I have to be honest. The seemingly relentless drive towards automation turns me off a bit. I feel, despite my age, like the proverbial old man on the porch, lamenting the long-gone good ol' days. Back then, people hand-pulled their own shots, and milked the cow right behind the counter.
But those (purely imagined) days are past. We live in a time obsessed with time - the saving of it, and the profiting from it. We like things now, but we do not want to compromise quality. Knowing that, it's not surprising that the Keurig coffee maker (and similar machines by several other companies) have become staples at homes and offices. They allow for the preparation of a perfectly acceptable cup of coffee, with the push of a button.
But acceptable to who? For that 99% of the coffee drinking population, quality is on the periphery, nudged to the side by chemical dependency. For those, who survived on Folgers for years, this is undoubtedly a godsend. But I am the 1%, the coffee intelligentsia. For me and my ilk, such technology is blasphemy, no more coffee than Wonderbread is bread.
If I can remove my tongue from my cheek for a moment, it's worth noting the degree of hyperbole there. Still, there is some truth to the matter. K-cups are largely created and marketed without an eye on those who might fancy a pour-over produced cup. But that's changing.
Green Mountain Coffee's new Barista Prima K-Cups claim to be "designed for the passionate coffee lover. Each cup reflects the consummate artistry and handcrafted care that only the most skilled baristas can deliver - until now." I'm not the most skilled barista - but I am decent. With that in mind, I took to tasting the Columbian cup. (Which was a review sample, for purposes of full disclosure.)
It's the lightest of the four offerings, and the only one that declares an origin. (The others are House, Italian, and French.) The description is as follows: Accented by wondrously bright, bold fruit notes and a distinctive hint of walnut, this deeply roasted cup elevates satisfaction into a realm all its own.
Obviously, this is confident marketing. And so it was with a hefty dose of cynicism that I sipped the coffee. That cynicism didn't last, however. While the result was not quite up to the lofty claims (really, it had no chance), the claimed flavors were present, with just a nip of acid on the side. The roast was a hair darker than I tend to prefer, but will provide a more hearty, woody flavor to those who want that sort of thing. Most noteworthy (and unlike all other K-Cups I've tried), the coffee didn't seem woefully under-dosed. That is, one K-Cup yields one legitimate cup of coffee, without over-extraction and resulting bitterness.
This will not replace the Hario cone or the French Press in the kitchens of those who don't mind crafting their coffee. But for those who would rather not (or even the lazy or rushed mornings), this is the best thing I've tried. It's as easy as can be, and of sufficient quality that you don't feel you've totally traded taste for convenience.
October 30, 2011
October 24, 2011
Coffee's Advocate
Another day, another study suggest that - more than make life worth living - coffee might well save it. This is not particularly noteworthy, in and of itself. The study only notes a correlation, which proves little to nothing. What's more, the mechanism is unclear, and the gap in consumption is massive. So what we've learned, really, is that people who drink a lot of coffee tend to have once type of cancer less than people who drink almost none. As such, there is no call to action, and it's said that people shouldn't start drinking coffee if they don't already enjoy it.
Were this one isolated case, I'd agree. Taken by itself, this one study isn't significant enough to support advocacy. But taken on the whole, there's a massive (and growing) body of evidence that suggests coffee deserves to be considered alongside fruits and veggies as potent natural medicine. And those, of course, are advocated for (however ineffectually).
Fruits and veggies are justifiably considered nutritional necessities, containing vitamins and phytonutrients that do innumerable good things inside the human body. But for all of the studies that suggest this, there are precious few that provide a causative link. And like the above study, taken on an individual basis, one might not think an apple a day worth eating. But we know better. We can take the cumulative knowledge, and glean from it that people should eat colorful plants, often at the exclusion of less nutritive things.
Thus, increase consumption of fruits and veggies; decrease consumption of less nutrient dense pseudo-food is considered sound advice.
In that same vein, I offer the following: Increase consumption of coffee, tea, and water; decrease consumption of sweetened liquids.
That, I think, is reasonable advocacy. No one needs to like coffee. But no one needs to like kale, either. You'd still be better off eating a side of that than french fries. So too can people make wise choices in their quest to hydrate and caffeinate. Coffee is a good one. So is tea, and of course, water. Anything sweetened, on the other hand, is probably not a good decision - whether it's sugar or sucralose/asparatame/neotame/etc. doing the sweetening.
Were this one isolated case, I'd agree. Taken by itself, this one study isn't significant enough to support advocacy. But taken on the whole, there's a massive (and growing) body of evidence that suggests coffee deserves to be considered alongside fruits and veggies as potent natural medicine. And those, of course, are advocated for (however ineffectually).
Fruits and veggies are justifiably considered nutritional necessities, containing vitamins and phytonutrients that do innumerable good things inside the human body. But for all of the studies that suggest this, there are precious few that provide a causative link. And like the above study, taken on an individual basis, one might not think an apple a day worth eating. But we know better. We can take the cumulative knowledge, and glean from it that people should eat colorful plants, often at the exclusion of less nutritive things.
Thus, increase consumption of fruits and veggies; decrease consumption of less nutrient dense pseudo-food is considered sound advice.
In that same vein, I offer the following: Increase consumption of coffee, tea, and water; decrease consumption of sweetened liquids.
That, I think, is reasonable advocacy. No one needs to like coffee. But no one needs to like kale, either. You'd still be better off eating a side of that than french fries. So too can people make wise choices in their quest to hydrate and caffeinate. Coffee is a good one. So is tea, and of course, water. Anything sweetened, on the other hand, is probably not a good decision - whether it's sugar or sucralose/asparatame/neotame/etc. doing the sweetening.
October 21, 2011
The Kindness of Strangers
Blanche DuBuis: Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.
It's a line, both tragic and iconic, from A Streetcar Named Desire. Apart from being mandatory high school reading, Streetcar helped vault the career of Marlon Brando, and to broach topics previously untouchable in American theater. Blanche, an archetypal southern bell languidly clinging to her physical prime, is being taken to a mental hospital when she utters that signature line. It references her promiscuity and physical dependency, as well as her inability to form meaningful relationships grounded in real emotion. (The genesis of this downward spiral was discovering her then fiance's homosexuality. Again, not something discussed much in those years.)
Though there is specific context to that line, and an aura of shocked disillusionment, so too is there a more broad context. There is the fact that Blanche's name might as easily be replaced by any of ours, and the line would retain its veracity and impact. We all depend on the kindness of strangers, and conversely, are often the stranger on whom another is depending.
These are small actions, most of the time, unnoticed. But those instances in which they are apparent, they ought to be noted. Were it not for a stranger's Tylenol, my haggard finish of the Heartland 50 miler would have been more painful - if not impossible. And were it not for those who took minutes off of their time to stop and walk with me, to boost my spirits and encourage me on, dropping might have seemed an option. As it was, I couldn't fall short of the expectations they had set. They said I could finish, and so I would do so.
My job gives me a beautiful opportunity to be the stranger in question, providing extra change here or a sample scone there. Those are the obvious deeds, the tangible ones. There are things besides that, the jokes that hit or the drinks that satisfy a need beyond caffeine.
But more often, I marvel at the kindness of customers, so often cited for their transgressions. I'm as guilty as anyone, quipping and complaining about the minutia of a mispronounced order or the mention of Starbucks. But there are so many more moments - too many to do justice to - that strike the opposite note. There is the customer who will wipe up a mess they made - or even one they didn't. There is the customer who fills the half & half carafe himself, or the customer who asks you how much longer you're open at the sight of a broom. I depend on these things, and on the everyday kindness, the smiles and the thank yous.
So does everyone. We are social creatures, but more than that. A social creature has meaningful interaction with a select few, but we expand far beyond our circle. Some say this cheapens the relationships we form, as there are so many, or hardens us to others. No doubt, these things can and do happen. But were it not for the kindness of strangers - on which we all depend - it would be so much more the norm.
It's a line, both tragic and iconic, from A Streetcar Named Desire. Apart from being mandatory high school reading, Streetcar helped vault the career of Marlon Brando, and to broach topics previously untouchable in American theater. Blanche, an archetypal southern bell languidly clinging to her physical prime, is being taken to a mental hospital when she utters that signature line. It references her promiscuity and physical dependency, as well as her inability to form meaningful relationships grounded in real emotion. (The genesis of this downward spiral was discovering her then fiance's homosexuality. Again, not something discussed much in those years.)
Though there is specific context to that line, and an aura of shocked disillusionment, so too is there a more broad context. There is the fact that Blanche's name might as easily be replaced by any of ours, and the line would retain its veracity and impact. We all depend on the kindness of strangers, and conversely, are often the stranger on whom another is depending.
These are small actions, most of the time, unnoticed. But those instances in which they are apparent, they ought to be noted. Were it not for a stranger's Tylenol, my haggard finish of the Heartland 50 miler would have been more painful - if not impossible. And were it not for those who took minutes off of their time to stop and walk with me, to boost my spirits and encourage me on, dropping might have seemed an option. As it was, I couldn't fall short of the expectations they had set. They said I could finish, and so I would do so.
My job gives me a beautiful opportunity to be the stranger in question, providing extra change here or a sample scone there. Those are the obvious deeds, the tangible ones. There are things besides that, the jokes that hit or the drinks that satisfy a need beyond caffeine.
But more often, I marvel at the kindness of customers, so often cited for their transgressions. I'm as guilty as anyone, quipping and complaining about the minutia of a mispronounced order or the mention of Starbucks. But there are so many more moments - too many to do justice to - that strike the opposite note. There is the customer who will wipe up a mess they made - or even one they didn't. There is the customer who fills the half & half carafe himself, or the customer who asks you how much longer you're open at the sight of a broom. I depend on these things, and on the everyday kindness, the smiles and the thank yous.
So does everyone. We are social creatures, but more than that. A social creature has meaningful interaction with a select few, but we expand far beyond our circle. Some say this cheapens the relationships we form, as there are so many, or hardens us to others. No doubt, these things can and do happen. But were it not for the kindness of strangers - on which we all depend - it would be so much more the norm.
Coffee Genius
Well, this is certainly something. Perhaps it's a sign of the Food Network's decline, or television's as a whole. Another reality/competition show. Great. Yawn. One thing it's not is subtle. Dripping with Iron Chef inspired panache, the whole thing seems to delight in its absurdity.
A confession: I adore the aforementioned Iron Chef, both the original Japanese model and the American import. I'm probably even more fond of Chopped, the more hectic and random variation on the cooking competition theme.
I like food. (Who doesn't?) And I like theatrics. (Same question.) Of course, incorporating that in to one's drink making is troublesome, if not altogether impossible. Speed is more the issue, and customers are probably not willing to try red snapper (or whatever "mystery ingredient") in their latte. And that's probably fair.
Even still, some part of me sees shows like this and thinks: "Why not coffee?" Well, there are probably a lot of reasons, but really, I don't want those answers. I want to imagine a giant conveyor belt and a bar area that looks like something off of a Star Trek set. I want someone to make this show, and I want to watch every episode, over and over, forever. Then, one day, I want to be on it.
Sure, there are already barista competitions. But, even for those of us who really care about the craft of coffee prep, those can be a chore to watch. You can't really see anything, and none of the tedious bits are edited out. Basically, the whole thing needs a producer, some glitz, and some Food Network air time.
(If anyone with the power to make the above happen reads this, I don't need any compensation, just take the idea. Please. And then, while we're at it, give me a show where I travel to coffee shops around the world, a la Diners, Drive Ins and Dives. Ratings gold.)
October 18, 2011
Debating Semantics
Some of my most successful days - if we're measuring by won/loss records - were spent in an ill fitting blazer, talking too rapidly about abstract foreign policy issues. I cited sources, but mostly, feigned the kind of authority it seemed I'd need to win. Usually, it worked. In the cases that it didn't, the other team blustered more convincingly than I. Such is the (comical, in hindsight) world of high school debate.
"Judge," I'd say, making sure to address the middle aged volunteer by their customary title, "We're debating semantics." Well of course, one might say. That's what you do in debate. But my point was this: We're spending time stressing over words rather than issues. There are child soldiers in Africa who depend on my plan passing. And also, I need another medal.
The plea seemed to work, fairly often. I'd lobby that the judge ignore the technical shortcomings of our plan, "Strip away the semantics", and do the right thing. It worked, not because I was a brilliant or hard-working debater, but because I had targeted a straw-man. People hate semantics; or at least, they think they do.
Despite that, I knowingly spend too much time emphasizing semantics. "Which is the darkest?" a customer will ask. "Well," I respond, "That's really not a very useful dichotomy. None of our single-origin beans are roasted dark, so as to preserved their unique characteristics. Given that, it's really a matter of what you prefer, in terms of body, acidity, and general flavor profile."
They blink, more confused than when they asked the question. It's not for the acquisition of bad information; everything I said was true. But it's useless to them. They want the information they asked for, as simply as possible. "Judge, the barista is debating semantics."
And I am; and I have; and I will. I like words, and I like coffee. Those things combined - along with my general love for trivia - lead me to over-share, and often enough, to avoid really answering the question they asked. I say pretty things, skirt the issue, and cast a "Oh you didn't know that? Well consider yourself learned" glance at the customer.
I really should stop doing that. Which is, as much as anything, why I'm writing this. I spend an awful lot of time talking about the things I do right, and the things I think are positive about the coffee bar experience. But sometimes, I do the wrong thing. Sometimes, I create a less-than-rosy experience. Sometimes - too often, honestly - I focus on semantics, and not the child soldiers in Africa.
So, which one is the darker roast? The sumatra.
"Judge," I'd say, making sure to address the middle aged volunteer by their customary title, "We're debating semantics." Well of course, one might say. That's what you do in debate. But my point was this: We're spending time stressing over words rather than issues. There are child soldiers in Africa who depend on my plan passing. And also, I need another medal.
The plea seemed to work, fairly often. I'd lobby that the judge ignore the technical shortcomings of our plan, "Strip away the semantics", and do the right thing. It worked, not because I was a brilliant or hard-working debater, but because I had targeted a straw-man. People hate semantics; or at least, they think they do.
Despite that, I knowingly spend too much time emphasizing semantics. "Which is the darkest?" a customer will ask. "Well," I respond, "That's really not a very useful dichotomy. None of our single-origin beans are roasted dark, so as to preserved their unique characteristics. Given that, it's really a matter of what you prefer, in terms of body, acidity, and general flavor profile."
They blink, more confused than when they asked the question. It's not for the acquisition of bad information; everything I said was true. But it's useless to them. They want the information they asked for, as simply as possible. "Judge, the barista is debating semantics."
And I am; and I have; and I will. I like words, and I like coffee. Those things combined - along with my general love for trivia - lead me to over-share, and often enough, to avoid really answering the question they asked. I say pretty things, skirt the issue, and cast a "Oh you didn't know that? Well consider yourself learned" glance at the customer.
I really should stop doing that. Which is, as much as anything, why I'm writing this. I spend an awful lot of time talking about the things I do right, and the things I think are positive about the coffee bar experience. But sometimes, I do the wrong thing. Sometimes, I create a less-than-rosy experience. Sometimes - too often, honestly - I focus on semantics, and not the child soldiers in Africa.
So, which one is the darker roast? The sumatra.
October 14, 2011
Closing Time
They call it dusk, when it relates to the light/dark ratio permeating the sky. I learned, in a British literature class, that this period could also be referred to as "gloaming". It's a fantastic word, and more people should use it. Regardless, I'm talking about a similar period, that time when closing fades over in to closed - only not quite. You glance at the clock, and see the hands dancing in place. Should I sweep? Should I flush the second head? Should I even start messing with the drawer?
Yes, you should. Or at least, yes, I do. That doesn't mean those things won't get interrupted; they will. Nor does it mean certain tasks won't get undone; they will as well. You'll sweep, then spill the knock box. Customers will arrive at the eleventh hour, and ask for whatever drink requires you to use the device you just cleaned. You will want to tell them no, to bribe them with the soon-to-expire muffin, or perhaps that entire pot of coffee that's about to get dumped. But you'll make the drink anyway, maybe slightly emphasizing how much stuff you have to get back out and move around. They'll tip, and then you'll feel slightly like a dick.
None of this is a comment on how things ought to be, just how they are. Maybe there should be a rule against ordering large mochas in the last 15 minutes a coffee bar is open. But where's the line? And whenever you close, there's always that time right before that, which is now as fraught with potential for unwanted messes as that time we just did away with. So no, this is not about ideals or ambitions, gumdrops or rainbows.
This is about reality, and realizing that so long as you're open, you're open. Madden can wait. Dinner does not need to be started early. This is about realizing that, even after you realize that, you won't be any less caustic. You won't rush any less, or try as hard to avoid eye contact. You'll still hide in the corner, broom in hand, trying to peek at reflections like Jason fighting Medusa.
Mostly, this is about trying to pin down this phenomenon. You know it; you've lived it. But there's no word for it. Certainly, not one as cool as gloaming.
Yes, you should. Or at least, yes, I do. That doesn't mean those things won't get interrupted; they will. Nor does it mean certain tasks won't get undone; they will as well. You'll sweep, then spill the knock box. Customers will arrive at the eleventh hour, and ask for whatever drink requires you to use the device you just cleaned. You will want to tell them no, to bribe them with the soon-to-expire muffin, or perhaps that entire pot of coffee that's about to get dumped. But you'll make the drink anyway, maybe slightly emphasizing how much stuff you have to get back out and move around. They'll tip, and then you'll feel slightly like a dick.
None of this is a comment on how things ought to be, just how they are. Maybe there should be a rule against ordering large mochas in the last 15 minutes a coffee bar is open. But where's the line? And whenever you close, there's always that time right before that, which is now as fraught with potential for unwanted messes as that time we just did away with. So no, this is not about ideals or ambitions, gumdrops or rainbows.
This is about reality, and realizing that so long as you're open, you're open. Madden can wait. Dinner does not need to be started early. This is about realizing that, even after you realize that, you won't be any less caustic. You won't rush any less, or try as hard to avoid eye contact. You'll still hide in the corner, broom in hand, trying to peek at reflections like Jason fighting Medusa.
Mostly, this is about trying to pin down this phenomenon. You know it; you've lived it. But there's no word for it. Certainly, not one as cool as gloaming.
October 12, 2011
A Return to Coffee
One final word, on that race. (The report is fast becoming the most read thing I've put together, so I feel vindicated in spending so much time writing about it.) It would be easy, given that I fell so short of my stated goals, to be disappointed. Thankfully, it's just as easy not to be. Events happen; we choose how we perceive them. I ran 35 great miles, despite my mistakes. And those mistakes will be learned from. If this were easy, there would be no satisfaction in success. I can choose to be encouraged, and thus choose happiness; or, I can choose to be discouraged, and be pissed. I'm taking the former.
But enough about that. Today, I got back to work, after four days off. I am a barista first and foremost, who runs on the side - not the other way around. And much better, as it turns out, at making coffee drinks than running 50 miles. Of course, you could argue that making drinks is easier; but take someone who's never done either, and both will yield awful, messy results. The point is, the latte art clicked; the shots clicked; my feet clicked (ouch). I felt comfortable. I felt, as cliche as it sounds, at home.
And that's the odd thing. Or rather, I say it's odd, because there's the expectations that it is. But really, my affection for coffee bar work is well documented. It's just that most people hate their jobs - or so we're told. But I don't. Not at all. In fact, I miss it when I'm gone, and feel somehow infinitely right in returning. And this sentiment I'm expressing? Built up after a whopping four days off.
God forbid I ever have to do something else.
But enough about that. Today, I got back to work, after four days off. I am a barista first and foremost, who runs on the side - not the other way around. And much better, as it turns out, at making coffee drinks than running 50 miles. Of course, you could argue that making drinks is easier; but take someone who's never done either, and both will yield awful, messy results. The point is, the latte art clicked; the shots clicked; my feet clicked (ouch). I felt comfortable. I felt, as cliche as it sounds, at home.
And that's the odd thing. Or rather, I say it's odd, because there's the expectations that it is. But really, my affection for coffee bar work is well documented. It's just that most people hate their jobs - or so we're told. But I don't. Not at all. In fact, I miss it when I'm gone, and feel somehow infinitely right in returning. And this sentiment I'm expressing? Built up after a whopping four days off.
God forbid I ever have to do something else.
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