Top 10 Signs that you're not quite the coffee aficionado you imagine yourself to be:

1. You only buy the best flavored beans: "Um, hazelnut coffee is my favorite, but I'll drink chocolate-pecan any day."
2. You consider a white-chocolate mocha to be "gourmet."
3. You hear the word "cappuccino" and think of a big-gulp sized cup.
4. You're sure that the best coffee comes from Colombia.
5. "Espresso? Yuck!"
6. "Starbucks or Tullys? They're both so good--how do I choose?"
7. "Gross, I can taste the coffee in this latte!"
8. You order your drink with half soy milk, half non-fat.
9. You think regular coffee means "sugar and cream."
10. You're sure that dark roasted coffee is "rich and delicious."

"I am really into coffee. Oh, I am a coffee snob."

I often hear something like this, usually a half a second before I hear something like the following:

"Um, so is your pumpkin syrup really good?"

To which I answer:

"I'm sorry, but we don't carry pumpkin syrup."

I usually recieve quite the eye-roll at this point. Then the customer asks in an exasperated tone:
"Well then, how's your egg-nog latte?"

To which I retort in my most condescending tone:

"I'm sorry, we don't have egg-nog, but I hear Starbucks makes a mean one."

I usually get an even bigger eye-roll on that one.

My point is, most people who come to a coffee shop are not really interested in coffee. They think of a cafe as a grown-up candy store. "It's just like candy, but with caffeine, so it's a big-boy drink!" Judging from my experience, I'd say that 70% of coffee shop customers describe themselves as "into coffee." Of those 70%, only the tiny minority ever drink coffee without doing something to cover-up the taste (latte, cream and sugar, etc...). Again, only the minority know that coffee is an agricultural product. (That's right, it doesn't grow in cans already roasted! Really? Yes it's true.)

I guess that's ok. But, unless you're in the minority, you're not really "into coffee" no matter how loudly and pretentiously you announce that you are to your friends. If you're ok with that, then, God bless you: get your pumpkin latte. Cover up your coffee with whatever you want.

More on Defects

(Moron Defects)

One of the more interesting coffees available these days is Monsooned Indian Coffee. You might know it as "Monsooned Malabar," or "Coelho's Gold," or some other name. In any case, monsooned coffee is coffee that has been processed and then laid out in open sided warehouses during monsoon season in India, allowing the ultra-moist winds access to the coffee. The monsooning process is stopped when the beans reach 14% moisture (as compared to the 10% moisture the green beans start with before monsooning). At this point, the beans are swollen (almost twice their starting size), and have turned yellow. The resulting taste is a coffee that has no acid (taste), but a big, syrupy body, with herbal, vegetabally, spicy, and chocolate notes. It's a bit funky--and by "a bit", I mean really, really. It's useful in blends, especially espresso, but rarely served straight.

The monsooning process came about as Indian coffee producers tried to mimic the taste of coffees that had been shipped from India in times past. These coffees had sat on ship decks and in leaky hulls as they passed around the horn of Africa and on to Europe. By the time they arrived they were musty, swollen, yellow, and tasted unlike any other coffee. In the modern era, shipping methods are a bit more reliable, that is, water and air tight, even refridgerated; Coffee doesn't get funky just by shipping it. It needs a bit of help--thus the monsooning process.

With any other coffee, we would consider a musty swollen bean to be contaminated, defective. We wouldn't consider using it; It would be sold to Folgers or some other low grade roaster. However, we in the specialty coffee industry pay a premium for monsooned Indian coffee.

Defect or desireable?

On coffee "defects"

In the coffee world there is a bit of a controversy over whether certain tastes in coffees are defects or unique and desireable attributes. Perhaps the most famous of these is the wild (literally and figuratively) coffee of Yemen. The taste profile of coffees from Yemen is often winey, with tastes of currant and other berries, as well a natural chocolate note. The best cup of coffee I've ever had was a Mocha-Sanani (from Yemen), yet I've never been able to reproduce that taste, though I bought Sanani from the same roaster just a month after my first memorable cup. The reason--Sanani coffee is harvested, often, from wild trees in an unregulated manner. The coffee varies greatly from bag to bag--even cup to cup. Often the coffee cherries are harvested not only from the tree, but from the ground where they have fallen. These coffees are harvested, perhaps, by goat-herders looking to make a suplemental income, or by other coffee "non-profesionals" who follow no regulations in harvesting and processing their coffee. The amazing charactersitics of these beans come, partially, from the coffee-cherry drying, perhaps fermenting, on the bean. In Latin-America, a coffee processed this way would be considered majorly defective, and would be sold for rock-bottom prices. Whereas coffee from Yemen (like the Sanani) garner prices far above the market average and are prized by top roasters.

Defect or Desirable?

I fall on the "Desireable" side of the fence.

A little edumacation

"Rarely is the question asked: 'Is our children learning?'" -G.W.

Just to make sure we're learning, and to keep pesky Papa Herman happy, I'll start a little series on coffee ed. There's a lot of info out there that is more complete than what I'll write, but none will be as sassy.

Papa Herman: "I have no sense of smell. Will that effect how my coffee tastes?"

Larry the Barista: "The word is affect, not effect."

P H: "First of all, that's not fair--you're making up my part of the conversation. How can you criticize my grammar? Secondly, what about my original question?"

L.t.B: Well, as long as you've learned your lesson, we can move on to your question: Yes, your useless nose does affect (that is, it causes an effect, see the difference?) how you taste coffee. That is, you're missing most of the taste. Your tongue can only sense sweet, sour/bitter, and salt. Any other "taste" comes from your sense of smell. With your limited abilites, you will be able tell if the coffee is over-roasted (bitter/biting), brewed at too low a temperature (sour), has a natural sweetness, or perhaps, as our head-roaster claims, you'll detect the rare "salty" taste.
What can I say--you're missing all the nuance. Life could be worse, at least you still get the caffeine buzz.

P. H.: Thanks for the explanation, grammar nazi.

L.t.B.: No problem. That's...what I do.

On coffee flirting

So, apparently one of the middle-aged men who frequents our shop thinks that the cute-as-a-button high school girl I just trained makes lattes "better than Larry." Mmm-hmmm.

Looks can get you far.

Too bad I'm fat and balding...

Well it's been almost a month since my last post, so between my infrequency and my crabbiness, I've probably driven most of you off. Good.

As I think about the blog, I realize that it's really more of a parody of myself than a true representation. Exaggerated and one-sided, funny if you aren't offended, but you're offended most of the time, so you have to remind yourself that it's funny, but dang, that IS offensive! Is it tongue in cheek? Is he laughing at me? Probably.

For the sake of my friends, who are now afraid to order anything but espresso, black coffee and cappuccinos when they come to the shop, I should say that I wouldn't want you to be afraid to order that sweet caramel breve latte in a 20 oz cup that you've been secretly coveting. I do, from time to time. It doesn't bother me when you do it. It would bother me if you suggested that that was the best way to drink coffee, but only a fool would do that, and you aren't a fool, are you? Ok, I might snicker a bit when you order it. But remember, I'm a hypocrite, so just ignore me.

Strange, lately people have been complimenting the coffee, but they've been ordering drinks like a caramel-almond-soy-white mocha (really) where I don't think that the coffee quality is all that discernible. Not sure whether I should be flattered or offended, but my immense ego seems to take it as a compliment, so I haven't really felt too much angst towards these people, even if they are covering up the taste of the coffee...

Listen up, Seattle-ites!

Why is it, oh Seattle-people, that when you come into the shop and order a coffee that you feel compelled to tell me, in your most condescending voice, that you are from Seattle, so you "really know good coffee." Yes, Seattle has a lot of coffee shops. Yes, Seattle does house some good roasters and excellent baristi. But must you announce yourself wherever you go? No one else does this. Not people from Portland or San Francisco. It's as if you have your own special neurosis forcing you, perhaps even against your will, to announce your presence and your superiority. Strange...

Real stories:

Seattle-ite 1: Um, I'll have Grande.
Me: Grande Coffee?
Seattle-ite 1: Yes.
Me: OK, here you are. (I hand them a cup of black coffee.)
Seattle-ite: That's not what I ordered. I'm from Seattle, and "Grande" means "Grande Latte."

Seattle-ite 2: I'll have a Grande Latte, if you even know what that is in this town.
Me: Uh, gee sir, we don't even know how to read...

Seattle-ite 3: Hi, I want your darkest roasted coffee. I'm from Seattle
so I'm used to very good coffee...

Yeah, your city wants you to believe that you're drinking good coffee. What you mean is that you're drinking copious amounts of coffee (and milk, while you're at it). But you don't know coffee. The fact that Seattle has 4 to 20 coffee shops per block dosing out huge quantities of dark roasted coffee smothered in milk does not mean that everyone from Seattle is a coffee genius. Usually, the contrary is painfully obvious. Yet you seem to think you're God's gift to coffee. Moreover, you feel compelled to tell the rest of us about it.

-Larry

By the way, not all Seattle roasters over-roast their coffee, and for that I salute them. Perhaps, these people also don't announce their presence and expect to be worshipped when they visit other cities...

I'm sorry to beat a dead horse... but you drive me to it.

What is with your ridiculous insistence that you want a "good dark roast."

Time and time again, I secretly slip you light roasted Guatemalan and Ethiopian coffees and you say, "oh yes, oh my, now this is what I'm looking for, this is the ticket, you have shown me the love and the love is splendid, more, more, more--I just love that dark roast."

Another thing you say that drives me crazy: "I want something bold."

This is, by the way, a term that Starbucks uses to describe some of their coffees: a purposely vague, yet catchy term. It sounds so sophisticated: "I like bold coffees." What does it mean? Almost nothing once you leave Starbucks. Bold? Might as well say I'd like "brave coffee." Sounds nice. Could mean anything. If you can't give me a better description than "bold," then you probably don't know what you want. (Which is what I assume anyway...)

How about this: next time you ask for "something bold" I'm going to attach your mouth to the espresso machine and pump dark roasted coffee down your thoat with 18 atmospheres of pressure. Now that would be bold...

Why I am so superior

Nietzsche had some chapter titles like this, and it's always entertained me.

Did the Nietzche-nator like coffee. Most likely--his self-important tone is the unmistakable sign of an over-qualified, under-appreciated, intelectual, egotistical barista. Or for short, a barista.

You heard it here first--Nietzche the barista.

On the freakin' Wine-Os.

OK, so I've bashed a few of the wine folk in the valley for posing as people with sophisticated palates, yet insisting on drinking dark-roasted coffee with cream and sugar in a 20 oz cup.
I take none of it back, but I thought I should balance these thoughts out with some positive stuff. I've been very, very impressed with some of the wine folk of late: drinking the coffee black; making very, very sophisticated and intelligent observations on the coffee.

You've got to hand it to them--they've got some great vocabulary and good imagination when they're tasting. Now, by imagination, I don't mean that they're "imagining" tastes that aren't there, but rather that it takes some creativity to identify the taste of butter-nut squash in a cup of coffee. It might be there, but most people don't put it together because they're not thinking of squash when they're drinking coffee. That's certainly an area where I could improve. I mean, I can single out a particular taste amidst the complexities in the cup, but describing the taste is very difficult.

I'm working on it. Today I recognized the smell of freshly baked pinto beans in the 'nose' of my Kenya. Hmmm, doesn't sound that appetizing, so I might not say that to a customer when I'm describing it, but I'm proud that I was able to recognize the aroma. Usually I'm stuck in the rut of coffee describing words: fruity, chocolatey, berried, lemony, citrusy, balanced, crisp, thick mouth feel, clean-finishing, etc... These aren't bad, but there are a lot more tastes in the coffee besides these. In fact, the coffee tasting wheel has twice as many tastes as the wine tasting wheel, so we coffee people should be able to describe coffee (and wine for that matter) in at least as sophisticated a way as the winey folk. Hats off to you, Wine-Os.

Oh You Fools

Why do you bother to ask me what you should order if you plan to ignore my answer?

Customer: "Hi, I'm not sure what I'd like--what do you suggest?"

Me: "How about a short cappuccino?"

Customer: "I'll have a grande mocha with extra caramel topping."

Yeah, that's similar to what I suggested.

Customer: "What type of coffee do you recomend?"

Me: "Well, currently I really like our light roasted Guatemala Huehuetenango."

Customer: "Ok, I'll take your Harvest Blend [our darkest roast]."


Do you ask your questions just to hear your own voice? You're going to get a portafilter spanking if you keep it up...

Wouldn't you know it...

No sooner do I post a bit about how bad dark roasts are, than I am introduced to two coffees which remind me that a dark roast can taste quite nice.

I tried Peet's Major Dickason's Blend and found it to be quite smooth and drinkable--without the characteristic bite that dark roasts usually have. Yes, the natural flavors of the coffee were hidden by the roast, but it still tasted nice. Later in the day, our roast master had me cup a modified version of our darkest roast: major improvement--very drinkable, even, dare I say it, pleasant.

The real thing to remember with dark roasts is not that they taste like bug-repellent (because that's true only 80% of the time), but that they hide the natural flavor of the coffee. In wine terms, a dark roasted coffee is equivalent to an oakey wine with lots of residual sugars. Might taste nice, (especially to the novice, who's palate has been developed with coca-cola and twinkies), but it's not a good wine (or coffee).

Now, back to my twinkie...

So, Why Drink Espresso?

My first coffee-beverage of the day is usually not espresso. I start with either a cup-o-french-press or else a true cappuccino. If I've missed breakfast and don't have any money, and I'm working at the shop, then sometimes I drink a latte (for pure caloric intake).

Espresso, rather is the follow up drink. It's perfect after lunch when I feel sluggish and have no room in my belly: those 2 ounces slide right in where no other beverage could fit. It's great as a mid-morning or afternoon energizer: no time for coffee, just suck it down.

The cool thing about espresso is that you continue to taste it for a good while after you've had it--sometimes even an hour later it's still resonating with it's earthy sweetness. So, even though you might not have time to sit and enjoy a large cup of joe, you can quickly drink an espresso, get back to work, and still be enjoying your coffee.

Indeed, perhaps the best taste of espresso is its aftertaste, and not the initial, tip of the tongue experience. This is not to take away from the initial taste--because this can be wonderful as well: I know you're not going to believe this... but I have tasted espresso that is literally sweet. Mmmm. Then it turns to an intense chocolatey-berry-earthy taste. Then comes the heavenly aftertaste.

That's reason enough right there to try espresso.

On The Conversion

Perhaps the most rewarding experience for a barista is converting a customer from a Grande Vanilla Latte Lover to the Pure Espresso Drinker. Doesn't happen too often--not because straight espresso is bad, so much as it's intimidating and foreign. Most people won't even try it. Add to the above that most people around town are making bad espresso to begin with, so most people here who try espresso once, try bad espresso, and never want it again. Additionally, a novice taking his first drink of espresso needs coaching in order to drink it right (quick first sip, then down the hatch). Even then, the taste might just be too intense.

That's a lot to overcome when trying to preach the pure espresso gospel. I've converted 3 people in 5 or so years; the third just yesterday. Yes!

On Dark Roasted Coffee

Every day someone comes into the roastery and says something like this:

"I just LOVE your coffee. I want to buy something really tasty--something good and dark"

First of all, you DON'T love our coffee if you like "dark" coffee. We do roast some coffees dark, but we roast 90% of our coffees light (Full City) or medium (Vienna), so you don't know what you're talking about. And here's the dirty little secret on Dark Roasts: they remove most of the distinguishing characteristics from the coffee, so you probably can't distinguish our dark (French) roast from Starbucks or Tully's or Peet's. (Yes there IS a difference: some are bad, others are really bad, and some are barely tolerable...)

Second, you need to realize that the terms "good" and "dark" are mutually exclusive. I can give you something dark. I can give you something good. But I can't give you both in one. Clearly, you know nothing about coffee if you want something "good and dark." Let me put it this way: Dark roast is to Coffee as Velveeta is to Cheese. Does that clear things up?

Now don't misunderstand me, I don't mind that you know nothing about coffee; It does upset me when you pretend like you do.

Here's what I suggest you say when you come in to the shop if you don't know what you want but you don't want to lose face because you're a coffee beginner: "Hi, I'd really like to buy something tasty." There, that's what you meant in the first place--you're not insulting our coffees, and you're not pretending to be something you're not. Excellent.

Comments Welcome!

Hey all--apparently I had my comments settings set up to reject y'all. Sorry. It's been fixed, and now you can release you pent up angst on my blog.

Well, not doing much barista wise these days--I've been roasting the last week and a half. Interestingly, my angst has been reduced to the point that I fear it has disappeared. No worry, I'm sure that it will resume it's usual prominent position once I return to the bar and you ask me for a 5/8th of a packet sweet-n-low, skinny latte. (That's not a made up order, by the way).

Sadly, lack of angst makes for boring posts...

Look for good stuff some time next week.

-Larry

Just for the record...

A 16 oz, dry capuccino is a stupid, stupid drink. Don't ever order it.

First of all, it's hard (though not impossible) to get 16 ounces of good foam. (It's easy, by the way, to get 16 ounces of bad foam, which is usually what happens.) Second, do you really want to drink 16 ounces of foam? Even good foam? If your answer is yes... well, there's no accounting for taste. I like foam, too, guys. Hey, I even used to order a venti (20 ounces) dry cappuccino. That's right my friends, I was one of those guys. And I am here to TESTIFY! It's wrong, wrong, wrong.

Why?

Have you ever had a REAL cappuccino? 6 or 8 ounces or so? A tasty, tasty beverage. Get a good one and you won't have to ask why a 16 ounce dry cap is silly. In a real cap, the espresso is integrated into the foam. The rich, drinkable, melted-whipped cream textured foam carries pure espresso pleasure in every sip. In a 16 ounce dry cap, you have to dig through layers and layers of foam before you reach any coffee. Moreover, once you've reached the coffee, the foam has separated from the milk, leaving it the undrinkable texture of sea foam--stiff, airy. It is not foam--it is the feces of foam.

Mmmmm. Foam feces...

It has been said, "never trust a skinny chef."

My question: Can this idea be transferred to the coffee world?

"Never trust a mellow barista." (The idea being, that a mellow barista doesn't drink coffee, thus he won't have the coffee passion necessary to bring you the god-shot.)

O Haughty Barista!

O tell me why

Barista!

Why do your nostrils flare
and veins bulging-pulse
when I ask for cream?

You--Barista! only make coffee

yet put on airs
with your liberal arts degree
and your saucy retorts

Post Vacation Thoughts...

Just got back from vacation--Lake Chelan. Not a bad place, though I didn't find any good coffee. Only went to one place, I think is was called "Verve." My capuccino looked and tasted like it came out of a coin operated coffee machine (if you've ever seen one of those...). Well, at least it had caffeine!

The Guatemala Cup of Excellence auction finished this last week with the winner selling for over $50 a bag--a record by $30 or so. This is a good direction. Not that our roastery could carry a coffee of that expense, but it's good for the farmers to see that there is a payback for putting extra effort into their coffee. For years, the big coffee buyers have been low-balling the farmers. Green coffee usually sells for less than a dollar per pound in the country of origin, with exceptional coffees sometimes fetching a price of $2. If I were a farmer, I wouldn't put extra effort into my coffee for that price; But for $50 (or even $5) a pound--yeah, a farmer can easily justify putting extra effort into their coffee.

There's a lot more that I would like to say about this, but to simplify: Amazing coffee is going to be more and more available. Yes, we'll be paying a bit more for it--but who cares. If you want cheap, medium-good coffee, it will always be available, just like cheap, medium-good beer (e.g. Weinhard's). But if you want amazing coffee, that's going to be readily available, too, just like amazing beer is more readily available these days (e.g. Chimay or other Belgians).

Customer: Ummm... I'd like a 20 ounce, half the sugar-free vanilla latte.

Me: We don't carry the 20 ounce--we feel it's a bit excessive.

C:Well, THAT'S WHAT I LIKE!

Me (in my head): What you like is both sick, and wrong.

Me (in reality): (Condescending smile)I'll make you a 16 ounce.

New Customer: I'd like a half soy, half skim, vanilla latte.

Me (in my head): If only I could summon a thunder-bolt to smite thee!

Me (in reality): That will be right up.

New Customer: We're from _____ winery.

Me (in my head): Truly you have exquisite taste.

Me (in reality): (Condescending smile)

We do not flavor our coffee!

From time to time customers will ask me to describe a coffee to them. I'll say something like: it opens with a citrusy lemon spike, moving into a smooth currant berry and finishes with chocolate. Most of the time I get a blank stare in return, and then I just say--this coffee is good, we like it! Then they buy it. However, sometimes I get the guy who says (and it's always a guy) "whoa, I don't like flavored coffee!" Then I have to explain to him that we would never flavor a coffee; That the flavors I described are naturally occuring; That the only coffee that companies flavor is very, very bad coffee; that only very, very bad companies flavor their coffee (not even the beast does that!). Then they look at me like I'm selling snake oil or something, and only reluctantly pull out their wallet to buy a pound. Sigh...

Service before my wake-up juice

I usually arrive to work in a half-dead state--uncoordinated, unable to think.
It takes a strong jolt of caffeine to get me going, and another couple of jolts to bring me up to a productive state where I can think and talk clearly, and in which my hands do what I want them to do.

From time to time though, the shop is busy from the moment I arrive and I have no time to suck down the caffeine. I burn my hands on the steam wand; I slur my words; Customers' orders sound like they're being ordered in an obscure dialect of Portugese or perhaps that African "click" language. It's ugly. (Not the click language--me.)

People have been arriving and ordering just as I'm arriving to work, a half hour before we're supposed to open. I suppose I could just tell them to wait until we're open, but they might just leave with their feelings hurt. We're trying to up business--every order is important in keeping us in the black. So I just tell them yes in my slurry speech, and burn my hands for their viewing pleasure.

I should have known it was going to be a busy morning...

Three men were waiting outside when I arrived to open the shop today. As I walked inside, a car sped into the drive through. Four customers before I'm even open. Yesterday the shop was dead; Today, a line to the door at 8:00, and cars backed up in the drive through.

I like it busy like this.

On The Beauty of Espresso

Most of you don't ever see it--rich, redish-brown, oozing like honey; settling in layers like freshly poured Guiness. Espresso. At least, espresso when it's done right.

It's done wrong most of the time in most shops. Not ours, but most. In this little town, I can think of only one other place where I would drink a straight espresso.

So I'm not exagerating when I say that most of you don't ever see it.

Oh. And the taste. When it's done right, it's sweet, it's earthy, it's fruity--not bitter, not biting. Think caramel, not cheap tequila. When it's right, you don't have to brace yourself and throw it down the back of your throat like I used to do when I worked for the beast. No--it's perfectly sippable.

As David Schomer, Espresso Geek #1, says, Espresso done right tastes like coffee smells.

Yeah right, you're thinking. I know. I thought it, too, when I first heard it. No, I was wrong. You are wrong. The geek is right, and I am his geek disciple now.

In Defense of the Giant Green Beast (the store formerly known as Starbucks)

A lot of people come into the shop with complaints about The Green Beast. I often agree with them. But today I thought Iwould defend the Souless Corporate Giant.

The Starbucks case reminds me of a similar one in a completely different field: bicycles. In the buisness of cycling, the company Huffy rules, at least in terms of the shear number of bikes being sold. Everyone knows that they are made from inferior materials and break quickly if you actually ride them. They are heavy--twice as heavy as quality bicycles. They are assembled quickly and poorly. But they are very, very cheap and readily available.

A mountain bike magazine editor once defended Huffy, sayingthat even though he wouldn't willingling ride their bikes, he was glad that they existed because they brought people into the sport. He recounted that he knew countless professionals and enthusiasts who had cut their teeth on Huffy before they graduated to finer bicycles. Without Huffy, perhaps, these people would never have become cyclists.

Starbucks is like Huffy. Yes, they usually over-roast their coffee. Yes, their massive size works against them when it comes to quality and freshness. Yes, they have compromised quality for speed of service with their super-automatic "espresso" machines. But Starbucks introduces millions of people to the world of specialty coffee. If our roastery had tried to open an espresso shop in the mid 1980s, I don't think that we would have been able to survive. Most people had never heard the terms "espresso" or "capuccino" back then. Starbucks has changed that. Now that guy who used to pay 25 cents for gas station coffee can't start his day without a $2 espresso macchiato. No one would have paid $12 for a bag of coffee (or the 1980s equivalent of $12). Now people do not blink an eye when they buy a 3/4# bag for $12 in the grocery store. Without Starbucks, all those amazing, independent roasteries and shops that we love simply couldn't exist--few people would frequent them; Almost no one would appreciate the quality, but most would freak out at the high price.

So, yes, complain all you want; Rage against the Beast! But remember, we owe a lot to them.

On Tipping

I was recently asked for my opinion on tipping at coffee houses. Honestly, the subject doesn't excite me that much. Tip or don't tip; be excessively for it or self-rightously against it--you won't upset me either way.

That said, as a barista, I benefit from tips. That little bit of extra cash is nice. I keep my tips in a safe place and then use them to buy something nice for my wife, or save it so that I can go out to eat when I'm on vacation (if I get a vacation).

I don't think that a tip at the coffee shop should be considered manditory. That is, I'm not offended if a customer does not leave a tip. If a customer doesn't thank me or in some other way show their appreciation, well, that can be troublesome. But a tip--well, it's something extra: a way to say "thank you", or to say "please do an extra good job on my drink" or "I know that my order is a pain in the tushy so here's a little something to keep you from spitting in my drink," or "I love the heart you poured on my Latte last time--please do it again!"

Now, if a customer has a huge order, or changes their mind about their drink after it's already made, or is in some other way especially demanding, then he or she should leave a tip. It's also nice if you leave your change in the tip jar, (and you look cheap if you pocket that 28 cents instead of putting it in the jar).

I think that the real issue here is the relationship of the Barista with the public. The job is physically and emotionally demanding; It requires much care and artistry to be done well. If customers show that they understand these things and are appreciative, either through a tip or through a kind word, then the baristi of the world will be happy; good will and awesome espresso will abound. The alternative is, of course, barista angst...

Larry J.P.

Cup Sizes

Why are Americans obsessed with huge cups? Go almost anywhere else in the world and you'll find that (in most cases) the largest cup of coffee you can order is 12 oz (except that no place else in the world uses ounces to measure...). In Italy, 8 oz is a large cup of coffee; In the US, 20 oz is on the small side for large cups while 8 oz might not even be on the menu (e.g. The Green Beast). My wife once saw a guy carrying a gargantuan (100 oz?) cup of coffee out of gas station. The cup was as large as his abdomen.

"Please give me one barrel of your freshest coffee and a hose to suck it through."

What? I am afraid that we aren't looking for quality in coffee, but rather the best dollar-to-ounce ratio possible. Is that really the direction we want to go? Isn't 20 oz a bit much to injest at one sitting? Most of us wouldn't drink a 20 oz glass of milk at home, yet we have no qualms about ordering a latte that size. It's as if we lose all sense of proportion when we enter a coffee shop. "Give me the biggest cup you have!" is our rallying cry.

Sadly, I don't think there's any reversing this trend. We are a country that demands "bigger and better" and that usually equates the two. From coffee to cars, we want the biggest product possible.

Please, let's work together on this. Let's pledge to each other that from here on out we will drink out of normal sized cups!

-Larry J.P.

On Caffeine

It should go without saying that I'm fairly addicted to caffeine. I feel mildly sorry about that. I remember when I used to wake up with energy at 5:30 in the morning. Yeah, I wasn't normal.

Anyway, I'm addicted, but I try to manage my intake to just the right level. Lately I've noticed that a lot of my angst starts to build when I'm compensating for too little sleep with too much coffee. That's when I'm most likely to make snide remarks about people's drink orders and not feel the least bit sorry about it (until the next day). Well, I can't really recall making snide remarks in particular, but others assure me that I do, so I must.

The past couple of days I got plenty of sleep and drank less caffeine. I happily poured nonfat milk into some lady's Ethiopian Yergacheffe. I did not scowl when some guy ordered a skinny latte (though I did, kindly, tell him to please call it 'non-fat'). "What is wrong with me?" I querried. "Where has your angst gone?"

It actually is a better to live without the angst, I guess. I mean, I'm not overly proud that I've been called a coffee prima donna. Entertained? Yes.

On Straws

I have something against people who use straws to drink hot coffee. Why do you do it?

I have a burly looking customer who rolls up to the drive-thru, orders a vanilla latte, and when I hand it to him, he asks for a straw.

Isn't it enough that you're drinking a vanilla latte? Must you lower yourself and all humanity even more by drinking it with a straw? (O.K. that last comment was a bit over the top.)

While I can't always recognize a straw-user by age, sex, or manner of dress, I can tell you that there is a direct relation between the sweetness of the drink and the use of straws: the more a customer must "cover up that nasty coffee taste" with syrups, the more likely they are to use a straw. And the more likely I am to roll my eyes and feel a surge of ugly, inner anger.

Why did I even bother working so hard to give you perfect espresso?
Why did I froth your milk so smoothly?

Your straw ordering ways make me feel like I'm working at the Sev instead of a high end espresso shop.

Ask for a straw with your hot drink once, and you can be sure I won't take you seriously ever again, or work hard to make you drink perfect--I'll know that you don't really care.

True, I won't kick you out of the shop. I'll serve you with a smile. You may never know the difference. And I guess, that's the point--if you don't know the difference, why don't you just go get a Super-Big Gulp instead?

Blend Naming Contest

Not really a contest, but I like the idea of collecting a list of potential blend names, as we are always coming up with new blends. Usually the names we give the blends are rather benign and "vanilla". That's probably how it should be. But as I was roasting today, a few funny names popped into my head and I thought--why not compile a list? So I am compiling a list, and you can help. You can pretend it's a contest, too. Maybe I'll even use the name you come up with. But you'll get no money, and I claim all the credit. Unless you sue. Then I'll give you some credit. Or if the name sucks but I don't realize it untill too late...you'll get the credit.


-Hold the Flavor Blend (For Grandmas and Grandpas)
-Burn It To a Crisp and Then Add milk Blend (For those addicted to Seattle-style coffee)
-I Don't Have any Idea of What's Good But I Want To Look Sophisticated When I Drink Coffee Blend (Self Explanatory)
-Super Pooper Blend (For those in need of digestive aid)
-Why Does This Cost So Much Blend (For those who can't understand why coffee should cost more than 25 cents a cup like it used to at the gas station...)
-Crochety Priest Blend (Self explanatory)
-Dislocated hip blend (who knows?)
-Ramming Speed!!!
-Floor Coffee Blend (what to do with the roastery sweepings at the end of the day) (also known as "Matt's Decaf")
-Are You Sure That's Decaf?! Blend (a good trick to play on my decaf drinking aunt)
-Scurvy Swill (See "Floor Coffee")

more to come?

On Tasting Coffee

A middle aged man walked into the shop a few days ago, struck up a conversation. I held back a bit at first, acting only mildly interested, waiting to see if he really wanted to talk coffee. Slowly he built up my trust and I launched into a diatribe on the brown-bean, from origins to processing to roast. My enthusiasm grew and our conversation became loud and animated. Soon he asked for a tasting. I pulled out a new Harrar--blueberried and medium bodied. Not perfect, a bit pungent, but definitely good and very interesting.

I poured him a small cup from the french press.

DISASTER

Before even smelling it he looked up at me:

"I'll need to try it with cream and sugar."

Yeah, good idea. And next time you're at a nice restaurant, ask for ketchup with your $50 steak. Truly you are a man with refined taste.

"Ok," I reply as I demolish any unique flavor in his coffee with his requested adulterations.

"Oh that's good," he smiles, and walks out the door, a satisfied grin on his face.

Well, seeing as this here is my first post, I'll splain the bloggage a bit.

You've heard of going postal. Well, someday "going barista" will replace that frase: There's a lot of pent up Barista rage out there, built up and waiting to explode; yes it will explode. Not from me, but there's a whole fleet of Angst Ridden Baristi (ARB) working for the Green Beast, and they're going portafilter some lady's forehead when she asks for 5/7ths of a "sweet 'n' low packet" in her Skinny Latte. (Well, since the beast replaced its real espresso machines with "super-automatics", their baristi no longer have portafilters to beat people with. Nice move, Howard--always one step ahead).

That won't be me, like I said, but I will be giving my barista perspective on life, and why you get so much tude when you order a Venti Cap.

Should be funny and mildly disturbing.

With love,

Larry J.P.