coffee for others

my current routine, when i manage to adhere to it, involves getting up around dawn, cleaning the kitchen, and preparing coffee for my folks.  it's one of my little ways of earning my keep while imposing on them for the time being.

making coffee for others is a habit that infuses the very art with a different quality.  there's a certain way my folks like their coffee made, certain equipment they prefer me to use, and then they tend to savor a small quantity of it over a long period of time, well past the gone-cold expiration point beyond which i would have thrown it in the sink.  they live by a different rhythm than i do, with expectations of life different from mine.  i'm the kind of foodie snob that complains about there being "no real bagels" in our area; they are the kind of people who prefer eating dinner on their laps in front of the TV.  i like to buy coffee from VERY small batch artisan roasters by the half pound; they like to stock up with five pound bags from the mega-store.  at many points it's an exercise in stepping out of my miserable berkeley CA-bred whingery.

i think i need to make coffee for other people.  it's why i worked behind the bar all those years, from seattle to boulder to wherever.  it's a social ritual much more salutary than mixing cocktails in that it doesn't lead to impairment or loss of dignity or empathy.  now i don't want to go denigrating alcohol here, as inebriation is pretty much the religion of many people i know, but having my own sad history with it i've acquired rather a jaundiced eye for the so-called "social lubricant".  sometimes you don't need lubriciousness in your relationships -- you need friction so you can get a goddamned grip.  you need a social stimulant.

drinking coffee with people is pleasant any time of day, but it's particularly pleasant preparing it and sharing it.  it has an element of taking care of others, of providing space for an interaction.  serving depressant beverages seems medical somehow, as if one were a sort of social anesthetist; serving coffee is kind of like sounding reveille.  people get drunk and riot; people drink coffee and foment revolution.  i think there's a difference.

my favorite coffee fanatic quote comes from the late, venerable alfred peet: "you wouldn't take a LaFite Rothschild and turn it into a soft drink!" when asked about flavored coffees.  i think about that when i think about the drink-to-get-drunk, coffee-to-get-wired, fast-food, GPC-smoking culture of convenience without taste [bourdieu's deconstruction of taste as a structural aftereffect of class distinction notwithstanding].  a very close friend who finds my interest in coffee amusing when not annoying drinks coffee daily yet claims to dislike it, saying "i need it to work."  this is, in my opinion, a good encapsulation of the calvinism-run-amok of american culture: there is no value other than utility, and all else is a distraction, an affectation, even an abomination.  because nobody in america is supposed to actually enjoy anything any more, much less relax over a long lunch, read a good book or watch a thoughtful film, we're all fat and miserable.

there's a false stereotype of the non-urban american as being chronically obese and unwilling to go outdoors.  in the impoverished rural area i currently live, on a trip to the county fair where one expects to see hordes of fat white people, i saw instead a lot of wiry, lean, muscular (though poor) people, because they are farm people who get up early, work their asses off all day long, and do stuff outside for fun.  the other thing i saw at the county fair was espresso stands and ethnic food.  not very long ago this would have been UNTHINKABLE here.  it was all corn dogs and root beer, or real beer, and that's it.  where once it was only camels or marlboros, this low-income rural area offers romeo y julietas.  what once would have been called a "tavern" now says "PUB" in eight foot letters on the roof so you can spot it from the highway.

so when people tell you that only petit bourgeoisie get into things like coffee, wine, scotch and cigars, or obscure niche genres of music, or films that aren't all about explosions, you should send them out to my neighborhood.  i've got some good ol' boys and gals out here who would beg to differ.  and who would send back their espresso shots for not having a copper-red cap of crema just as quickly as they'd send back a porterhouse for being overdone.

The Best Coffee In The World

I'm not going to mince words, split hairs, or serve you decaf on this one. The best coffee in the whole entire world is Arabian Mocha Sanani [a.k.a. Mocha Yemen], and is roasted by Peet's Coffee and Tea of Berkeley, California. [Second place - and it's a photo finish - goes to beloved artisan tiny batch roaster Lighthouse of the picaresque Phinney Ridge neighborhood here in Sea-Town. Hell, even the Great Green & Black Satan can't seem to screw it up.]

I have brewed this coffee as espresso, through paper and gold cone filters both "Mr. Coffee" and "Melitta" style, and [best of all] in a press pot or "French Press". I've even made "cowboy coffee" with it - i.e., boiled a pot of water over a campfire and then thrown a few coarse-ground fistfuls in, straining the product through a paper towel. It holds up under any and all circumstances.

Most coffee that you drink doesn't startle you like Sanani does. Usually you start with that roasted bean flavor followed by an interesting aftertaste, or the acid burn of No-Doz, or whatever crap you dump in there. The coffee of Yemen, however, immediately comes over you like an ancient and tawny port, a smooth single malt scotch, and a good cigar all rolled into one. You can taste the unique preparation method of this particular varietal, in which the coffee cherry is dried onto the bean in the blazing Arab sun rather than pulped and rinsed off beforehand.

Drinking this coffee has all of the flavor notes one looks for in any coffee, rolled into one - the tart acid on the tip of the tongue, the creamy fatty esters on the middle, the toasty oxidation somewhere on the back and sides - and then ties it all up with a nose like a particularly velvety Chianti.

How do Peet's manage to knock this particular bean straight out of the ballpark? It's a mystery, it's magic, more art than science - I imagine it's got something to do with the excruciating care they take on timing the different stages of the roast from first crack to cooldown - like any culinary craft, it's an alchemical thing, requiring a hermetic and gnostic sort of wisdom that cannot be written down. However it is done, I've found their roast has an unbelievably long shelf life, certainly far longer than any roasted bean has any right to. By contrast, Lighthouse's roast is very immediate, very NOW - you'd better drink it all this week if you know what's good for you. Of course it's delicious enough to drink a bag full in a few days, but you don't want to rush it.

Welcome to Serious Grounds!

If you were to ask ten friends of mine to describe me, I think at least nine would interject with some mention of coffee. Those of you who think Seattle to be a coffee-obsessed town should have seen Berkeley, California in the late seventies and early eighties.

My fellow Berkeley High students and I would traipse off the then-open campus and drink cappuccinos at Trumpetvine Court or Au Coquelet, or lurk amongst the revolutionary manifestos at the Old Mole bookstore sucking down numerous cups of French Roast, exploiting the owner's sadly naive free refill policy. On the weekends we'd flock to Telegraph Avenue and order "giant caps" from Espresso Roma across the street from UC Berkeley Campus, rubbing shoulders with Iranian exchange students, architecture and engineering geeks, transplanted European supermodels, shadowy beatnik figures who might be the next American poet laureate or else some kind of dope dealer....

From there, we'd spin out to Cafe Mediterraneum (the owner of which is rumored to have invented the latte), where Jerry Rubin plotted revolution, People's Park protesters ducked out of the clouds of tear gas, and any number of aspiring rock stars wrote lyrics on napkins while drinking pint glasses of nightmarishly strong coffee.....

And then there was Peet's on Vine Street. Like Woodstock, you had to be there, but unlike Woodstock it's still standing and still doing a respectable trade. Sure, they may have passed the point of IPO. But it's still a damned good sack of beans.

History is important when talking about coffee. Legend has it that the beverage we recognize by that name was first cultivated for the purpose of brewing as kaveh by either the Yemenite or Ethiopian people some time between the twelfth and fifteenth century. Legend also has it that the American Revolution was fomented in coffeehouses. These stories may be nebulous and sketchy on the facts, but like the other cash crops that drive the world's economy, there is a mythology behind the reality that refuses to be ignored. Amber waves of grain. Corn is King. Legalize it, don't criticize it, etc.

Some of us even remember our first cup of coffee. Mine was of course Peet's, probably either House Blend or something similar, at the age of ten...which would have been 1975 or '76, in my parents' kitchen, with about 25% half and half and two spoons of sugar. I even remember one time in that same kitchen taking my first daily sip from one of our heavy stoneware mugs and feeling a grotesque scuttling on my tongue, and spitting out a brown household spider. for most sane people that would have been their last cup ever. For me, it was the beginning of a lifetime obsession.