I'm Running 50 Miles Soon, So Here Is Some Mostly Unrelated Stuff

Wearing compression socks while writing is not a performance enhancer, as demonstrated by the quality of this lead sentence and the fact that I misspelled "enhancer" the first time around, only to be corrected by that handy little red line that protects whatever integrity as a legit writer I have.

But I am wearing a pair, because there is a 50-mile race on Saturday, and I'm doing it. If this doesn't seem to logically follow, let me just say that I'm not reaping any physical benefits by wearing them; I simply like to have them on, like a little kid who won't take his shoulder pads off after his first football practice.

Also, coffee things: I've been training a lot of people lately, and searching for a viable "milk" that is neither dairy nor soy.

The former is going well. Training is easy, really, to the point where I can't believe it was ever a source of anxiety. You show a little, tell even less, then let them practice. Then, when mistakes are made, make corrections (without being a dick). Repeat this for a few hours, and then a few days, and significant progress will have been made.

Perhaps I shouldn't say so, lest I threaten my job security, but it's really not terribly hard to elevate someone to competence as a barista. Of course, competence is not excellence. That requires practice on a longer timeline, and a refined feel for your machine, espresso, and milk. That can neither be taught nor rushed; it must simply be earned by putting in the hours.

The non-dairy/soy milk search is going less well. Almond milk refuses to accept any air whatsoever, getting sudsy and oh, bitter as well. Coconut milk, while a little better, still doesn't texture properly, and the flavor is far too pronounced. Rice milk is predictably thin and bland, doing little more than watering down the espresso.

There are other options, liquids made from hemp, oats, sunflower seeds, hazelnuts, etc. I've not tried them, and given the results thus far, I'm not keen to.

So, why bother? Because people ask. Not many, but enough. There are those who can't or won't drink dairy, which I understand. (Lactose intolerance is quite common, and some people would just rather be nice to cows. Legit concerns, both.) Soy avoidance confuses me slightly more, though I've heard all manner of reasons for it. Suffice it to say, people are allowed their neurosis, and if possible, I'd like to help indulge it.

But so far, I just can't. Or rather, I can't find a viable dairy/soy substitute. I can offer them a premium beverage that is gluten/soy/sugar/egg/lactose free, however: Coffee. Black coffee. It really is a miracle beverage, even enhancing endurance performance to a greater extent than compression socks.

There. I brought it around.

I Want to be an Average Barista

I've trained two new (potential) baristas in the past few weeks. I tried, as much as possible, to avoid dogmatic repetition of technique; my way, after all, is not the only way. Rather, I simply explained why I did things the way I did, and what I hoped to accomplish.

I don't think it's arrogant to say that these sessions went well. Both individuals left them capable of steaming up a glossy pitcher of milk and pulling lovely bronze shots. They even managed to combine them in a way that suggested the potential for latte art, given a little more dedicated practice.

Of course, these sessions are helpful for me as well. In elucidating my technique, I am forced to justify things that might otherwise be mere habit, at this point. And by focusing on that technique, I keep it sharp. But that's a bit dry. More importantly, it emphasizes the fact that my job requires a skill set that A) Few have; and B) A lot of people seem to think is pretty cool.

Sadly, the process also makes clear a fact that is much less cool: There are a lot of shitty baristas out there. I don't mean to throw my compatriots under the bus - well, yes I do. But I don't want to look like a dick for doing so. Because the fact of the matter is this: I want everyone out there to be as good as I am, and really, it's not that complicated.

Despite the lack of complication, simple is not always easy. That is, while steaming milk well is not fundamentally complex, it requires some practice, and something like the correct technique. Many I've seen simply don't have it. There are also certain rules that ought to be followed. You should not, for instance, leave espresso locked in the head, without pulling the shots. But I see this very thing happen - and taste the burnt result - far too often, when I order an espresso.

Of course, this is not the fault of the individual baristas. They were never taught, and as such, simply don't know better. Perhaps they could be motivated to seek out internet content, but really, how much of it is worthwhile? (I say, knowing full well that this is internet content, and could be easily dismissed as such.) No, the fault is with those who trained them - or perhaps, those who opted not to.

I'm not advocating for everyone to get certified. I'm not, and I think I obtained the needed skills regardless. What I am arguing for is this: We, as professionals, should take enough pride in our work, and be pragmatic enough, to ensure that our trade is well represented. That I am exceptional is unacceptable, because really, I'm not uniquely gifted. I should be average, and if I were, this would be a better business, both in terms of happiness and profit.

Simple

Coffee is good, I think you'll agree. Given that basic assumption, the preparation of it becomes remarkably simple. 

That's what I've tried to keep in mind, as I've learned myself, and as I've attempted to pass on some of that knowledge. Coffee doesn't need me to make it taste good; neither does espresso, milk, or whatever else I might serve. My goal is not to make it better, but to simply get out of the way, and let it be good. 

This is a difficult concept for me to grasp sometimes, and more often, a difficult concept for me to embrace. Part of what drew me to coffee bar work in the first place was the apparent difficulty of the task, the seemingly esoteric nature of the barista ritual. 

Part of me wants to think that, four years later, I've begun to master some form of ancient Chinese kung fu. But I know better. The more time I spend behind a coffee bar, the more I come to realize how sublimely simple the job can - and should - be. 

On it's face, this might be a disappointing revelation. If the craft of espresso is simple, then what exactly have I been doing these years? And what of those who have been doing it longer, and better? Have we all been wasting our time, toiling to master some skill, the important aspects of which can be learned in a half hour?

Simply, no. To a degree, experience is necessary to realize the simplicity. Without it, you're bound to be intimidated be the whirs, clicks, hisses, roars, and general chaos. It's a cacophony that only sounds like a symphony once you've played it enough. 

Newness also lends itself to misplaced ambition, a need to do more instead of do better. Newness looks for the optimal drop rate and angle to ensure perfect milk; newness looks for the right combination of tamping, tapping, and twisting to pull the perfect shot. 

Experience realizes that there is no perfect way to do those things, and that there needn't be. The ingredients are already as they should be, and perfect in that sense. The barista's job, then, is to do as little as needed to combine everything. Basically, the barista needs only to not screw things up. 

What that means differs by barista, and differs by drink, which is the biggest reason experience is vital. Only with that can you learn what milk should sound like, what a puck should feel like. 

So that's been my goal, both with myself and the people I'm instructing. Complication is not a virtue; do as little as you can, as well as you can.

The Profundity of Practice

You miss every shot you don't take.

With that in mind, I poured, and poured, and poured. I tamped each dose of espresso, trying to find the optimal level of pressure. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I did not. There is a level of variance, of intricacy that I can't put in to words. But it's the sort of thing I can't imagine ever being rote. It takes presence, a concentration on the moment.

Steaming milk is the same way. I've done it for years now, and yet every pitcher acts differently. The wand needs to be deeper this time, wider the next. It varies. You don't ever develop a set pattern, so much as you develop a feel. You learn to trust that feel, the pressure you feel on the side of the pitcher, the hiss and the whoosh emanated from the milk, to tell you what you need to know. Rules are fine. So are videos, thermometers, and any other apparatus. But they aren't the same as doing.

You miss every shot you don't take. And for every one that you do, your feel develops, so does your touch and your confidence. Thus, the likelihood that your next shot goes in increases.

That is the beauty of doing. You might be good - maybe even the best - but you learn with every action. You are better now than you've ever been, yet not as good as you're going to be. It's a nice spot to be. You feel accomplished, but not satisfied. You are driven to get better, confident that you'll achieve that next mark, because you got the last one.

All of this is to say, I think I made some great drinks today. Customers told me so, at least. Several commented on some smart looking rosettas, with exclamations of "Wow", "Look and that", and "That's beautiful". There is more to a good drink than a pretty pour, of course, but it's a solid indicator of quality nonetheless. And I think my art was not misleading. The crema was a deep, golden brown, a perfect canvas for the stark contrast provided by the milk.

Sometimes. Not every drink was as good; though I certainly didn't serve anything that I wouldn't have been happy to receive myself, were the roles reversed. Still, there is fine, and there is better. Better is the goal, sometimes achieved, but always targeted.

And so, though I'm pleased with those 10% of drinks that were perfect (or thereabouts), I'm much more focused on turning that 10% in to 25, then 50, then god only knows.

You miss every shot you don't take. So you practice, knowing that fruit is born from the labor itself, not just the results.

Stretch

A cappuccino is, perhaps, near the pinnacle of espresso snob beverages. Oh sure, a purist may prefer a machiatto, or perhaps straight espresso. But no drink better combines both espresso and steamed milk. That is, milk that has truly been stretched, not just heated -- as can seem to be the case with a latte.

Cappuccinos are also fucking hard. You have to stretch the milk enough to generate quite a bit of foam, while controlling the process enough to avoid giant bubbles -- and spillage. Mostly the spillage. Which sounds easy, really. Only it's not. Somehow, some way, once milk gets going, it's like a boulder cascading off a cliff. You can stop it, sure, but only by allowing some damage.

In this case, by damage, I mean a mess. Such was the case today, as a first time milk steamer attempted her first cappuccino. I had my face right over the pitcher, observing the process. The milk careened towards my face, and I was the damsel tied to the proverbial tracks. There was nothing for it but to sit idly and take my medicine.

Of course, the milk actually turned out quite nice -- the amount that was still in the pitcher, anyway. Which is to say nothing of the various lattes she prepared, all of which were far too good for someone just learning the craft.

The lesson here -- And why is it I always try and end on some type of lesson? I'm not Jerry Springer -- is that cappuccinos are fickle bitches. Whether your a complete beginner or the most grizzled of veterans, they will kick your ass. But it's ok, because they're delicious.

Speculation on dairy

Usually, when I pose something of a question, or a problem, I do so with the ultimate aim that I reveal the answer. The purpose of a blog is nothing if not to make its writer look smart. And so I do try to have all the answers -- even the wrong ones.

But not today. Today, I wonder about goat's milk.

I'd just like to pause for a moment here, and let that last sentence sink in. *exhale* OK.

In all seriousness, goat's milk is the most consumed form of dairy in the world, favored just about everywhere but the United States. I could go on about its fatty acid profile, its high levels of calcium, or its unhomogenized fat globules -- but I won't.

Instead, I will speculate idly on how goat's milk would steam, and otherwise perform, when used with coffee. In the realm of taste, goat's milk skews a bit towards UHT treated cow's milk, in so far as it tastes rather overtly sweet. Even in its fattier incarnations, goat's milk just doesn't have the same inky thickness that whole cow's milk does.

Thus one can reasonably assume that goat's milk would taste even sweeter when steamed, as some of the sugars would caramelize. How unhomogenized milk would stretch, however, is something of a mystery to me. The fat globules are small enough (the reason why it isn't homogenized in the first place) that I don't think you'd end up with a lumpy latte. Either shake the container first, as you would with any non-dairy milks, or count on the swirling action during steaming to do the work. I imagine it probably would.

Of course, I don't actually have experience with a goat's milk/espresso combination. Nor do I have the slightest clue where one might go about finding a place to accomplish as much. But an interesting item to ponder, none the less.

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.

Back on the horse

A previous hiatus was met with a decree that it would be the last, that I would resume my daily posting. Clearly, that proved false. Do not, however, mistake this post as something of a forced comeback, a Lance Armstrong-esque obligation, doomed to fail in similar style. Rather, this is an embracing of what I enjoy, writing what I want, when I want, about that which I like. Coffee, in case you were wondering. And so, provided I do not lose interest in writing (unlikely) or coffee (impossible), things will resume at a reasonable clip. All that said, on with the blogging.

My affection for milk steaming has been well documented here. I find it a simple means of creating something both beautiful to behold, and intoxicating to savor. Stretched milk is at once creamy and sweet, rich and yet silky. It is everything self professed chocoholics claim to enjoy about their treat of choice.

Only steamed milk has one particular advantage over chocolate, in this regard. If I were, say, a devotee of chocolate, I would have great difficulty purchasing it fresh, that is, having been created moments before by a master of the art. Furthermore, I would not have been privy to the full sensory experience involved in creating my delicious little masterpiece.

But say I desire a latte, cappuccino, or perhaps even that marriage of steamed milk and chocolate, the mocha. Provided, of course, that the barista on hand is skilled, and that they take the necessary time to stretch the milk properly, I can walk to any number of neighborhood cafes, and nab a piece of creamy art.

Of course, drinking steamed milk is only half the fun for me; frankly, it might even be slightly less. The steaming itself is the act from which I derive the greatest pleasure. The reasons for this escape me, to some extent, but I suppose it has something to do with the marriage of honest to goodness hands on labor, and that ever ethereal concept of art. Steaming milk, to the barista, is perhaps analogous to preparing a signature dish for a chef. Ultimately, it can be broken down as a base service industry task. But why on earth would you want to break something so beautiful down to its base parts? Let it be what it is, which is so much more.

Of course, on the subject of art, the pour itself, and the latte art that results, must be addressed. More specifically, the fact that I've been unable to craft any such thing for a while now. The milk pitchers at SBC have a lovely pear shape, and a reasonable size, given the need to steam milk for frequent large drinks. But there is a problem, and it is a glaring, horrid thing. The pitchers, for all that they do well, do not have a spout. Thus, myself and my fellow baristas are unable to indulge in that last little bit of self aggrandizement. Finally, I have decided that the situation demands fixing, and so have resolved to do just that. I will buy a pitcher, with a spout. And, not surprisingly, I am absolutely thrilled to do so.