Morning Synth

There is a small iPod dock, sitting under the counter at work. The reception being what it is, we have two options: The local NPR affiliate, or the even more local student radio station. The former has Morning Edition and All Things Considered going for it, but classical music in the interim, which I haven't the education or temperament for.

Student radio is something of a mixed bag; though the bag is mixed slightly differently depending on the DJ at the time. Usually, the mornings alternate between less than mainstream hip hop (the sort with something of a narrative and coherent lyrics, lacking bass heavy dance loops) and less than clubworthy electronic music (also lacking synthy dance loops, as well as some of the trancier elements). 

Neither of these are typical cafe music; at least, that's the impression I've gleaned from my experience and customers. Which is to say, basically, that neither are indy rock or jazz. Neither are as quiet or introspective as those either, which may seem to some to contradict the conventionally thought of cafe ethic. 

Neither are, in short, the sort of thing you might listen to while wearing thick rimmed glasses, an Autumn colored flannel, skinny jeans, and carefully haphazard semi-long hair. They are more reminiscent of very different aesthetics; though not as different as if the music were the kind noted in the above parentheses.

But it works, I think. Coffee bars are, at their best, active places. Though they are often though of as quiet, communal gathering places, or deathly silent study halls, they are more often places of quick comings and goings, a transition from this point in the day to the next. This activity is accented by the grinding and whirring and tapping and hissing, punctuated by the transactions and hand-offs themselves.

They are not quite dance clubs, of course, and though the aesthetic needn't be as thoroughly dredged in hipster as is often assumed, it probably isn't mixers and faux-hawks either.

Though truthfully, it isn't the aesthetic I'm concerned about, so much as the attitude. Whatever music is playing at a cafe isn't so much entertainment as it's a soundtrack. And in so far as that's the case, I prefer a soundtrack which sets an upbeat tempo, one where things happen, and happen quickly, with maybe a little too much gusto.

Short on Scale

English is the assumed language of many places on Earth, of commerce in general, and of Lawrence, KS, at the very least. One might thus assume that any transaction taking place in Lawrence, KS, ought to be conducted in English, with perhaps the odd Italian word thrown in for necessary prentention.

Machiatto, for instance. Con panna.

In truth, cafes are often derided for the foregin nomenclature, mocked for superficial affectations.

Why grande, and not simply medium? And venti? It's all so confusing.

Fortunately, the smaller two cup sizes are straightforward enough: short and tall. They are English, and moreover, they are ubiqutous. A short thing is defined as something that is not tall, and vice versa. It is a relationship in the tradition of yin and yang, cast as perfect opposites.

Given this, I had assumed there would never be confusion on the matter of those two sizes, and how they relate. Short is short; tall is tall. More importantly, short is shorter than tall; tall is taller than short.

That assumption crumbled today, it's structure undermined by one simple query: "Which one is smaller?"

Say this for me: I swallowed my sarcasm, and responded as politely as I could manage. But say one more thing for me: I was not so polite as to refrain from writing about the utterance.

The Cold Hard Ambiguity

And here I thought we had something like an emerging consensus, the sort of thing that seems impossible in matters of taste. Of course, I should have known better. I should have known that a consensus is not sustainable, and invariably, creates its own backlash. 

But in this case, I was so sure. This was not opinion, not taste, but fact. Cold press wasn't just preferable to icing hot coffee; it was better. Any cafe that did it wrong was immediately shit-listed.

And that's just the point: There was a right way, and there was a wrong way. Now? Now I'm being told that my infallible truth is a lie, that my rich, complex cold-brewed coffee is oxidized sludge. 

The world is flat. 2 + 2 = 5. You should brew hot coffee over ice.

Of course, my first reaction is to reject this as nothing more than contention for it's own sake. But first reactions are often not the best reactions, and certainly not the most educated. So, the only thing to do is to try it myself. 

And then, perhaps, I can start the inevitable backlash against the backlash. 

The Buck Doesn't Stop

It's said that runners are the fittest group of sick an injured people on the planet, and among the general populous (thus excluding all pro and top level amateur athletes), I think that's a fair statement. The question is not if you will get hurt, but when, where, and how. Even success is accompanied with pain, as the most successful races are spent at the threshold of exertion, lungs, joints, and everything else screaming "Stop!"

And yet you ignore those signs, pretending your internal check-engine light is malfunctioning again, hoping that a gasket doesn't blow until after the finish line. 

It is not the frequency or severity of these injuries that's most astonishing, but the extent to which they are embraced. A runner rarely complains of their offending body part, chalking it up to shit happening, as it does. 

If there is blame, is it never placed at the Nike-clad feet of running itself. The runner might blame their shoes, their form, their lack of flexibility or strength. Most of all, they blame their own ambition, doing too much, too soon, too fast, and too hard. 

And they wait, those days, weeks, or months, until they can inflict new damage on their healed-enough body. Some might say this is an abusive relationship, but I see it as something of a model. There is responsibility, and it is taken. Running didn't hurt you; you hurt you. In any case, shit most certainly does happen.

This is a lesson too often forgotten when it comes to coffee, or consumables in general. The consumer is not to blame; the product itself is. Caffeine is indicted in the court of public opinion on a bevy of fraudulent charges, prosecuted by a host who would rather damn the substance itself than learn moderation.

Does a fifth cup make you jittery? Then have less, or space them out. Do light roasts give you an upset stomach? Then go dark. In any case, there is no antagonistic aspect to coffee.

There is a continuum on which every runner will be injured, provided enough running takes place. And there is a similar case with coffee, where anyone can consume a detrimental amount. That's a line worth finding, and respecting.

It's All Good

There is no such thing as a vacuum, which is not to say that people are forever condemned to dirty carpets, but rather is a statement against things existing in isolation. No idea is had without inspiration; no action fails to generate some kind of reaction. Picture a pond, a stone dropping in, a ripple; then dismiss the pseudo-zen imagery. 

This is not about rocks or carpets. It's about bread, coffee, muffins, mochas, and taste. It's about "What's/Is this good?", and the futility of what is truly a stupid question, no matter what a well-meaning grade school teacher might say.

Of course, you can forgive the questions as honest inquiry from the ignorant, a show of respect to the knowledge and taste of the barista. And isn't that what we want, after all? We mock the customers who douse our precious single-origin beans in cream, laugh at the preening caramel machiatto sippers. We know quality. We know it, and if only they would listen. 

And so our narcissism is indulged, our egos sated, by a curled lip, a pointed finger, and a simple question. 

But no cafe exists in a Hoover, and so, simple though the question appears, we stumble. "Well I like..." we say, before realizing the irrelevance of the point. "Well it tastes like..." we say, not answering the question. "It depends," we manage. "Everything is good if you like it." 

Even coconut mochas, extra hot, skim milk, no whip. Even pitch dark beans from everywhere and nowhere in particular, flooded with milk, sweetened enough to send someone from zero to diabetic in seconds flat. 

We pause, and so do they, both wanting direction and having none to give. We stand in front of our silent orchestras, arms paralyzed, pining for that familiar symphony. "Are mochas good?" Sure. Well, maybe. Not to me. But to him? To her? To you? Yes? No? Maybe? Ihavenoeffingclue?

A breath. "Most everyone likes them. It's chocolate. Hard to mess that up." The music plays, and brings our arms to life. "I think you'll like it."

The Empire Strikes Back

I wrote, just a few days ago, that Starbucks' ubiquity and presence is not so damaging as some make it out to be, and in fact, may be beneficial. My argument is best summed up with an old saying: A rising tide lifts all boats. And while truisms frequently are not, there is relevant wisdom in this case.

But good, bad, or indifferent (as if anyone with an interest in coffee could be) feelings aside, there is no denying that Starbucks is a major player in the food service realm, a titan that so eclipses the coffee category that it scarcely belongs in it.

I could tell you why I think that is; but my opinions are merely that, and crafted from well outside the relevant sphere. To read more educated opinion on Starbucks' return to prominence (dominance?), see this blog on Forbes.

A Reflection on a Reflection

There is an oft-entertained idea of role reversal, the hypothetical "How would you feel?" directed at persons perceived to be acting callously. At it's core, this is empathy, and it's a necessary human trait. Without it, one can't function in a social environment, and is labeled a sociopath. 

But there are degrees of empathy; I'm not concerned with the radical ends of the spectrum. Rather, I'm thinking about the apparently mundane, the connection between customer and barista. 

I'm both, of course, in many cases. But when I visit another cafe, that's an interesting dichotomy. It's a useful experience as well, one that shows me what to do, and what actions are probably best avoided. 

Today was not so instructive, but was, nonetheless, interesting. 

I left my shop, having closed, and stopped at another on the way back to my car. I ordered a large cold press, and called it such.

"So an iced americano?" the barista asked. The tone was familiar to me. It asked, but also told, said that I didn't have a clue what I was talking about. 

""No," I said, "I'd like to use cold press, not espresso." 

Her demeanor did not invite further comment. "If you get water with the cold press, it's an americano. Is that what you want?"

I smiled, let the snark pile up in the back of my mouth, and said "Sure."

"There's a lot of terminology," she offered, helpfully. 

There was so much I wanted to say then. I was tired, running on little sleep, a long shift, and no food in ten hours. "I know," I though. "Maybe that's why you can't keep it straight." Or perhaps: "Just give me the damn coffee; hold the failed attempt at a vocabulary lesson."

I said neither, of course, opting instead for a neutral grin and a diplomatic "Oh, I know."