Kava Is More Than a Feeling — It’s a Flavor

People often ask me, “Do you actually like the taste of Kava?”

I laugh every time. Not because it’s a silly question, but because I know how many people talk about Kava as a means to an end - a pathway to calm. And yes, Kava does those things brilliantly. But for me, and for many other Kavasseurs out there, Kava isn’t just about the effect. It’s about the flavor, the aroma, the ritual. The taste of Kava is something I crave. And I’m here to say it proudly and with conviction:

Kava can be, and should be, enjoyed for its taste.

Let’s be honest: Kava is not trying to be sweet tea or a sugary cocktail. It’s earthy. It’s bold. It carries the flavor of volcanic soil, of rain-washed roots, of peppery spice and subtle nutty undertones. Some varieties hit you with a chalky creaminess that reminds me of white chocolate and taro. Others come in hot with that clay-meets-pistachio bite that only real Vanuatu roots can deliver. I’ve had Kavas that smell like the forest after a storm, that taste like cashews crushed into loam, and that leave behind a menthol tingle that hangs on your tongue like a farewell kiss from the South Pacific.

Take a Vanuatu, for example—rich, volcanic, spicy, and layered with a peppery depth that dances with the lip-numbing kavalactones. Or a light Fijian Kava —smooth, cashew-toned, with a touch of almond and nutmeg. You could sip it blindfolded and still know it’s a premium root.

And then there’s stronger Vanuatu cultivars or Papua New Guinea varieties like Koniak. These are the kinds of brew that make you stop mid-sip and rethink everything you thought you knew about flavor. It’s creamy, yet piney, and just slightly sweet—like a chai latte that got lost in the jungle and came back better for it.

I know not everyone will love the taste right away. Kava is an acquired palate. But so is black coffee. So is peaty Scotch. So is the first time you bite into a raw oyster or smell fresh tobacco. There’s something powerful about engaging all your senses—smelling the earthy brew, feeling the texture, tasting that first sip and letting it settle into your body.

As Kavasseurs, we’re not just drinking to unwind—we’re drinking to connect. To place. To tradition. To the thousands of years that led to that root crossing the ocean and ending up in our shell.

So yes, I love the taste of Kava.

And if you slow down, pay attention, and let yourself experience it fully—you just might, too.

Bula!

— Le Kavasseur