Leftist Lattes

You'll forgive my lack of timeliness I hope; Howard Dean references stopped being relevant several years ago. Nonetheless, this commercial was brought to my attention, and raises an interesting point: Are lattes liberal?

Obviously, the drink itself has no political ideals. Milk, too, is probably clean. Espresso is of European extraction, and evolved to more quickly caffeinate industrial revolution era factory workers. That same era, and those same workers, led to labor laws and social movements that one could see as the beginnings of the modern political left.

But I'm dodging the point. It's not that the latte is itself liberal, but that the stereotypical drinkers thereof are. Whether this notion was ever true, I don't know -- but I doubt it. Though espresso is an Italian import, the combination of milk and coffee is hardly novel, and certainly not confined to any one geographic region. In fact, the cafe latte as we've come to know it is almost certainly an American invention, devised to sate the dual preference for weak coffee and lots of milk.

But this too dodges the issue. It's not the history of the latte that matters, but the current connotation, the context in which this specific drink now resides. In this imagined world, latte drinkers are the left leaning sort, assumed because they frequent coffee houses, long places of esoteric idea exchange. But why is it that the latte is singled out here? Those who sit and discuss their latest Kantian musings frequently do so over plain coffee (though as often, dressed with cream and sugar), as that drink is less expensive, and more likely to have a generous refill policy. But since 60% of Americans drink coffee, you can't very well single them all out as pinko bastards.

Still, in the hope that we might have better informed PAC ads in the future, I'd like to offer some help in stereotyping. If you really, really want to peg someone as a tree hugging leftist, name them as a soy chai drinker. They are, of course, vegan, and are avoiding caffeine as per their latest detox diet.

Life Goes On

I suppose I looked the part of a barista then, clad in a gray sweater and jeans. The steely, wool top was thick and warm; its bulk highlighting my lithe frame -- the sort of build one seems to expect of those who tend coffee bars. I had stubble too, a haphazard collection of stringy black hairs dotting my face, climbing from hollow cheeks to sunken eyes. Thus I sat at the bar, hunched over my phone, looking very much like the sort of person I am -- which I suppose is entirely appropriate.

The man on the other side of the counter ground the espresso that was to form the base of my latte, and I watched. He moved with the practice and assurance of years, but not the malaise. There was no apathy in his flick of errant grounds, nor in the press that followed. He set the now-loaded portafilter down, avoiding that unforgivable sin of locking it in to the head too early in the process; the espresso would not be put to the torch.

He filled the pitcher with milk then, approximately a third of the way. Only then was the portafilter locked in to place, and the water set to extracting the shots. I was due two shots, despite having paid for one; perhaps the tip earned the extra espresso. I could not angle myself to see the milk as he steamed it, but his eyes never left what must have been a compelling vortex. The steady hiss -- only interrupted by those perfect little ticks and spits -- told me that the milk was textured right. And although there was no thermometer in the milk, I had little doubt that his hand, resting on the pitcher's side, would serve the purpose every bit as well.

I looked away, focused for a moment on the snow that had begun to fall more steadily, and in greater quantities. I observed the people walking outside, retreating in to their clothes and away from the cold.

And then there was the grinder again, whirring and clicking. The barista was adjusting the setting on the machine, making it infinitesimally more coarse.

"Too fine?" I asked, already knowing the answer. 

He looked up, eyes wide, evidence to a feeling of surprise that someone had noticed his activity, and what's more, correctly diagnosed it. "Yeah," he said, and was back to work. I appreciated his haste; the portafilter was wiped clean, the espresso in it tamped, and the whole apparatus in place, yielding its liquid extract in moments.

These shots pulled to his satisfaction, and he assembled the drink. It was presented to me in a saucer, on a platter, and with a spoon. The presentation spoke to a degree of care, but not so much as he had demonstrated. "Thanks," I said.

"Yeah," he responded. "How is it?"

"Good," I said.

"Good," he replied.

I crossed my legs and turned, facing the windows, watching what had become something of a flurry. The latte was good, of course, perfectly consistent in both flavor in texture, retaining both the sweetness of the crema and the steamed milk. It was rich and delicious, but satisfying for reasons beyond that. It probably would have been good with the first two shots the barista had pulled; but it was better with the second set. That he had taken the time -- less than a minute though it was -- to get the drink perfect, rather than simply right, made the whole experience a confirmation of why I go to cafes, and why I love them so.

The preceding was written about Signs of Life, a cafe and bookstore located in Lawrence, KS. The barista was named Chris. I hope neither mind the mention.

Some like it wet

I've written a bit -- and though quite a lot -- recently, about how a latte ought to be prepared. As you likely know, I've long espoused the virtues of microfoam, and stated unequivocally that a latte ought to be made almost entirely of this substance.

Maybe -- just maybe -- I was wrong. Perhaps a latte, as its name would imply, ought to be mostly milk. That is, perhaps it ought to be, shall we say, somewhat thin and watery. Let's just say, for the record, that I don't believe this to be the case. I think a latte should have some texture to it, that you should be able to tell it was steamed, not just microwaved.

Clearly, however, my opinion is not a universal one. There are numerous baristi out there, and many customers as well, for whom a latte more or less implies "no foam". Again, I am not such a person.

Thankfully, there is such a thing as the wet cappuccino. Rather than it's light-as-a-feather, texture of a cloud cousin, the dry cappuccino, the wet version is more than the dry foam scooped off the top of ultra stretched milk. Rather, it is milk, stretched more or less to cappuccino dimensions, then simply poured as one would a latte.

This drink is something of a godsend for folks like myself, who love the taste of espresso, and love foam, but want a little moisture to soften things up. The whole drink ought to be a treat, down to the last bits -- which, no doubt, need to be scooped out with a finger.

It's not right, but it's ok, I'll drink the latte anyway

A good barista ought not throw one of his milk steaming brothers and sisters under the bus. We are a fratersorority of sorts, a collection of coffee jocks, united by our common craft.

Thus this is something of a difficult criticism to make, considering that the barista did not make my latte incorrectly. In fact, the waiter even went out of his way to make sure that it was she who prepared it. Clearly, he trusted her abilities.

He was right to do so, most likely. It was not her abilities that let her down. As far as I could tell, everything preceding the pour was perfect.

And, technically speaking, even the pour itself was right. The barista held back the foam, then placed a cap on top. That is exactly what many baristi routinely do, what many websites espouse as correct, and even what certain training manuals will instruct.

But hell if I don't think it's vastly inferior to what I'll call the integrated method.

In my opinion, a barista should stretch the milk only slightly, such that the whole of it is velvety, creamy and soft. Then the barista should pour the contents in to the espresso in a controlled, steady stream, as close to the side as possible. A latte prepared thusly ensures that every sip -- not just the first -- is filled with that decadent mixture of milk, foam and espresso.

The foam cap method, on the other hand, leaves the drinker with thin, whispy milk, after the cap has been consumed. It also makes the barista look bad, as if they couldn't steam the milk right to begin with. The sad thing is, most baristi can steam milk well enough to craft a great latte. They just hold themselves back, by holding the foam back.

Peanut Butter Latte

You may, or may not, have noticed that I try and come up with clever titles for my posts. Why? Good question. I really don't have a good answer to it, however. I suppose I like to maintain some pretense of cleverness. A facade I'm in the process of tearing down right now, but I digress.

The fact is, there is not much I can think to say about this, other than the truth. I have wondered, for some time, how peanut butter would work in a latte.

It's thick, but not really more so than mocha or caramel sauce, both of which mix just fine in espresso and steamed milk.

It's not sweet like the usual syrups and sauces, however. At least, not very; most peanut butter is sweetened a tad.

Finally, I had the chance to try this concoction, which had previously only existed in my imagination. My new place of employment, Seattle's Best Coffee, has packs of peanut butter, lightly sweetened with honey, which are kept on hand for pretzels, bagels, and whatever other starches someone might fancy applying it to.

So my boss and I steamed up some whole milk. Or rather, she did. I should note that she did quite a nice job of it too. The texture was rich and thick, stretched to the point of a creamy consistency. The espresso was, well, what it is when it's pulled from an automatic machine. It's consistent, and quality. Those ingredients, by themselves, make a quality drink. I know, because I've had the combination.

But this time, there was peanut butter. The result, sadly, was neither blissful nor catastrophic. It added nothing to the texture, surprisingly. As far as flavor goes, little was gained. A slight nuttiness -- peanuttiness, you might even say.

Double the peanut butter, and perhaps a separate packet of honey, and the result may have been more noteworthy. Perhaps, another day.

Milk: It does espresso good

Well, that was something of a longer hiatus than I had planned. In truth, I hadn't really planned any time off at all. But various health problems (stupid pancreas) and other writing efforts (stupid fiction, being damn hard to cobble together) conspired to leave this blog in something of a vegetative state.

Thus, a brief update. My pancreas is fine. Because of my increased ability to digest things properly, milk no longer seems to be a bother. This is better news than I can put in to words. Because, once again, I can enjoy the velvety perfection that is embodied in milk foam. Perfection, that is, so long is it's topping a cappuccino.

I've talked about steaming milk before. And I'm sure that I'll talk about it again, as it's that important. But, just for a moment, let me discuss the types of milk available for your espresso beverages, and which are best.

There is, of course, skim, which some might argue is not really milk at all, but rather a watery emulsion of lactose, whey and casein. Some people might say that, but I would not. Skim milk is still milk, in the same way that a steak with the fat trimmed off is still a steak. Unfortunatley, that's about all the nice things I have to say about skim milk. Its lack of fat means two things: First, that even when steamed, it lacks the body of fattier dairy; And second, that it lacks the flavor.

The next step up on the fat-o-meter is 2%, which many coffee bars don't offer. The theory, I suppose, is that skim is for the calorie watchers, whole is for everyone else. Half & half, then, is for the militant. Despite that fact, king of coffee, Starbucks, uses 2% as its standard for espresso beverages. As you would expect, 2% offers more flavor and texture than skim, but less than whole. The question, then, is how much difference is there?

Not an insignificant amount. A simple slurp and swirl is enough for the moderately learned palate to differentiate between the three options.

Whole, predictably enough, tends to be the agreed upon best choice in the industry. The old culinary truism that fat equals flavor holds true in this regard. The fat really does enhance the espresso, as well as provide a delicious aroma. When you're drinking from a saucer or lidless cup (which is to be recommended) this fact is not to be underestimated. But it really is the texture that makes the biggest difference. Milk is steamed in order to stretch and aerate it, to create a pillowy mass of infinitesimal microfoam. Less fatty dairy simply does not have the structure to hold as luscious a structure as whole milk does.

But there is the matter of diminishing returns. While fat does equal better flavor and texture, too much fat is still possible. I would argue that a breve beverage (made with half&half) doesn't quite cross that line, but it certainly does toe it. The body is heavy and rich, almost approaching cheese territory. The lack of lactose also means, not surprisingly, that the beverage is less sweet. Thus, for a breve beverage to be best, it requires a stronger (or simply more) espresso to cut through the fat and add a touch of sweet.

And heavy cream? I don't know, and I don't want to.

Lazy latte

The idea of a vacation, I think, is to recharge one's self. Thus in theory, I should have been motivated to do any number of things this morning. Like scramble my own eggs. Like make my own coffee. Like put on pants.

But I just wasn't motivated. No, some of the residual relaxation hadn't yet dissipated. So I trudged upstairs -- no pants, no eggs, no fresh coffee.

Instead, I broke my fast on a mammoth bowl of Arrowhead Mills puffed rice, wetted ever so slightly with Westsoy unsweetened soy milk. But as I sat and munched, it occurred to me that this was a rather low protein meal. There were eggs, of course; but scrambling or otherwise cooking them sounded suspiciously like work. 

The soy milk, then. But drinking it, plain and cold, sounded too boring. Then it hit me: I could make a lazy latte. 

What is a lazy latte, you ask? Microwaved milk and instant coffee. Yes, it really is lazy. 

But didn't I just write a treatise on latte quality, in which I state emphatically that properly steamed milk is essential to crafting a great drink? Well, yes. That did happen. But a lazy latte is not designed to supplant the genuine article. Rather, it is intended only to satisfy a craving when one has neither the motivation nor the finances to do so any other way.

My lazy latte consisted of 8 oz microwaved unsweetened Westsoy and one Columbian VIA packet. It was not great, certainly; but it was exactly what I wanted at the time. 

You can make your own lazy latte just as easily, provided you have three things: Instant coffee, milk or a milk substitute, a microwave (or stove top). The stove top method allows for whisking, which actually does aerate the milk a bit, thus more closely approximating the texture of steamed milk. But that's almost too much effort for a lazy latte. You can simply nuke your liquid of choice for ~2 minutes, add the instant coffee, and stir.  

Whole latte love

Despite its ubiquitous presence at espresso bars, the latte is more American than it is Italian. The story goes that it was invented in California, to suit the American taste buds. Basically, your typical Italian cappuccino was too foamy -- and thus tasted too much like coffee -- even in pre 1950's America. 

Which shouldn't come as a surprise, really. Americans have always drank more milk than anyone (as an aside, I should say that I'm totally not looking that up, and just assuming). Lactose intolerance is also much more common in Italy than the United States, thus Italians could only handle so much dairy with their espresso. Americans, on the other hand, could drown their coffee in it. 

And they proceeded to do just that, and still do. Many now mask the taste of espresso behind even more veils, using flavored syrups and chocolate to craft vanilla lattes, mochas, and other disgraceful -- ahem, I mean decadent, *wink* -- drinks. 

But even the most snobbish among the coffee elite must admit that, properly prepared, a latte is a creamy and delicious treat. Steamed milk provides a fluffy, creamy, marshmallow like texture, and accentuates the naturally sweet espresso with its own sugar -- lactose.

For those of us -- *raises hand* -- who would like to avoid digestive issues and throat swelling, there are always alternatives. The best I've found, thus far, is UNSWEETENED soy milk. The texture approximates dairy well enough,  and the nutty flavor compliments the espresso quite nicely. 

Regardless of the "milk" used, a quality latte must consist of two things: Good espresso and properly steamed milk.

Good espresso is essential, of course, because no amount of milk can hide a bitter shot. For lattes, it also helps to use a slightly sweeter espresso, thus allowing it to cut through the milk.

But a latte, as the name would imply, is mostly about the milk. Too often, a barista steams the milk in such a way that the latte is 95% plain ol' hot milk, and 5% arid foam. This is too bad, because a good barista (like yours truly) can steam milk to a velvety sheen. The texture should be consistent, soft, and creamy. There should be no large, visible bubbles. Instead, the milk should glisten like shined metal. 

There are other factors to consider too, such as the aforementioned syrups (evil) and what fat percentage works best (whichever you like, but half & half is the correct answer), but those would make this post far too long.