MY HEART IS beating fast and I am shaking. There is a film of sweat on my palms as I type this, and I’m trying hard to get it all written down before the drone of voices in the packed coffee shop ruins my concentration. I blame The Slayer, and the wonderful, potent espresso that pours from it.True, I would also have to accuse the tamer of this beast, the two-month-old coffee shop RBC NYC in Tribeca.

The shop controls one of the world’s 20 Slayers, and has the only one of these Seattle-made, handcrafted, beastly machines on the East Coast. Of course, if we are pointing fingers, I could also call out the expertise of the barista who poured me that first deadly shot of buttery, slightly sweet Brazil Obata espresso while explaining how the variable pressure system works.

It starts with three levels, The first is off, but the second, well, that’s where the real magic starts happening, with a soft stream of water pouring into the coffeepacked container. This procedure saturates the grounds, letting them soak and, as RBC’s director of coffee Cora Lambert says, “It’s a gentle process that allows it to expand and gives it, what I think, is an unparalleled body and flavor.”

Next, the delicate brew gets hit with 11 bars of pressure, basically the same force normal, boring machines use. “We are controlling the beginning, middle and end of the shot,” the barista says as he demonstrated how the brown and silver machine works. “We are manipulating it all the way through.” I could taste the love, especially since this process extracts some of the bitter, sour notes that espresso tends to obtain with most methods.

Maybe the responsibility for my condition lies in my own trembling hands and coffee-tinged tongue, which in itself is the real culprit for loving the smooth brew so much. Though I am obviously not alone. In the few hours that I have sat in RBC, sipping a cup of black Sumatra drip after my espresso experiment, all sorts of people trickle in and out. From businessmen and women, students typing away at the small counter, a mom and baby on the plush chair to a slew of paper-coffee-cup clutching, rushing people. At one point a pair sat down at the huge community table and compared RBC to Starbucks, while my companion explained how Eastern European hookers soak coffee beans in Sambuca.

I am trying to pay attention but am distracted by the live action doggie swimming pool footage projected on one of the two flat screen TVs decking the exposed brick wall (the other one shows the news). Finally, the coffee makes it through my body, and I must leave to find a restroom, the lack of which remains the only flaw I experienced at this new venue. Well, that and my need to counteract this insane buzz with pint or three of beer.

>RBC NYC

71 Worth St. (betw. Broadway & Church Ave.), 212-226-1111.