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.

Kids drink the darndest things

A little girl looked at me today, as if I were the dumbest creature she could imagine.

She had ordered a mocha. Simple enough, and a very common order. Only she was young -- had to still be in grade school, in fact.

So I did what seemed obvious, and asked her if she wanted a hot chocolate instead.

Then came the look. She narrowed her eyes, cocked both her head and hips. "I love coffee," she said.

Now I am not normally one to argue with customers. They can get what they want, and so long as I can accommodate their request, I'll do so. But this was a special case. She loves coffee? Right. Whatever. But at the very least, she's got to drink decaf. Kids that age are boundless bundles of energy as is.

Once again, the obvious thing turned out to be the stupid thing. "Caffeine," she said. One word. Not a descriptor, but a command.

Suddenly I'm not seeing a little girl anymore, but some 240 lb wall of ripcord and granite, grumbling through course facial hair about how he wants his gawdamn coffee.

So fine, I oblige. That is my job, at the end of the day. Let her try the thing, take one sip, and learn her lesson.

Or let her take one sip, declare the drink fantastic, and walk away satisfied.

The lesson here? Maybe something about how books shouldn't be judged by their covers, or something like that. But moralizing isn't my thing. Maybe, it's just that little kids are fucking scary.

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.

Under pressure

Pressure is a key part of the barista's job. It's necessary to pull espresso, steam milk, and deal with the crowds.

Different sorts of pressure are, of course, applied in each circumstance. All are essential, however. Perhaps, one could even call them routine.

This is true, in so far as the first two actions are performed often enough that they become second nature. Milk can be stretched by sound, or touch even, given enough experience. Even the crowds, so daunting at first, become part of a comfortable routine.

But there are situations, still, that can throw even the most seasoned barista off their game.

The first, and perhaps most obvious, is the crafting of a drink for an individual who, let's just say, strikes the barista's fancy. Perhaps you ramble a bit more than normal, your co-workers wondering what the hell has gotten in to you. You trip, spill milk, then stretch it too much -- and oh fuck -- you totally forgot to pull the shot, and toasted the grounds to ash. Even still, you limp towards the finish line, hoping against all reason that maybe you can get a latte art heart on the drink. Tada! A amorphous blob. You finally hand over the drink, which by the way, they wanted iced.

Fuck.

Coworkers and bosses can be tough customers, in so far as you want to make something extra special for them. However, assuming that they actually like you in the first place, this interaction should be a casual and friendly one, resulting in an easy to prepare drink.

Fellow baristi, who work for other shops, however, are much more difficult. You have the constant, nagging sensation that they're evaluating everything you do -- judging your every move. Poured too much milk. Steam wand too deep. Shot too fast. Pour too rapid. If, however, you do get everything right, your coffee sibling tends to appreciate your work more than a less educated customer might.

Which brings me to the most pressure packed situation of all: The totally clueless ass hole. In the aforementioned situations, there are possible pleasant outcomes. There are ways in which you can hit all the right notes, and strike up a pretty nice tune. Not so, in this case. No matter how you make whatever it is that you make, you will do it wrong. In fact, you will make a drink totally unlike what they wanted. You are such a dolt that you can't even comprehend what their totally obvious drink preference is. And what's worse, the drink you make sucks. It tastes horrible, is too bitter and too sweet and too watery and too foamy and just fucking WRONG.

You should probably go dunk fries for a living, except that you'd fuck that up too, somehow.

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.

Whether the Weather

A heavy sky weighs down over you. The air seems to cling like a wet sock, musty and damp. It is neither hot nor cold, but manages to impersonate the malevolent aspects of both. A jacket will keep the drizzle from you, but it is far too humid for layers. A t-shirt leaves you defenseless, endlessly assailable. You will not be comfortable. Like so many, you seek comfort in food and drink. But there, too, are conundrums.

Yet there is coffee. There is always coffee.

You stand in line, weighing your options. Hot or cold? Damn. Must everything, even this most base of pleasures, be an ordeal?

I, earlier this day, was this "you". So, in hindsight, perhaps I should have framed this entire narrative in the first person. In any case, I found myself considering whether a damp, muggy, oppressive, 72-degree afternoon demands hot or iced coffee.

This morning, the decision was simple enough -- hot. It was cooler then, as the sun hadn't yet turned campus in to a rice cooker.

So iced, right? Easy enough, except that 70 degrees is still 70 degrees. Hardly cool, but near enough to comfortable that, shorts and t-shirt clad as I was, a slight chill was not out of reach.

Thankfully, the decision was made for me. The barista in charge of this particular campus coffee shop noted that their iced coffee was running a little acidic. My interest piqued. Acidic iced coffee? I had tried such a brew before, at Starbucks. But that was just hot coffee, with ice added to it. Hardly the same thing as the Toddy prepared brew offered on campus.

This, I had to try. And so try I did. The result was pleasant, probably more so than I expected, frankly. Iced coffee, for all that I do love it, can feel a bit heavy in its richness. Like chocolate, say, you really can only consume so much -- unless, of course, it's balanced out by the proper touch of sweet. Good iced coffee will be, typically, even without the addition of sugar. In any case, this particular iced coffee, of Guatemalan ancestry, did indeed have a bite. It was neither heavy nor rich. Still, it maintained that smooth feel you expect from cold brewed coffee. To continue the chocolate analogy, let's call it bittersweet.

In theory, I should tie back in to the the second person, narrative beginning now. But my creativity has run quite dry, in that regard.