Ayana Coffee

The problem

Ayana sells one product: a single-origin Sri Lankan Arabica in a medium dark roast, packed and distributed by Julee Cafe in Ahungalla. A single-product brand cannot lean on the thing most coffee sites lean on, which is range. There is no catalogue to browse, no comparison to make and nothing to configure, so the site has to do the job a shelf and a shopkeeper would otherwise do: say where the beans come from, show that the roast is a decision rather than a default, and give someone enough confidence to ask for it by name. It also does not take payment. Orders arrive through stockists, wholesale accounts and people getting in touch directly, so the site is measured on whether it produces an enquiry, not a checkout.

The approach

The pack is the hero, literally. It sits in the centre of the first screen with the brand name set behind it, because the product is the only thing being sold and putting a generic coffee photograph in front of it would waste the one image that matters.

After that the site makes one argument four ways, under its own heading of “One pack, four reasons”: the roast profile, the highland origin, the brew spec, and a pledge that one percent of every pack goes to the sea turtle hatchery down the coast at Ahungalla. Each one is a short, checkable claim rather than a paragraph of atmosphere.

The part I would defend hardest is the espresso spec, printed straight off the pack: dose, tamp weight, pressure, temperature and a 25 to 30 second window. It is the only section that assumes the reader already knows what they are doing, and that is the point. A brand claiming craft has to be willing to be checked, and publishing the numbers invites exactly that.

A journal carries three longer pieces from the bench, a monthly letter collects the people who are not ready to buy yet, and every route that could turn into an order (stockists, wholesale, careers, a direct message) lands on the same contact form, so there is one inbox to answer rather than four.