Thanksgiving Coffee

So this may surprise you, given my general tone, but I'm not going to write anything overly long and professorial about Thanksgiving, our grand imperialist festival that is now, mostly, about being forced to watch the Detroit Lions play football.

I'm not going to do that, both because others can do a much better job, and the reason is sort of besides the point now anyway. You hang out with family - blood relatives and otherwise. But most of all, hopefully, you reflect on how lucky you are, and think on all the wonderful people and things in your life.

No, that's not sarcasm.

My generation is known for it's lack of genuine sentiment, its indulgence in cynicism and sarcasm at the expense of genuine feeling. We're called - among many other things, of course - the "lost generation", considered to be wandering aimlessly, driven by either our fantastical whims or dystopic paranoia. We are a collection of twenty somethings that, taken on the whole, seems more motivated by who we are than what we do.

Well, whatever.

I don't know. I'm not - as if there could really be such a thing - a voice of this generation, or for anyone but myself. But so long as I am speaking for myself, I can disagree with that characterization, if only by displaying absolutely genuine sentiment.

So, that said, I'm genuinely thankful for quite a lot. To show my thanks, I'm going to give away my perfect Thanksgiving recipe!

Step one: Make awesome coffee.

Step two: Drink it black.

Step three: Feel superior to everyone else drinking artificially flavored pumpkin crap.

What was that about cynicism and sarcasm?

In Other News, Good Coffee is Good

When asked, "What is art?", Picasso is said to have responded with "What is not?"

Gas station and hotel coffee, for starters. As an Italian gent, I'm sure Pablo fancied a well pulled double, with perhaps the occasional dollop of milk foam. We might assume that this consummate renaissance man never had the putrid, black water served for our "convenience" at otherwise well meaning mid-western locals.

Well good for him. But not so good for me.

I am spoiled, no doubt, though the extent to which that is the case wasn't clear to me before these last few days. I've grown accustomed to drinking Broadway Coffee at work, and other small roasters at home. These are single origin beans, handled by practiced and passionate hands at every step of the process. You taste the result - bright, clear, complex flavors.

And then you have something else, something that could hardly be further removed from that vintage. This is not a revelation. Or at least, it shouldn't be. Specialty coffee ought to be special; otherwise, what are we doing with our lives?

But there is knowing, and then there is knowing.

The latter requires experience, a few days of absence making the heart grow fonder. And mine, having just finished a cup of Peter Asher's New Guinea, is all aflutter. I am spoiled, perhaps something of an elitist. But whatever I may be, I am with good coffee sending a surge of dopamine through my brain.

Thanks

First things first: If diet coke and espresso form a rather less-than-the-sum-of-its-parts mix, diet coke and cold press make something so much better. It's like chocolate sparkly dessert coffee, or something like that. It's so good you almost won't be ashamed to admit it, sipping it behind the counter, insisting to anyone that asks that you're just drinking iced coffee - nevermind the bubbles you think you see. You still won't put it on the menu, though; if for no other reason than admitting to creating (and having to name) the abomination.

Be thankful for that conversation, that will never happen. And while we're at it, be thankful for other things as well. Be thankful for pour-over cones, single cup trends, and lighter beans. And be thankful for the overly-sweet stuff that actually makes you money. Mostly, be thankful for the source of that money, the customers - who are really much more than that. There are surely other things as well, specific to you. But I wouldn't know anything about that.

But I do know about myself, and the things I'm happy about, this random day in November.

- That this blog has supplied me with free beans, to such an extent that I've not paid for a bag in... longer than I can recall.

- That anyone reads this, honestly.

- That I'm getting to play coffee bar manager, on a daily basis. And no one is making me stop.

- Latte art. I can do it.

- The races I ran, both the positive results and the negative. You learn from all of it, maybe more the latter.

- The trails out at Clinton Lake. I haven't had a bad run there, and every race goes better than I had hoped.

- That this isn't the end of anything. I can, rather unbelievably, call myself a coffee bar manager and ultramarathon runner (well, I ran most of it...). But the coffee, running, and writing, will all get better.