So I have confession, and I hope you'll indulge me: I like some things that you do not. And even the things we both like, I may like differently, or slightly different variations thereof. I like things that are wrong to like, things that would earn me derisive looks and perhaps sneers from the elite of whatever particular subculture we're talking about.
An example:
I like sub-sub-sub-genres of metal that you would expect a skinny kid with longish bangs to like, bands that you might even call emo, but absolutely are not, I swear, mostly because there is screaming and melodic guitar riffs stolen from Swedish death metal bands and breakdowns borrowed from the 90's hardcore scene. A real fan of metal would, of course, call me all sorts of awful things from behind their Gothenburg beard, some of which would probably even be true. The hardcore crowd wouldn't have mean things to say, because they would be too busy kicking my ass.
So yes, I like some shitty things, if we're being honest. You do too, I imagine, and it's ok to say that, because we're being honest here, remember?
Of course, for me, coffee is not one of those things. I like exceptional coffee, prepared exceptionally well. I like coffee that people who like coffee are supposed to like. Judging by the fact that you're reading this, you probably do too. Either that, or you're related to me, in which case thanks for reading.
Anyway, high five! We like good coffee. What's more, we like the right kind of coffee. We win! Let's all get together and make fun of people who put sugar in their coffee and like mochas.
Or we could, you know, not. People like what they like, even if what they like sucks, according to the tastemakers. Just remember that you like shitty things too, probably, so don't be a dick about it.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
November 4, 2012
April 26, 2012
Lawrencians
There's been something lacking here recently: Words about coffee.
Clearly, this is an odd state of affairs, and one that cannot abide. The United States Barista Championship was this weekend, contested while I was marathoning. I checked my twitter afterwards, and followed along with Sprudge's unique commentary. I could have written about that, but didn't, opting instead to hash out a rather long tale of foot bleeding and hip mobility, hill climbing and rock hopping. Simply, I've never competed, and thus don't have much in the way of commentary on the subject.
What I decided to do instead was ambitious, a Joycian odyssey (see what I did there?) in to Lawrence's own coffee bar scene. It's big, for a smaller town, and quality too. It's a lot of good things, but it's proven hard to write about. Or rather, it's proven hard to condense. There are different shops with different cultures, dingy basements to Starbucksy Starbucks. There is variety, but mostly, there is a lot to cover.
And so we will start, in the great tradition of fantasy novels, with a map.
This is downtown Lawrence on Google Maps, after typing in "coffee".
Clearly, this is an odd state of affairs, and one that cannot abide. The United States Barista Championship was this weekend, contested while I was marathoning. I checked my twitter afterwards, and followed along with Sprudge's unique commentary. I could have written about that, but didn't, opting instead to hash out a rather long tale of foot bleeding and hip mobility, hill climbing and rock hopping. Simply, I've never competed, and thus don't have much in the way of commentary on the subject.
What I decided to do instead was ambitious, a Joycian odyssey (see what I did there?) in to Lawrence's own coffee bar scene. It's big, for a smaller town, and quality too. It's a lot of good things, but it's proven hard to write about. Or rather, it's proven hard to condense. There are different shops with different cultures, dingy basements to Starbucksy Starbucks. There is variety, but mostly, there is a lot to cover.
And so we will start, in the great tradition of fantasy novels, with a map.
December 20, 2011
Going Out For Coffee
I imagine my response was not typical.
The owner of the coffee bar/s at which I work informed me that I'd be getting a week of paid time off, to be taken over the holiday, and wasn't that great? I stopped short of asking if I had to take it, and if perhaps I could just scrub floorboards instead.
"Well, um, if you do need hours, call me. I'm not going anywhere. At all. So I can work. If you want. Please. No really. Don't hesitate." I couldn't have sounded more like a desperate would be boyfriend, grasping at the unraveling strands of an unraveling relationship.
He assured me that they would be all right, and that I might relax. Perhaps I could go somewhere, or maybe just find ways to entertain myself around Lawrence. I said that I would think of something, knowing well enough that I probably wouldn't.
So, yesterday. Day one. I awoke whenever my body felt like it, and went about preparing oatmeal and coffee. The former was fine, the latter, strangely, was off. It tasted just fine - good even. I brewed using my usual pour over technique, and used some very good beans (that I need to review, probably). But as I sat, sipping in my black jeans, I realized that I didn't need to wear the jeans at all. And that informed me of the problem.
So I kept the jeans on, found a suitable shirt to toss on as well, and headed out the door. I drove downtown, and walked through the "wintry mix" to a coffee shop. My shoes had gotten soggy, my hair matted, and the rest of me, cold. I could have stayed home, saved my feet and my money. But as I looked around, seeing the people, hearing the sounds of grinding and hissing and popping, mostly, just caking myself in the atmosphere, I knew why I didn't.
I ordered a double espresso, sat at the bar, and sipped. I looked out the windows at the people walking by, hunched and half jogging, trying to dodge the precipitation. I saw others reading books, entranced by laptops, and chatting with someone else. There was flannel and jeans, thick rimmed glasses and jazz that sounded like it was filtered through a sock. And the coffee tasted right.
The owner of the coffee bar/s at which I work informed me that I'd be getting a week of paid time off, to be taken over the holiday, and wasn't that great? I stopped short of asking if I had to take it, and if perhaps I could just scrub floorboards instead.
"Well, um, if you do need hours, call me. I'm not going anywhere. At all. So I can work. If you want. Please. No really. Don't hesitate." I couldn't have sounded more like a desperate would be boyfriend, grasping at the unraveling strands of an unraveling relationship.
He assured me that they would be all right, and that I might relax. Perhaps I could go somewhere, or maybe just find ways to entertain myself around Lawrence. I said that I would think of something, knowing well enough that I probably wouldn't.
So, yesterday. Day one. I awoke whenever my body felt like it, and went about preparing oatmeal and coffee. The former was fine, the latter, strangely, was off. It tasted just fine - good even. I brewed using my usual pour over technique, and used some very good beans (that I need to review, probably). But as I sat, sipping in my black jeans, I realized that I didn't need to wear the jeans at all. And that informed me of the problem.
So I kept the jeans on, found a suitable shirt to toss on as well, and headed out the door. I drove downtown, and walked through the "wintry mix" to a coffee shop. My shoes had gotten soggy, my hair matted, and the rest of me, cold. I could have stayed home, saved my feet and my money. But as I looked around, seeing the people, hearing the sounds of grinding and hissing and popping, mostly, just caking myself in the atmosphere, I knew why I didn't.
I ordered a double espresso, sat at the bar, and sipped. I looked out the windows at the people walking by, hunched and half jogging, trying to dodge the precipitation. I saw others reading books, entranced by laptops, and chatting with someone else. There was flannel and jeans, thick rimmed glasses and jazz that sounded like it was filtered through a sock. And the coffee tasted right.
October 21, 2011
The Kindness of Strangers
Blanche DuBuis: Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.
It's a line, both tragic and iconic, from A Streetcar Named Desire. Apart from being mandatory high school reading, Streetcar helped vault the career of Marlon Brando, and to broach topics previously untouchable in American theater. Blanche, an archetypal southern bell languidly clinging to her physical prime, is being taken to a mental hospital when she utters that signature line. It references her promiscuity and physical dependency, as well as her inability to form meaningful relationships grounded in real emotion. (The genesis of this downward spiral was discovering her then fiance's homosexuality. Again, not something discussed much in those years.)
Though there is specific context to that line, and an aura of shocked disillusionment, so too is there a more broad context. There is the fact that Blanche's name might as easily be replaced by any of ours, and the line would retain its veracity and impact. We all depend on the kindness of strangers, and conversely, are often the stranger on whom another is depending.
These are small actions, most of the time, unnoticed. But those instances in which they are apparent, they ought to be noted. Were it not for a stranger's Tylenol, my haggard finish of the Heartland 50 miler would have been more painful - if not impossible. And were it not for those who took minutes off of their time to stop and walk with me, to boost my spirits and encourage me on, dropping might have seemed an option. As it was, I couldn't fall short of the expectations they had set. They said I could finish, and so I would do so.
My job gives me a beautiful opportunity to be the stranger in question, providing extra change here or a sample scone there. Those are the obvious deeds, the tangible ones. There are things besides that, the jokes that hit or the drinks that satisfy a need beyond caffeine.
But more often, I marvel at the kindness of customers, so often cited for their transgressions. I'm as guilty as anyone, quipping and complaining about the minutia of a mispronounced order or the mention of Starbucks. But there are so many more moments - too many to do justice to - that strike the opposite note. There is the customer who will wipe up a mess they made - or even one they didn't. There is the customer who fills the half & half carafe himself, or the customer who asks you how much longer you're open at the sight of a broom. I depend on these things, and on the everyday kindness, the smiles and the thank yous.
So does everyone. We are social creatures, but more than that. A social creature has meaningful interaction with a select few, but we expand far beyond our circle. Some say this cheapens the relationships we form, as there are so many, or hardens us to others. No doubt, these things can and do happen. But were it not for the kindness of strangers - on which we all depend - it would be so much more the norm.
It's a line, both tragic and iconic, from A Streetcar Named Desire. Apart from being mandatory high school reading, Streetcar helped vault the career of Marlon Brando, and to broach topics previously untouchable in American theater. Blanche, an archetypal southern bell languidly clinging to her physical prime, is being taken to a mental hospital when she utters that signature line. It references her promiscuity and physical dependency, as well as her inability to form meaningful relationships grounded in real emotion. (The genesis of this downward spiral was discovering her then fiance's homosexuality. Again, not something discussed much in those years.)
Though there is specific context to that line, and an aura of shocked disillusionment, so too is there a more broad context. There is the fact that Blanche's name might as easily be replaced by any of ours, and the line would retain its veracity and impact. We all depend on the kindness of strangers, and conversely, are often the stranger on whom another is depending.
These are small actions, most of the time, unnoticed. But those instances in which they are apparent, they ought to be noted. Were it not for a stranger's Tylenol, my haggard finish of the Heartland 50 miler would have been more painful - if not impossible. And were it not for those who took minutes off of their time to stop and walk with me, to boost my spirits and encourage me on, dropping might have seemed an option. As it was, I couldn't fall short of the expectations they had set. They said I could finish, and so I would do so.
My job gives me a beautiful opportunity to be the stranger in question, providing extra change here or a sample scone there. Those are the obvious deeds, the tangible ones. There are things besides that, the jokes that hit or the drinks that satisfy a need beyond caffeine.
But more often, I marvel at the kindness of customers, so often cited for their transgressions. I'm as guilty as anyone, quipping and complaining about the minutia of a mispronounced order or the mention of Starbucks. But there are so many more moments - too many to do justice to - that strike the opposite note. There is the customer who will wipe up a mess they made - or even one they didn't. There is the customer who fills the half & half carafe himself, or the customer who asks you how much longer you're open at the sight of a broom. I depend on these things, and on the everyday kindness, the smiles and the thank yous.
So does everyone. We are social creatures, but more than that. A social creature has meaningful interaction with a select few, but we expand far beyond our circle. Some say this cheapens the relationships we form, as there are so many, or hardens us to others. No doubt, these things can and do happen. But were it not for the kindness of strangers - on which we all depend - it would be so much more the norm.
October 4, 2011
Coffee and Community
I've written a lot about various bits of cafe culture, and the community that seems to form between those who frequent a particular bar. Of course, my perspective is that of the one person a coffee shop patron (usually) has to talk to. After all, without the barista, there is no drink. And that's a problem.
So my perspective is not that of the customer; and it's certainly not that of an academic. This is not to say, however, that cafe culture has gone entirely without study in the past. More notably to me, however, is the current work being done, right under my noes, by a former teacher of mine. There is nothing published yet (when/if it is, I'll certainly link it here), but the topics of study are fascinating to me.
Coffee shops, when first introduced to Europe, became breeding grounds for intellectual discussion. Speculation and inference says that switching from a depressant (alcohol) to a stimulant (coffee) helped to get neurons firing, and perhaps even helped give rise to the enlightenment. In short, the Arab world gave the West more than its retained classical library. This tradition of coffee shop as a "penny university" continued, some argue, until very recently.
The last decade has seen cafes transform slightly. While they are still places of congregation, they no longer foster the same sense of community. At least, that's the emphasis of my former teachers' study. He notes that people hide behind laptops and earbuds, shirking human interaction in favor of performing private functions. They are, paradoxically, collectively alone. At best, this can be called ambient socialization, but probably nothing more.
Whether this is inherently good or bad is beyond the scope of the paper, and indeed, not really an academic question. Regardless, the fact that the study is being done at all is exciting to me. Coffee shops (and the beverage in general) are such an integral part of the American experience, that it only seems logical. He's apparently considering several other cafe-centric paper ideas, including one examining the ways in which customers and baristas use each other to fill social needs. For obvious reasons, I'm particularly interested in that, and would like to be interviewed.
For the time being, however, this is all still percolating.
So my perspective is not that of the customer; and it's certainly not that of an academic. This is not to say, however, that cafe culture has gone entirely without study in the past. More notably to me, however, is the current work being done, right under my noes, by a former teacher of mine. There is nothing published yet (when/if it is, I'll certainly link it here), but the topics of study are fascinating to me.
Coffee shops, when first introduced to Europe, became breeding grounds for intellectual discussion. Speculation and inference says that switching from a depressant (alcohol) to a stimulant (coffee) helped to get neurons firing, and perhaps even helped give rise to the enlightenment. In short, the Arab world gave the West more than its retained classical library. This tradition of coffee shop as a "penny university" continued, some argue, until very recently.
The last decade has seen cafes transform slightly. While they are still places of congregation, they no longer foster the same sense of community. At least, that's the emphasis of my former teachers' study. He notes that people hide behind laptops and earbuds, shirking human interaction in favor of performing private functions. They are, paradoxically, collectively alone. At best, this can be called ambient socialization, but probably nothing more.
Whether this is inherently good or bad is beyond the scope of the paper, and indeed, not really an academic question. Regardless, the fact that the study is being done at all is exciting to me. Coffee shops (and the beverage in general) are such an integral part of the American experience, that it only seems logical. He's apparently considering several other cafe-centric paper ideas, including one examining the ways in which customers and baristas use each other to fill social needs. For obvious reasons, I'm particularly interested in that, and would like to be interviewed.
For the time being, however, this is all still percolating.
June 25, 2011
Coffee is Good
I actually do drink coffee. This probably should go without saying, but for a coffee blog, I write precious little about the taste of the stuff, and the overall experience of consuming it. Maybe it's because I take that sort of thing for granted; maybe it's because I don't consider one man's individual tastes worth sharing.
But I do drink coffee. And what's more, I like drinking it. More often than not, I'm actually excited by the prospect. It's like when you're a kid, and you realize that ice cream is about to happen. You salivate, you anticipate, knowing that however good you think it's going to be, it'll actually be better. (Truthfully, ice cream still makes me feel that way.)
Coffee can be like that. Should be, really. It shouldn't be toxic brown sludge, taken down to stimulate an otherwise lethargic mind and body. It shouldn't be something you drink out of necessity. It should not be a pill popped, a prescription tolerated.
Coffee should be good. It should taste good, smell good, feel good. It should be everything your flannel wearing friend who just got back from Colorado swears this craft beer you just have to try is.
November 22, 2010
Cafe Culture
I was interviewed by a professor of mine about coffee culture, or cafe culture, or something along those lines. The interview was relatively brief - probably no more than 10 minutes - because I was working at the time. Which is all the better, probably, as that's a topic so broad, so dense, that I could spend all night attempting to untangle it, and make no more progress than Sisyphus.
That said, I think I have some idea what he was getting at. His thesis work is on cafe community, as near as I can tell - to what extent such a thing exists, and what such a thing can be said to be. My role is this was twofold: I am a barista, first and foremost. By this I mean, as I've said before, not just that I make coffee, but that I've crafted much of the persona that is "me" around this fact. From that perspective, I can speak. But I am also, of course, a consumer of this culture.
The questions tended towards a inquiry in to why people go to cafes. It is a question worth asking, because it is one which seems to have an answer so obvious that no one knows it. That is, people go to cafes, and have for long enough, that why they go no longer seems worth asking.
But he is asking it; and last night, he asked me. I don't have a transcript. If I did, I would certainly post it here, because I felt, at the time, like was answering the questions with a degree of lucidity. But I can regurgetate my general thoughts, to some extent.
Coffee as a community endeavor goes back as far as coffee goes back. Though coffee's origins are as murky as the brew itself, there seems to be something like a consensus that it was consumed as a part of religious rituals in ancient Ethiopia. To minds not numb to artificial stimulation, a hearty brew such as that most surely was, could easily lend a sensation beyond the typical wired jolt we know today.
Coffee was consumed, throughout history, as a communal event. It was as food was, a thing to be had, but also a thing to be shared. One did not simply drink coffee as a morning pick-me-up.
But of course, these days are not those days. Not even close. These days, coffee is a stimulant, as often enjoyed in a car, or a pre-dawn kitchen as any other place. So, then, is there still any sort of cafe culture? Or is it just any other fast food stop?
The answer, to both I think, is yes. Yes, one can grab a coffee, quick as you please, and be on their merry, now caffeinated way. That is certainly possible, and in fact, a daily routine for many.
But there is, I think, a communal aspect to coffee, and thus the cafe, that can't be ignored. As I've said before, "having a coffee" is a cultural euphemism for meeting, for chatting, for breaking ice or burying hatchets. And I can't say why this is, for certain. While coffee is a stimulant, there is no particular reason why it should be the social lubricant that it is, and not some other beverage. No reason, other than history, which is often reason enough. That something has been done for many years perhaps shouldn't be grounds for its perpetuation - but it frequently is just that. People have been getting together over coffee for as long as there has been coffee.
Granted, there are infinite varieties of social interaction playing out at every cafe, every day. Perhaps students are meeting, using the tables to lay out notes, and the caffeine to stimulate tired minds. Around them, there are old friends and new ones, strengthening and creating bonds.
This may sound overly romantic, but I don't think it is. Humans are, at heart, social creatures. And so seek to find, or even create, society wherever we come together. A cafe is no different, in that regard.
There is more to be said on this subject, to be certain. Truthfully, there are volumes more to be written, perhaps books - both fiction and non. But for now, this is all I will say: Coffee's most potent stimulatory effects are not caused by caffeine, but rather, the thrill of genuine social interaction, the palpable satisfaction that can only be derived from looks and words cast back and forth across a table.
That said, I think I have some idea what he was getting at. His thesis work is on cafe community, as near as I can tell - to what extent such a thing exists, and what such a thing can be said to be. My role is this was twofold: I am a barista, first and foremost. By this I mean, as I've said before, not just that I make coffee, but that I've crafted much of the persona that is "me" around this fact. From that perspective, I can speak. But I am also, of course, a consumer of this culture.
The questions tended towards a inquiry in to why people go to cafes. It is a question worth asking, because it is one which seems to have an answer so obvious that no one knows it. That is, people go to cafes, and have for long enough, that why they go no longer seems worth asking.
But he is asking it; and last night, he asked me. I don't have a transcript. If I did, I would certainly post it here, because I felt, at the time, like was answering the questions with a degree of lucidity. But I can regurgetate my general thoughts, to some extent.
Coffee as a community endeavor goes back as far as coffee goes back. Though coffee's origins are as murky as the brew itself, there seems to be something like a consensus that it was consumed as a part of religious rituals in ancient Ethiopia. To minds not numb to artificial stimulation, a hearty brew such as that most surely was, could easily lend a sensation beyond the typical wired jolt we know today.
Coffee was consumed, throughout history, as a communal event. It was as food was, a thing to be had, but also a thing to be shared. One did not simply drink coffee as a morning pick-me-up.
But of course, these days are not those days. Not even close. These days, coffee is a stimulant, as often enjoyed in a car, or a pre-dawn kitchen as any other place. So, then, is there still any sort of cafe culture? Or is it just any other fast food stop?
The answer, to both I think, is yes. Yes, one can grab a coffee, quick as you please, and be on their merry, now caffeinated way. That is certainly possible, and in fact, a daily routine for many.
But there is, I think, a communal aspect to coffee, and thus the cafe, that can't be ignored. As I've said before, "having a coffee" is a cultural euphemism for meeting, for chatting, for breaking ice or burying hatchets. And I can't say why this is, for certain. While coffee is a stimulant, there is no particular reason why it should be the social lubricant that it is, and not some other beverage. No reason, other than history, which is often reason enough. That something has been done for many years perhaps shouldn't be grounds for its perpetuation - but it frequently is just that. People have been getting together over coffee for as long as there has been coffee.
Granted, there are infinite varieties of social interaction playing out at every cafe, every day. Perhaps students are meeting, using the tables to lay out notes, and the caffeine to stimulate tired minds. Around them, there are old friends and new ones, strengthening and creating bonds.
This may sound overly romantic, but I don't think it is. Humans are, at heart, social creatures. And so seek to find, or even create, society wherever we come together. A cafe is no different, in that regard.
There is more to be said on this subject, to be certain. Truthfully, there are volumes more to be written, perhaps books - both fiction and non. But for now, this is all I will say: Coffee's most potent stimulatory effects are not caused by caffeine, but rather, the thrill of genuine social interaction, the palpable satisfaction that can only be derived from looks and words cast back and forth across a table.
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