picasso brothers cafe, chehalis, wa

went with my cousin to picasso brothers for the first time yesterday on our way to the movies.  would have been content with decent espresso and was forced to make do with AWESOME.  had an 8 oz. double mocha, one of my weapons of choice for staying awake through a movie, and it was incredibly smooth, well-blended with a high quality chocolate, and the espresso was very sweet and mellow.  service was friendly and efficient.  i'm interested in trying out their food and cigar menus which  both look well above par. the interior design is good, sort of a 50's truck stop meets urban hipster feel, so lid well-chosen fixtures (lights, faucets, etc.), quite clean and uncluttered, plenty of seating, music not too loud, and a great outdoor patio.  and who can beat a retro-styled neon sign on the top edge of the building that says "ESPRESSO - TOBACCO - BEER"?  nice to have a new place to hang out, i love santa lucia but i was kind of wearing it out.

www.picassobros.com
http://santaluciaroasters.com/

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 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.

Coffee + Soy or Coffee vs. Soy?

A question out there for you folks who for whatever reason mix soymilk with your espresso, drip, press, or other form of coffee. [If you find this subject matter disgusting, please move onward to the next post, and have a nice day.]

Has anyone found a brand of soymilk that does NOT break up into curds on contact with the acids normally present in coffee? Silk brand has a "creamer" product that holds up fairly well [some sort of emulsifying agent no doubt - hopefully not high in trans-fats or anything; i'll go read the carton later], but what if I want a soy cappuccino? Or is this simply a crime against both God and Nature, and I am simply being punished for my puerile habits?

Any and all comments warmly appreciated.

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.

"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.