I've not written too much about specific coffee, or even my specific place of business. Were I not clear, I work at a Seattle's Best. This is relevant information A) If anyone would care to stalk me; and B) As a preface to my writing about a coffee SBC sells.
It's fall. Or, to give it the more pleasing name, it's Autumn. This is a good thing, because the weather is no longer unbearably hot. It is much nicer bike riding and running weather, both of which are things I find myself doing quite a bit of. It is also the time of year when SBC rolls out its Autumn Reserve blend.
Wow. A pretentious named coffee. Can't wait. Doubt if you like, but the Reserve blend is, in fact, awesome. It also is made from beans which have been held back, or if you prefer, reserved.
Specifically, Sumatran beans are aged for several years. Typically, I think this is about five. In any case, the result is lovely. The coffee gets downright spicy, sweet, and full of playful flavors. It's really does taste warm, and well, perfect for Autumn.
If you don't have an SBC in your area, Starbucks also uses aged Sumatran beans in its Anniversary and Christmas roasts. And I know you have a Starbucks in your area.
Of course, if you happen to be around Lawrence, you could buy some from me. Which begs the question: Is it creepy of me to solicit customers on my blog? Dangerous? Maybe. But it seems like a good idea for now. But just to be safe, perhaps I should say this instead: Come get a coffee from me if you are not prone to outbursts of violence, or in any way a dangerous person to be around. There. That's better.
September 17, 2010
September 15, 2010
Too much of a bad thing
They say there's a first time for everything. But then, they also say you shouldn't start a post with a trite, mind numbing cliche. So clearly, I do not see things exactly as "they" do. Which is good, I suppose, because they say an awful lot.
They say you should avoid high impact exercise, saturated fat, and excessive caffeine. If they're right, I should be falling face first on this keyboard any second now.
But I'm fine. Promise.
In any case, I do agree with them on some things. For instance, they say it's bad to waste. I'll second that -- in most cases. But not today. Today, I dumped at least 12 ounces of coffee down the drain.
In my defense, the liquid I dumped was only coffee superficially. I maintain that it was actually violently over-steeped black tea, perhaps with some ink for color.
I should have known better. Not long ago, I posted on the alleged double shot of espresso I purchased from a campus library. It was, quite possibly, the worst thing I've ever tasted. But it was slight in volume, thus I finished it. This coffee today, purchased from a campus convenience store, was 16 ounces. Finishing that much of that coffee may well have killed me.
Thus I did the only thing I could do -- I dumped it. Sometimes losses must be cut, dreadful coffee wasted. But, more urgently, my palate needs cleansing.
They say you should avoid high impact exercise, saturated fat, and excessive caffeine. If they're right, I should be falling face first on this keyboard any second now.
But I'm fine. Promise.
In any case, I do agree with them on some things. For instance, they say it's bad to waste. I'll second that -- in most cases. But not today. Today, I dumped at least 12 ounces of coffee down the drain.
In my defense, the liquid I dumped was only coffee superficially. I maintain that it was actually violently over-steeped black tea, perhaps with some ink for color.
I should have known better. Not long ago, I posted on the alleged double shot of espresso I purchased from a campus library. It was, quite possibly, the worst thing I've ever tasted. But it was slight in volume, thus I finished it. This coffee today, purchased from a campus convenience store, was 16 ounces. Finishing that much of that coffee may well have killed me.
Thus I did the only thing I could do -- I dumped it. Sometimes losses must be cut, dreadful coffee wasted. But, more urgently, my palate needs cleansing.
September 14, 2010
Uganda
When I started this blog, the intent was to establish it as a collection of musings on coffee I had just tried, shops I had recently visited, etc. That, obviously, has not turned out to be the case. Rather, I've written much more about general topics than specifics, frequently getting downright didactic. But, if only for today, that original mission will be fulfilled.
Uganda. It's a country, like most in Africa, which has what we will generously call a dubious reputation. Unless you're reading a depressing newspaper story about it, chances are the nation never crosses your mind.
Until today, I was the same. Ethiopia and Kenya were semi-present in my thoughts, due to their significance in the coffee world. Ethiopia, specifically, holds a special place in my heart. It was the cradle of coffee, as it was for humanity itself, and still produces my favorite beans. Or at least, produced my favorite beans until today. That's because, well, Uganda.
I hadn't ever seen a single origin coffee from Uganda before today, nor had I even heard of one. So, when I saw it at the Merc, trying it was a foregone conclusion. Just for the sake of doing it, I had to taste.
The first impression is silky smooth, mild but not without body. The taste lingers on the tongue, fizzing on the tip, and teasing acidity. It was a picture of balance. Enough weight to satisfy, yet soft and fresh.
My first thought was: "How could I have missed out on this for so long?" My second was: "How has everyone been missing out on this for so long?" Finally, I though: "This needs to be fixed." And so it does. Ugandan coffee. It rules.
Uganda. It's a country, like most in Africa, which has what we will generously call a dubious reputation. Unless you're reading a depressing newspaper story about it, chances are the nation never crosses your mind.
Until today, I was the same. Ethiopia and Kenya were semi-present in my thoughts, due to their significance in the coffee world. Ethiopia, specifically, holds a special place in my heart. It was the cradle of coffee, as it was for humanity itself, and still produces my favorite beans. Or at least, produced my favorite beans until today. That's because, well, Uganda.
I hadn't ever seen a single origin coffee from Uganda before today, nor had I even heard of one. So, when I saw it at the Merc, trying it was a foregone conclusion. Just for the sake of doing it, I had to taste.
The first impression is silky smooth, mild but not without body. The taste lingers on the tongue, fizzing on the tip, and teasing acidity. It was a picture of balance. Enough weight to satisfy, yet soft and fresh.
My first thought was: "How could I have missed out on this for so long?" My second was: "How has everyone been missing out on this for so long?" Finally, I though: "This needs to be fixed." And so it does. Ugandan coffee. It rules.
September 13, 2010
Keep the change
I am currently working at my third coffee bar, but my first where I'm allowed to collect tips. This is obviously a nice little perk. There are the financial benefits, but the tangible appreciation is every bit as nice. It's one thing to say "Hey, that drink was pretty good"; It's another thing altogether to let George Washington speak on your behalf.
There is still the question of whether one needs to tip their barista. After all, they make above minimum wage, often twice as much as servers at restaurants. Few would argue that waiters and waitresses don't deserve tips. In fact, it's a necessary addendum to the price of your meal. They make jack shit. They take care of you and, ideally, are pleasant company when you want them to be, and out of the way when you'd rather they vanish.
A barista is not totally unlike that, but the more obvious comparison, of course, is to the bartender. Hell, "barista" translates to bartender in Italian, even. And the jobs are virtually the same. The talk to you as much or as little as you'd like, are knowledgeable about the product, and get you your damn drink. If you just get a beer or a coffee, there's probably not much need to tip. After all, most anyone can pour liquid in to a glass (although there is a right way to do it). But say you purchase a mixed drink, or in the barista's case, something that requires more than just coffee. In that case, tip. Please.
Again, the money helps. Baristi are not wealthy people. Trust me. We make more than waiters, but still less than ten dollars an hour. And it is skilled labor. If you don't believe me, walk behind the counter, and try to pull your own shots, and steam the milk. You will make a mess. If, somehow, you manage to make a drink as well, it will be awful. A decent barista makes all this look easy -- and after a while, it gets to be -- but don't think that makes the task altogether simple.
Finally, in the words of one of my better tipping customers, "There's a culture here. Not everyone knows it, but we do." He's right. By tipping, you're filling your role in said culture. You feel good for doing something nice (even though, at most, you're typically dropping an extra buck); And trust me, the barista feels even better. There's no satisfaction like knowing you're appreciated, that the work you do is valued. So express that appreciation. Tell them that you like the drink -- if in fact you do -- and why. They'll love you all the more for your knowledge.
And the money is nice, too.
There is still the question of whether one needs to tip their barista. After all, they make above minimum wage, often twice as much as servers at restaurants. Few would argue that waiters and waitresses don't deserve tips. In fact, it's a necessary addendum to the price of your meal. They make jack shit. They take care of you and, ideally, are pleasant company when you want them to be, and out of the way when you'd rather they vanish.
A barista is not totally unlike that, but the more obvious comparison, of course, is to the bartender. Hell, "barista" translates to bartender in Italian, even. And the jobs are virtually the same. The talk to you as much or as little as you'd like, are knowledgeable about the product, and get you your damn drink. If you just get a beer or a coffee, there's probably not much need to tip. After all, most anyone can pour liquid in to a glass (although there is a right way to do it). But say you purchase a mixed drink, or in the barista's case, something that requires more than just coffee. In that case, tip. Please.
Again, the money helps. Baristi are not wealthy people. Trust me. We make more than waiters, but still less than ten dollars an hour. And it is skilled labor. If you don't believe me, walk behind the counter, and try to pull your own shots, and steam the milk. You will make a mess. If, somehow, you manage to make a drink as well, it will be awful. A decent barista makes all this look easy -- and after a while, it gets to be -- but don't think that makes the task altogether simple.
Finally, in the words of one of my better tipping customers, "There's a culture here. Not everyone knows it, but we do." He's right. By tipping, you're filling your role in said culture. You feel good for doing something nice (even though, at most, you're typically dropping an extra buck); And trust me, the barista feels even better. There's no satisfaction like knowing you're appreciated, that the work you do is valued. So express that appreciation. Tell them that you like the drink -- if in fact you do -- and why. They'll love you all the more for your knowledge.
And the money is nice, too.
Baristi
I've written before that a certain bond exists among baristi. Those of us who spend our working hours behind a coffee bar, and our other hours near one, of course have coffee in common -- but much more as well.
We have stories. Oh so many stories. Tales of customers, great and terrible. People who love you, hate you, and everything in between. People who are just weird, and can't be ascribed any specific descriptor.
We share knowledge others consider trivial. We know the difference, not just between African and South American beans, but between Kenyan and Ethiopian, Colombian and Peruvian. We love the hiss of milk steaming, appreciate the pour, and savor the result.
And we talk. We talk, because you aren't a good barista if you aren't a good talker too. At least once a week, I meet a stranger, who is a friend in coffee. We talk, we smile, and we go our separate ways, but to similar places.
This is to say nothing of one's coworkers. War analogies are cliche, and perhaps even insulting to those who have experience the genuine article. But even still, there's a feeling of closeness that comes from exhaling together, having faced down an impossible rush.
I sat, just 24 hours ago, in the corner of a bar with my current coworkers. I drank coffee. They drank other things. Eventually, so did I. We laughed at nothing and everything. We talked about grave matters, ridiculous matters, and many things that did not matter. We had one hell of a time. I know I did.
We have stories. Oh so many stories. Tales of customers, great and terrible. People who love you, hate you, and everything in between. People who are just weird, and can't be ascribed any specific descriptor.
We share knowledge others consider trivial. We know the difference, not just between African and South American beans, but between Kenyan and Ethiopian, Colombian and Peruvian. We love the hiss of milk steaming, appreciate the pour, and savor the result.
And we talk. We talk, because you aren't a good barista if you aren't a good talker too. At least once a week, I meet a stranger, who is a friend in coffee. We talk, we smile, and we go our separate ways, but to similar places.
This is to say nothing of one's coworkers. War analogies are cliche, and perhaps even insulting to those who have experience the genuine article. But even still, there's a feeling of closeness that comes from exhaling together, having faced down an impossible rush.
I sat, just 24 hours ago, in the corner of a bar with my current coworkers. I drank coffee. They drank other things. Eventually, so did I. We laughed at nothing and everything. We talked about grave matters, ridiculous matters, and many things that did not matter. We had one hell of a time. I know I did.
September 10, 2010
Fuel
As much as I pretend otherwise, it is probably the case that most people drink coffee for the caffeine. They view it not as a drink to be enjoyed, but more as an energy supplement to be used for its utilitarian value. That's fine.
I understand that life, for many, is characterized by a constant state of sleep deprivation, poor eating habits, and other factors that lead to fatigue. But life goes on, whether you're being dragged, or doing the dragging. Caffeine can help you do the latter.
I've blogged, earlier, on caffeine's merits as brain fuel. Specifically, how it can help students study longer, and with more focus than they might otherwise manage. But frankly, that's not caffeine's most relevant purpose for me, student though I technically am.
No, I value caffeine more for its endurance boosting properties. As in working out. Seriously, grow up people.
There is science to support this. I won't quote it, or even link to it, but you can find studies with a quick search. I simply want to keep this as straightforward as possible.
Thus this, in the most succinct terms I can muster, is what caffeine does for you, relative to endurance: First of all, it literally does extend the ability of your muscles to perform aerobic work. But, perhaps more importantly, it lessens the perception of effort. That is, you feel like you can run harder, so you're more likely to do so. It also, a bit surprisingly, leads to quicker recovery, so you can hit the road the next day.
Typically, it takes about an hour for caffeine to really peak. Which is nice, because an hour is about the closest to a race you really want to be drinking anything (excepting, of course, long runs which require hydrating on the move). What's more, the effects last 4-5 hours, which ought to be enough time for you to finish anything marathon length or shorter.
Also, contrary to popular belief, coffee consumption leads to a net water gain. Its effects as a diuretic are vastly overstated. In fact, coffee isn't significantly (in the actual scientific sense of the word) more a diuretic than plain water.
Another excuse to drink coffee? You bet.
I understand that life, for many, is characterized by a constant state of sleep deprivation, poor eating habits, and other factors that lead to fatigue. But life goes on, whether you're being dragged, or doing the dragging. Caffeine can help you do the latter.
I've blogged, earlier, on caffeine's merits as brain fuel. Specifically, how it can help students study longer, and with more focus than they might otherwise manage. But frankly, that's not caffeine's most relevant purpose for me, student though I technically am.
No, I value caffeine more for its endurance boosting properties. As in working out. Seriously, grow up people.
There is science to support this. I won't quote it, or even link to it, but you can find studies with a quick search. I simply want to keep this as straightforward as possible.
Thus this, in the most succinct terms I can muster, is what caffeine does for you, relative to endurance: First of all, it literally does extend the ability of your muscles to perform aerobic work. But, perhaps more importantly, it lessens the perception of effort. That is, you feel like you can run harder, so you're more likely to do so. It also, a bit surprisingly, leads to quicker recovery, so you can hit the road the next day.
Typically, it takes about an hour for caffeine to really peak. Which is nice, because an hour is about the closest to a race you really want to be drinking anything (excepting, of course, long runs which require hydrating on the move). What's more, the effects last 4-5 hours, which ought to be enough time for you to finish anything marathon length or shorter.
Also, contrary to popular belief, coffee consumption leads to a net water gain. Its effects as a diuretic are vastly overstated. In fact, coffee isn't significantly (in the actual scientific sense of the word) more a diuretic than plain water.
Another excuse to drink coffee? You bet.
September 8, 2010
Liquid tragedy
Generally speaking, it is not a good idea to purchase coffee from a machine that looks like it ought to be dispensing coke instead. It is, perhaps, an even worse idea to purchase espresso from such a machine. I probably could have told you this before today -- but not from experience.
Earlier today, I found myself in the library. This is not, in and of itself, particularly remarkable. Libraries are places college students are expected to spend a decent amount of time in, after all. But they are not exciting places, frankly. Nor are they great places for purchasing coffee. Still, the former fact sometimes negates the latter.
Thus, after burying myself in homework for a couple hours, I desperately needed some sort of chemical jolt. But The Underground, and the Pulse coffee bar contained therein, were such a long walk -- probably like 100 yards or so. I didn't feel up to it. And so, with 78 cents jingling in my back pocket, I approached this dusty anachronism. Allegedly, it vended coffee and espresso -- both of which could be had for 50 cents.
Desperation and curiosity conspired together, and their combined efforts led to my purchasing something from this machine. I chose the espresso, more because I wanted to see just how awful it could be. Curiosity only ever killed cats, right? Not coffee drinkers.
I examined the cup, after extracting it from behind its cloudy plastic curtain. It looked, perhaps, like 3-4 ounces of liquid, though I doubted very much that it was in fact 3 or 4 conventional 1 oz "shots". But to my surprise, their appeared to be something like crema topping the beverage. At least, it was vaguely caramel colored. And so I did the only thing left to do, and sipped.
Imagine, if you will, a bottle of water, left in the back seat of your car for a week. Then imagine that said water was filtered through the contents found in a dumpster outside the worst coffee bar you can imagine. Imagine that, for some reason, you decided to drink the result.
It was far, far worse than that. Flat and pungent as can be, it was absolutely the worst thing claiming to have anything to do with coffee I've ingested in my life.
Desperate for reprieve, I hastened over to the nearby Pulse, and purchased a double shot of real, honest to goodness espresso. Comparatively, it was liquid bliss.
Earlier today, I found myself in the library. This is not, in and of itself, particularly remarkable. Libraries are places college students are expected to spend a decent amount of time in, after all. But they are not exciting places, frankly. Nor are they great places for purchasing coffee. Still, the former fact sometimes negates the latter.
Thus, after burying myself in homework for a couple hours, I desperately needed some sort of chemical jolt. But The Underground, and the Pulse coffee bar contained therein, were such a long walk -- probably like 100 yards or so. I didn't feel up to it. And so, with 78 cents jingling in my back pocket, I approached this dusty anachronism. Allegedly, it vended coffee and espresso -- both of which could be had for 50 cents.
Desperation and curiosity conspired together, and their combined efforts led to my purchasing something from this machine. I chose the espresso, more because I wanted to see just how awful it could be. Curiosity only ever killed cats, right? Not coffee drinkers.
I examined the cup, after extracting it from behind its cloudy plastic curtain. It looked, perhaps, like 3-4 ounces of liquid, though I doubted very much that it was in fact 3 or 4 conventional 1 oz "shots". But to my surprise, their appeared to be something like crema topping the beverage. At least, it was vaguely caramel colored. And so I did the only thing left to do, and sipped.
Imagine, if you will, a bottle of water, left in the back seat of your car for a week. Then imagine that said water was filtered through the contents found in a dumpster outside the worst coffee bar you can imagine. Imagine that, for some reason, you decided to drink the result.
It was far, far worse than that. Flat and pungent as can be, it was absolutely the worst thing claiming to have anything to do with coffee I've ingested in my life.
Desperate for reprieve, I hastened over to the nearby Pulse, and purchased a double shot of real, honest to goodness espresso. Comparatively, it was liquid bliss.
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