Damn Good Coffee!

Agent Cooper would be proud.  Multifaceted, visionary auteur filmmaker David Lynch has developed his own brand of specialty coffee.

Choosing only organically grown beans, famed film director David Lynch established an extensive, personalized testing method, and began to systematically narrow down the field of his favorite roasts and beans.  He eventually chose three unique coffee blends to package under his own label.

Pure Coffee Blog managed to get past all the viral marketing critiques to the actual taste of the actual coffee and declared it "delightfully fresh".

[Link courtesy of The Awl]

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.

percolator coffee

When you have just enough training in specialty coffee to be dangerous, you tend to look down your nose in disgust at the very concept of percolator coffee. It seems like a dangerous recipe for over-extraction at best; on a more subjective level, most of us have painful memories of being served something out of a percolator -- probably at "coffee hour" after church -- that resembled not so much coffee as filth-clouded pond water.

It was, then, part madness and part experimental curiosity that led me to experiment with making "good" percolator coffee. The percolator, a classic General Electric model probably dating from the 1970's, was purchased in excellent condition from a nearby St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store for a reasonable $7.00 USD. I started with fresh beans as usual to the top edge of my handheld blade grinder's bean reservoir; a full-bodied blend taken just past full-city into a "medium" roast; I filled the percolator to the 8 cup mark, set the switch all the way to "dark", and plugged it in.

The resulting coffee was extraordinarily palatable considering my low expectations. In fact, it had many of the qualities of gold filter coffee -- moderate residue and oils, no paper filter aftertaste -- and none of the bitter tang of hyperextraction I had feared. I am not sure exactly how a coffee brewed by pushing hot water through coffee grounds, and then re-pushing said coffee through the same grounds again, etc., would produce such a fine, silky-satiny, even-tempered dark-amber brew with overtones of maple and brandy. It seems...counter-intuitive. And yet, our grandparents weren't crazy after all. They just shouldn't have used canned coffee.

I am filing this experience under "success" and will continue to drink this coffee in the future. Good luck with your own experiments!

coffee in celebration of life

My uncle Pete -- father, sailor, mountaineer, vagabond, poet -- passed away recently, and at the reception following his well-attended memorial, coffee was served. Specifically, it was Batdorf & Bronson -- a small-batch artisanal roaster in Olympia, WA, and his favorite coffee purveyor. Purchased from their retail specialty coffee operation, Dancing Goats, the varietal on offer was Costa Rica La Minita Del Sol. True to what it says on the package, the brew

features a brilliant acidity and luscious body that combine for perfect balance and illuminate flavors of maple syrup and freshly squeezed orange juice. This coffee is sweet and rewarding, with a crystal clean finish.

Pete would have enjoyed this coffee, I think. He had a great interest in Central American culture and history, and as highly trained a palate as anybody in our industry could ask for. He was a person who tasted life. It was very satisfying to share this coffee in his memory, and it will always remind me of him.

Coffee For the Non-Coffee Drinker

I have found that the particular tastes, expectations, desires and demands of the “non-coffee drinker”, in regards to drinking the drink that they do not drink, to be fascinating. On a regular basis, I am called upon to prepare a beverage for the person who introduces themselves by saying “I normally don’t drink coffee. What would you recommend?” Others who might more accurately describe themselves as “infrequent coffee drinkers” have done so just enough times to acquire a taste for something that almost tastes like coffee, but as little as possible; still others desire the taste, but none of the other things that go with it (caffeine, sugar, fat, etc.) As a coffee drinker and server I am called upon to step out of myself and imagine what it would be like to (apparently) not like coffee very much, but perhaps just a little.

This is no small challenge, but it could easily have been a bigger one. Some grateful visitors from the midwest recently expressed, with some emotion, their relief at being served coffee “by someone who actually drinks it”. They then proceeded to describe, with distaste, coffee servers back home who had no taste for what they were serving, and therefore were unable to provide a product they had any personal or emotional stake in. Needless to say, my visitors were unable to derive any satisfaction from that coffee experience. It was a pleasure to provide that for them, but it was also educational for me, because it reinforced a suspicion of mine - reminiscent of the old adage (which I shared with them) to “never trust a skinny chef”. Coffee is food, as I have said before; and if you don’t taste the food you are making, how can you know whether it is any good?

Fortunately, I like coffee, and I have some strong opinions about what makes it good. Because of this, I also have opinions that need to be overcome if I am to sensitively provide service to people with different tastes than mine. I still have trouble with the concept of the raspberry mocha, for example - for me, it seems tantamount to pouring ketchup on a juicy slab of prime rib - but I think I am able to serve one that will satisfy the person who orders it. I can find the good in it - the fleeting aroma of good espresso as it disappears under a flood of syrup; the magical, alchemical intermingling of espresso and chocolate; and, well, I do like raspberries. I could really enjoy drinking some espresso while eating some fresh raspberries and fine dark chocolate. So, that’s the key - using my imagination.

Another instance in which this challenge crops up for me is serving decaffeinated coffee. Coffee that has had the caffeine removed has been altered, and there is just no way around this. Caffeine is part of the intrinsic flavor of coffee just as alcohol is part of the intrinsic flavor of gin. I can’t imagine drinking non-alcoholic gin. Now I have drunk good decaffeinated coffee, and recently; but it is a different beverage, a changed beverage, and as such it is not the one that I prefer. Coffee - and espresso in particular - contains several volatile chemicals in addition to caffeine that are stimulating, a rather complicated mixture of oils, esters, acids, sugars, etc. Some have been found to be vasodilators (i.e., chemicals which cause the capillary vessels to expand, thus increasing blood circulation, giving one that slightly “flushed” feeling), others raising the blood sugar level, some actually helping to release endorphins, and so on. The very act of drinking a hot beverage is in itself stimulating. It’s not the lack of caffeine as stimulant that I am challenged by; rather, it’s the lack of caffeine as a building block of coffee’s complex molecular flavor structure. Everyone knows what it’s like to try to cook from a recipe, get one tiny thing wrong, and have the whole thing go in the trash. Getting the salt and pepper wrong on a plate of eggs can make them completely inedible for me. It’s the same with the caffeine in coffee - without it, the coffee just tastes kind of funny.

However, I think it is to my credit that I have mastered the skill of proffering a beverage which I do not (okay, okay - seldom) drink. So far, I’ve received only positive feedback on the decaffeinated espresso beverages I’ve served, and as for the decaf brew, I never let it sit past the expiration point. I feel confident that I have the ability to craft something that might not please me but may please another, and I consider that an achievement worthy of some degree of pride.

That having been said, I offer to you an example of one of the moments that truly make my job worthwhile: A text message from a hard-to-please customer shortly after serving her a beverage I’ve definitely had to learn to make the way she likes it.

"Latte Art"

I'd like to make a confession. "Latte Art" is one of those lovely haute cuisine presentational novelties, like radish flowers, that can make one's cup just a little more enjoyable. But since it is ineffective as a substitute for good coffee, I have never given it much consideration, much less effort. When I shared this prejudice with my boss, like the good sensei he is, he replied: "These things will come in time." He did not say, "Too bad - you'd better get up to speed on it, or you're toast," nor did he say "I don't care about it much either." Rather enigmatically, he said it would come in time.

So I didn't knock myself out learning how to make those clever little squiggles, leaves, pictures of smiley-faced suns, Italian paper patterns or what-have-you on top of everyone's drink. Instead, I focused on rendering a quality beverage according to my employer's preferred specifications (which are also something as nebulous yet exact as any expectations about food can be). I made it my watchword to never be satisfied without some kind of exclamation of satisfaction from each customer - "Ahh, perfetto!" for example - "Just as I would have expected back home," as one Italian guest remarked. Every time someone took a sip of their drink and either shrugged or didn't react, I inquired if everything was all right, and whenever possible either remade the drink or memorized the person's face so I could do better next time - with the optimal goal of doing it right the first time, seeing as how you can't count on a second chance after a first impression. High standards perhaps, but without them, life loses some of its joy.

The funny thing that happened is that I started making art on people's beverages almost by accident. Or rather, I discovered that when one focused on technique for quality purposes, the art sometimes appeared on its own - perhaps this is how this particular element was discovered in the first place. I'd time the shots, position the wand in the milk just so for the right number of seconds, tamp out the few large bubbles, swirl, pour with the right elbow position and wrist action, and maybe my hand would tremble a little from having forgotten to pack my lunch that day, and there it was! - that telltale squiggle of crema on foam that said "Make that last gentle flick forward and you'll have yourself a leaf". And now I have a new highly-set ideal, designed for maximum challenge: In addition to a sigh of satisfaction after first sip, an exclamation of "Beautiful!" at first glance. So far I'd say I get that about 10-15% of the time, conservatively. I'd like to get up to 30%, but I'll happily take it one customer at a time.

Customers: You've Just Got To Love Them

You've just got to love the guy who comes up to you, spreads his hands in that "What world am I in?" shrug, and goes: "I'd just like.....a CUP OF COFFEE." As if you personally had created the entire European cafe culture to vex him. Really, it's a treat to be imbued with such God-like power. Because when I give him exactly what he wants - with reasonableness and calm - perhaps he will come to see that his negative expectations go out before him into the world and create most of what he doesn't want.

But one shouldn't hold one's breath.