crack candy kind, but the soft, pourable caramel you’d drizzle over something. Brown butter, with that faint nutty depth that browned milk solids bring. A whisper of cream at the edges, rounding everything out. The finish is clean and sweet, leaving a nutty warmth that lingers without overstaying. This is not a coffee that asks anything of you — least of all a calculation of how many hours remain before bedtime.
The occasion for Hazelnut Decaf is broader than the original. It’s morning coffee, first and foremost — the pot you start while the house is still quiet, before anyone else is awake. But it’s also evening coffee, the 8 p.m. cup you pour when you want something warm and familiar but don’t want to lie in bed mentally reorganizing your bookshelf at midnight. It’s the coffee for holiday gatherings that run late, for dinner parties where the conversation outlasts the dessert, for cold Sunday afternoons that blur into cold Sunday evenings. It’s cozy coffee. Sweater coffee. Coffee you drink while looking out a window at weather you’re glad you’re not in — at any time of day.
What it pairs with: shortbread. Almond biscotti. A plain croissant, warm from the oven, nothing on it — let the coffee do the flavor work. Oatmeal with brown sugar. Toast with butter and a light scrape of something sweet. This is not a coffee that competes with breakfast. It is breakfast — and it can be dessert too. If you’re serving something sweet after dinner, it stands up beautifully to chocolate — chocolate cake, chocolate chip cookies, anything with cocoa that wants a nutty counterpoint. And if you’re pouring it black at 9 p.m. alongside nothing at all, it’s perfectly willing to be the whole experience.
Brew it however you normally brew. Pour-over gives you the clearest read on the hazelnut — clean, defined, each note having its moment. Auto-drip turns it into the house coffee you’ll reach for three days in a row without thinking about it — morning, noon, and night. French press leans into the body and makes the whole thing feel richer, rounder, more like dessert. Use a 1:16 ratio, water around 200°F. If you’re grinding whole bean, go a touch coarser than you would for a single-origin pour-over — it keeps the hazelnut forward and the finish sweet. The only variable that’s different from the caffeinated version is the hour you choose to brew it — and that’s entirely up to you.
We’ve been roasting coffee in Lakewood, Colorado under our neighborhood brand, Village Roaster, since 1979. We didn’t invent flavored coffee — but we’ve spent more than four decades learning when to add, when to hold back, and when to let the coffee speak for itself. Hazelnut Decaf is the result of that restraint, plus one more thing: the understanding that sometimes the best cup of the day is the one that doesn’t keep you up at night.