On Coffee and Habit

Ask any person why they drink the coffee they do, and aside from the usual "I like it", the answer is probably going to have something to do with habit. This is an assumption on my part, but I think it stands up.

The very act of drinking coffee is ritualistic, or at the very least, habitual. So the specifics are, it follows, likely to be influenced by that habit as well. There is a favorite mug, and that coffee which seems to pair best with it. It's the morning ritual, as stimulating in its comforting sameness as the couple hundred milligrams of caffeine.

Perhaps that's why I'm still drinking Seattle's Best Coffee. I no longer work for the brand, of course, so whatever loyalty I felt in that regard should have dissipated. Neither can I make the case that I need to be familiar with it, in order to better describe and sell it.

And yet, for the past few weeks, it's SBC's Number 1 that I've been drinking. Ask me why, and aside for the usual "I like it", the answer is probably going to have something to do with habit. That is, I've been drinking SBC for a while now, and thus developed a taste for it. And there is the matter of taste, which shouldn't be totally overlooked. The Number 1 is as light a roast as you're likely to find, biting and acidic, a perfect morning kick-start, in my estimation. I called it a marriage of orange juice and coffee when I first tried it, and that sweet tanginess persists.

But it's not just about taste, because it can't just be about taste. As much as I do think SBC is quite good, that has to be parsed in relative terms. That is, it's quite good, considering it was roasted in another city, quite some time ago, then shipped here, to sit on a shelf until purchased. There are local roasters from whom I could buy beans, purveyors of single origin artisan coffee roasted yesterday.

And yet I'm not buying those beans, though, by any objective criteria you wanted to apply, they are probably "better". Certainly, they would lend me more credibility. There is something intuitively off about a coffee blogger - and thus, one might not incorrectly assume, something of a coffee snob - choosing corporate coffee over local stuff, mass roasted blends over carefully crafted single origin beans.

And yet that's what I'm doing. Is habit the answer? To an extent, I'm sure it must be. Working with SBC, I've been surrounded by it, drinking and preparing it for a while now. So there is a familiarity to it. However biting the acidity of Number 1, it is a friendly bite, like that from a pet. You know it; you trust it.

That familiarity is valuable, given the context in which coffee is consumed. It is a ritual, as much a part of my mornings as the sun rising and fighting the urge to skip showering. Consistency, not changing the variables too much, or even at all, ensures that ritual's continued success.

Coffee: Is it in You?

Marathon runners speak of bonking -- a term denoting that feeling of total exhaustion when glycogen stores have been depleted. For most, this happens somewhere just past the 20-mile mark. Legs become leaden, and the effort required to lift one foot, then the other, is such that running several more miles seems impossible.

It's a phrase I've co-opted for everyday use, though I've never run a marathon -- or any distance beyond 18 miles, for that matter. I bring this up, because, in my parlance, I was thoroughly bonked last night. There was no good reason why that ought to have been the case -- but it was. Still, I returned home from work, having completed 30 minutes of pretty difficult sprint work at the gym just prior, feeling for all the world like I'd just run Badwater. This is not to say that my degree of bonk-ness was warranted, of course, as my job isn't too physically taxing, and my workout was nothing epic. Still, there are days.

I pushed myself upstairs, figuring that I probably ought to eat something, feeling quite glad that I had a large tupperware container of brown rice already prepared, in to which I could mix just about anything, microwave, and eat. And so I did precisely that, before turning my attention to the stairs once again. But before I descended, it occurred to me that I might have received those sample from Seattle's Best coffee.

"Did I get a package?" I asked my roommate. (I had made more polite conversation in the time preceding this question, I promise.) She pointed to a box situated near the stairs; I had walked by it twice, and not noticed. It was a large-ish box, almost the size of a microwave, and there was a Seattle's Best sticker on it. This was my package, then. I opened it, now with an energy probably not owing to my bowl of rice 'n stuff.

Three cans sat, sealed in bubble wrap (a treat, in and of itself), tied in a piece of red string. It had the look of a gift, in that regard, and I couldn't help but feel that it was. I took the cans out, examining the aesthetic and reading the ingredient list.

I am not too visually inclined, so I'll leave it to you to decide how the cans look. I rather like all of them, however. I particularly like the cutesy, tongue-in-cheek attitude about the whole thing. Specifically, there is a graphic on the side of the can, letting you know precisely what's inside: Iced coffee, milk, sugar, and AWESOME.

This leads me to the second point, the ingredients list, and thus the nutrition facts. The first thing you read is this: Brewed coffee. After that, there is milk, and sugar. Basically, that's it. If you're drinking the mocha or vanilla version, there are the flavors too -- but little else. This is good news for those who fear mystery ingredients, and of course, better news for those of us who like things to taste good, and not like some failed chemistry experiment.

But tasting would have to wait. It was 9:30 by this time, and I needed to get up at six in the morning in order to satisfy my cardio addiction before class, and then work. My ideal taste test, setting up all three, sipping them from cute little glasses, pinky out, jotting down flavor notes and whatnot, now seemed like it would have to wait -- or perhaps not happen at all.

Then something happened -- something that the PR folks will probably love to hear. I remembered something I had read about the lattes, that they were intended to be convenient, available, and consumed anywhere and everywhere one might want (or need) coffee. It thus occurred to me that it might be more in the spirit of the beverage to use them, rather than sip them like a single origin Jamaican Blue Mountain.

So I roused myself at 5:50 this morning, with some effort, and pulled the regular iced latte from the fridge. I cracked it open, and took a careful sip. Happy news: It tasted like coffee, with milk and sugar. Perhaps this doesn't sound revolutionary -- but then, that's not what I wanted, and probably not what SBC was aiming for here. The goal was twofold: To produce an iced latte that tasted like the sort one might get at a cafe, but that could be pulled from a refrigerator, or a convenience store, or wherever. On both counts, the standard model iced latte earns high marks. It is smooth, rich, sweet of course, and completely lacking that odd alternative taste one finds on canned coffee beverages so often. It tastes like you think it should, basically, which is a good thing.

With a small dose of caffeine and (a little more) sugar ingested, I left for the gym. I write this now, having completed 4 relatively easy miles (7 mph, with a few uphill sprints tacked on) and a weights circuit. It has to be said: I felt not a hint of bonk, not even at the end of the session. So as a pre-workout beverage, providing quick caffeine and sugar, the iced latte did its job. That it tasted much better than Gatorade (which is not offered in a coffee flavor, thankfully) was also nice.

Can It

At the heart of SBC's new image is availability. That is, you can get Seattle's Best Coffee at Burger King, Subway, Steak and Shake, Borders (I should know about this one), and various other locals that might not typically be considered premium coffee venues.

Very soon, you'll be able to add grocery stores and gas stations to that list. Seattle's Best announced today that the company is entering the canned coffee market, currently less occupied than it might be, given American's love for caffeine and convenience.

The canned lattes are straightforward enough; one is just coffee, milk, and sugar; the other two add either chocolate or vanilla to the mix. All three are 12oz, and are projected to retail at $1.49 a piece. Keep in mind, a 12oz coffee from a cafe typically costs ~25 cents more than that. This, again, fits well with SBC's push to become as ubiquitous as the parent company, Starbucks.

That raises an interesting point however. Starbucks already has its bottled frappuccinos (not the same as the blended beverages sold in cafes, obviously), canned lattes, and canned "double shots". There are also canned coffee beverages from energy drink makers, Rockstar and Monster. And so, although the market isn't crowded, it isn't totally empty either. In theory, however, the SBC canned lattes are different in both size and price from Starbucks'; they are somewhere between the canned lattes and double shots. They are less expensive than the energy drink coffees also, and one might hope that SBC, coffee company that it is, can produce a better tasting coffee beverage than either Rockstar or Monster.

And that, of course, is the rub. Price and convenience matter; and it has to be said that the SBC canned lattes are entering at a very competitive price, and ought to be very easy to come by. They will be cheap, probably more so than their competition, and they will be just about everywhere cold, canned drinks are sold. But if they don't taste good, well, neither of things will help much.

About the taste, I can't say anything right now, other than that I eagerly anticipate trying them. And oh, I could also say that I'll be doing so sometime in the next few days. Samples are en route, thus I'll soon be able to give my impressions, for whatever they're worth.

A New Level

I've been on a particularly verbose kick lately, writing long pseudo-narratives that, while structured around coffee, are not particularly informative. I wanted to change that a little, or at least offer some variety, and so I set out to pretend I was something like legitimate media. That urge, and my own curiosity, led me to contact Seattle's Best Coffee, and ask if I might speak to someone about the new levels system of coffee, and perhaps other things as well.

Very quickly, I received a message in the affirmative, confirming that I could indeed speak with someone. That someone turned out to be Jenny McCabe, director, Communications and PR. Which is to say, she is far more important than anyone I expected to speak with.

But if I was a bit surprised, and perhaps also flattered -- I really don't consider myself to be anything like legitimate media -- those emotions took a back seat to excitement. I would get to ask questions of someone who, no doubt, could answer them; and who also has plenty of experience doing just that. So yes, I was excited.

But as I said, I am not quite a journalist. And as a decided amateur, I didn't have a voice recorder, or any such thing; so you won't be hearing the conversation in full. And no, I can't transcribe it here, either. It really is too bad, because I would very much like for everything Jenny said to be available to you. She did a wonderful job explaining everything, detailing it all as part of a cohesive identity, or perhaps a corporate narrative.

That said, I will try my best to pass along the key points, as well as some tidbits I found particularly interesting.

The levels system Seattle's Best Coffee now has stems from a desire to, in her words, "de-mystify premium coffee". That is, most Americans drink coffee, and most would purport to like it, on some level. And yet, most are also scared away by my crowd -- the borderline elitists, opining about rossettas and single origin Ethiopian beans. The goal was thus to make good coffee, but to make it simple to understand, and easier still to access.

And so what of the coffee quality? It is one thing to make it simple -- and 1 through 5 is pretty basic -- but something else entirely to make it good. That was, initially, my concern. I feared that there would be a lack of variety, lack of distinct flavor, and only differences in roast. As I've written before, that turned out not to be the case. Not even close, thankfully. In truth, I find the new blends more distinctly individual than the old, simple names or no. This, perhaps, owes to the blending and roasting philosophy. While the marketing is simple, the goal here is to achieve a consistent and quality flavor that is unique to each level of coffee. It encouraged me to hear that; and it encouraged me more that I could taste it myself.

But this all, as tends to be the case when discussing Starbucks corporation, is part of a larger picture. If Starbucks is serious coffee, Seattle's Best is being set up its sense of humor. Which is not to say, as indicated above, that the quality of the coffee is to be compromised. Rather, Starubucks is the Kant reading, skinny jeans wearing, shaggy hipster in the corner; or perhaps the Banana Republic clothed, hair quaffed pretty boy; Seattle's Best is not so self assured as all that, not so image conscious, and not so damn uptight. That is the goal, at least. And it is a goal that will certainly be pursued. Say this for Starbucks Co: It can craft and sell an image. Seattle's Best is getting its turn in the limelight now, getting to perform its routine, and see how the crowd responds.

There is more to be said here, and certainly more to be said in the future on this subject. But I'll leave that in the future, where it belongs.

Pick a Number

Seattle's Best, you may have heard, has a new "levels system" of coffee. The old blends are gone, and in their place are blends given a number, 1-5. It is simple, perhaps too simple for some. But for others, it is no doubt a welcome respite from the sometimes esoteric world of coffee. One need only assign themselves a digit, corresponding with roast preference, and that is that. Your coffee destiny is sealed.

For most customers, that will be good enough. They will assume they like the darker roasts, because most people do. But there is nuance and subtlety to coffee -- even these coffees -- beyond that. And so I feared that we would simply have the same flavor profile, roasted five different ways, and thus only the appearance of variety. This would have been, if not an outright tragedy, something close.

But this is not the case. Despite the simplification of the naming system, the blends have been given more variety, certainly, and possibly more flavor too.

One is bright and crisp, acidic and sparkling. It's seltzer coffee, if such a thing could exist, or perhaps a marriage of those breakfast staples, coffee and orange juice.

Two is not so biting, does not fizz on the tongue. But it is citrusy as well, sweet and light, refreshing like good lemonade. It is, if I'm being honest, my favorite of the bunch.

Three is the middle, and tastes like it. There is nothing much I can discern as far as flavors go; it strikes such balance in every way as to be noteworthy in none.

Four is spicy, and sweet too, just a little dark, and just a little rich. Though it's dark, there is not a hint of bitterness, the flavor notes being struck too soundly for that. It is an interesting coffee, with things to pick through on the tongue. Very good, and in my mind, the coffee I would recommend to most drinkers.

Five is a French roast, and has all the character one would expect given that. It makes no effort at moderation, striking instead for the fringe of darkness, roasted to the point of oily black. It is bitter, and it is stark in its lack of much else. It is thus precisely what it wants to be, and what fans of such a blend desire.

Though I could be more excited about the new blends, were they named something, anything really, I have to say that I'm generally pleased. One can have quibbles with the marketing, but not, I think, with the taste. In that regard, these coffees are an improvement over the old.

A difference of miles and degrees

A look at a map will not yield much in the way of separation between Lawrence and Olathe. And yet, to any resident of the area, the two towns seem wholly dissimilar. Olathe resides in Johnson County, and is thus thought of, by most, as a bastion of middle class, middle aged, god fearing white folks. Lawrence is not so wealthy, and hardly so mainstream. It embraces the odd, to such an extent that it perpetuates such behavior. To live in Lawrence, to be part of whatever scene there might be, is to embrace and further one's own eccentricities.

In some ways, I fit in rather nicely in Lawrence. Much better than I'd guess I would in Olathe, in any case. Though I'm hardly the blatant individualist by Lawrence's rather lofty standards, I certainly do have my eccentricities. My coffee obsession, let's say, might be foremost among those. And so, when I found that I'd be working in the Olathe Borders location, helping to man its decimated coffee bar, I thought I'd be in for a hair tearing evening of soccer moms and skinny vanilla lattes.

What I found, in fact, was a much more pleasant experience that I'd have hoped for. For one, the majority of my drinks sold were straight coffee. Which, of course, warms my heart just a little bit. But what I found was that soccer moms aren't necessarily the evil soulless you know whats they're often made out to be. That is, affluent WASPs can be nice. At least last evening, they were, with not one exception. All the customers were friendly, and although the tips were severely lacking, I chalk that up more to their lack of knowledge of coffee bar culture in general, rather than any general rudeness.

That combined with the familiar setting (corporate setups do have their advantages in that regard) assisted me in what, all things considered, felt like a downright productive shift. In fact, I think I steamed some of the most consistently perfect milk I've ever produced. Which, perhaps, owes to the fact that I was very attentive to the entire process. Though the setting was eerily similar, it was not the same. That, I think, led me to pay very close attention to every minute detail, so that nothing would go wrong. I think I succeeded. Of course, since I doubt very much I'll ever be working there again, the perfection (or not) of my close isn't my greatest concern. Rather, I'm happy that all the customers seemed happy with my efforts, and that I was happy they were happy.