GoKawiilOthers Tested
Photograph: Pete Cottell
Lifeboost Mindflow for $40: The flavor of this instant powder is snappy and astringent at first, then it mellows into a warm middle ground after a few sips and a short cooling period. By the middle of the cup I forgot I was drinking something other than coffee, and the mild acidity on the finish–likely a product of the CognatiQ Coffee Fruit Extract that’s lauded on the back of Mindflow’s mylar pouch–tastes similar to a nice cup of Ethiopian or Rwandan coffee if you close your eyes and pretend for just a moment. Regarding its potency, if mushroom supplements were attendees at a state college keg party, Lifeboost would be the unremarkable guy pacing himself in the back while everyone else is getting blitzed like the world is ending. It’s unassuming yet self-assured, patiently waiting for all other entrants to crap out so it can make its move. I copped a mild buzz just a few sips in, and I felt alert and wide-eyed for a good two hours after the silty final sips of the cup were consumed. Electrolytes are uncommon in this space, which means this is a rare entry in the mushroom supplement world that purports to be a good pick if hydration is a trivial concern.
Photograph: Pete Cottell
Four Sigmatic Organic Coffee for $20: Four Sigmatic’s Focus blend is labeled as a dark roast, but it’s missing the cigarette-butts-and-bowling-alley aftertaste that looms on the finish of similar blends. Despite my preference for lighter beans, this hit like a hug from an old friend after weeks of sipping murky silt. The caffeine buzz normalized after two days of using Think in lieu of more standard shroom-based coffee replacements, so I added a three-quarter-teaspoon hit of the powdered Focus blend to my daily cup to see what would happen. Within 10 minutes I felt an overwhelming urge to sort my finances spreadsheet in preparation for tax season, then I set up a new template in Loopy Pro to accommodate a friend who planned to join my basement jam session that evening. He bailed, but I was jacked on Genius Adaptogens so I played all the instruments myself into the wee hours of the night.
Ryze Superfoods Mushroom Coffee for $65: One could consider two different approaches to how purveyors of mushroom coffee dial in the flavor profile of their product: They can go all in with a bombastic brew filled with spices and overtones, or they can play it safe and concoct the base of a beverage that tastes more like memories of other drinks than a beverage with an identity of its own. The underwhelming flavor of Ryze falls in the latter camp. In fairness, there are plenty of folks who have no interest in savoring their morning beverage and instead need to put the liquid inside them as fast as possible so they can “adult” that day. Twenty-one-year-old Pete thought people who claimed to enjoy espresso were insane, yet here I am, two decades later wishing I could sip bitter bean water instead of this sour cup of forgettable swill that curdled the whole milk I tried to cut it with. A week with Ryze did little to boost my mood, focus, or energy. It mostly made me cranky and sad.
Cuppa for $30: Like the friendly foreigner who calls his daily cup of tea or coffee his “cuppa,” this newcomer is polite, congenial, and inoffensive. The first sip brought to mind a really good cup of coffee at a nameless diner, with a light body and very mellow acidic notes on the swallow. The small dose of ruddy powder pulled from the bag with the included plastic scoop dissolved thoroughly with a few stirs, and the pristine lack of sediment in the cup was exactly as advertised. The boost of energy is also unassuming and easy to relegate to the background, which could be a welcome respite from the blast of caffeine many coffee addicts think they need right when they wake up every morning. After a week with Cuppa I started to enjoy easing into my daily brain vibrations rather than white-knuckling it off the rip at 7 am on the dot every morning.
Not Recommended
Photograph: Pete Cottell
MUD/WTR Original Blend for $51: The packaging of MUD/WTR isn’t quite as unhinged as a bottle of Dr. Bronner's, but it’s definitely in the same realm. The spicy dust inside the can is a maximalist circus of weirdness as well, with herbaceous stalwarts like turmeric and masala chai holding it down alongside the usual shroom suspects. It took me a few days to realize that properly emulsifying this ruddy power per the suggested instructions—1 tablespoon with ¾ cup of water, battered thoroughly with the included handheld immersion blender—is an impossible task, so I started experimenting with supplemental ingredients in hopes that some blend of milk, fat, and sugar would minimize the gritty aftertaste that overwhelms the palate. I landed on 1 tablespoon of simple syrup and 4 ounces of whole milk frothed in my trusty Subminimal NanoFoamer Pro. The final result hits somewhere between a chai latte and the kind of hot cocoa you’d order at a coffee shop with boring ’90s music, mean baristas, and a dirty bin full of stale vegan + gluten-free snacks next to the register. I didn’t hate it, but the bottom quarter of the cup is an undrinkable gunky mess. And don’t get me started on the chunky brown lacing that clings to the edge of the cup. The physical and mental effects of MUD/WTR felt more like a facsimile of a boost than a visceral kick in the pants, but a placebo high is better than nothing, right? Combine that with the amount of adjunct ingredients required to make this drinkable and I ended up with a beverage I would only drink every now and then as a treat on a chilly day rather than a daily sipper I can rely on for increased focus, energy, virility, and the million other things this product promises within the wall of text that adorns its packaging.
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