I don't mind ignorant people.
I don't mind people who are sure they're right.
But ignorant people who are sure they're right despite all evidence to the contrary get my angst burning something awful...
So a Californian couple came in and ordered two doppios. I proceeded to pull them some very nice doppio ristrettos. We always pull ristretto shots--there's no good reason to do otherwise. If a customer asks me specifically for a 2 oz doppio, or even a lungo, I'll pull it for him, but only after a significant conversation where I make sure that he understands that he's ordering an inferior product.
The Californian couple received their doppios (in paper cups!) and each said, "this is only a single."
I said, "No, they are doppio ristrettos."
They said, "No, they are singles."
I then explained what a ristretto is.
They said they knew what a ristretto is, and that this was only a single shot.
I got pissed, invited them behind the counter and pulled two more sets of shots; one a ristretto, the second an over-extracted but full 2 oz doppio. The still didn't believe me.
We argued for several more minutes. Then I pulled the Italian trump card: "In Italy they always pull ristrettos." (Not completely true true, but I wanted to end the conversation.)
The guy replied, "Well I've been to Italy..."
I said, "It's not up for debate--this is how to pull espresso. I'm not arguing with you, I'm telling you."
He said, "Spoken like a true Italian."
That softened me just a bit, though I haven't an ounce of Italian blood. They left amicably, though I'm fairly certain that they still didn't believe me.
I'm still offended. I'm still pulling ristretto shots. No matter how much customers want me to make them bad coffee (and they do), I hold the line.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Just for the record...
Yesterday I recieved an order for a "mint ice tea with sugar-free vanilla and a cup of coffee thrown in." I was pretty sure that the customer was messing with me. However, after a 10 minute conversation I became convinced that she was serious. Eventually I managed to talk her out of the coffee and sugar-free vanilla. She seemed to like the plain mint ice tea. Go figure.
Yesterday I recieved an order for a "mint ice tea with sugar-free vanilla and a cup of coffee thrown in." I was pretty sure that the customer was messing with me. However, after a 10 minute conversation I became convinced that she was serious. Eventually I managed to talk her out of the coffee and sugar-free vanilla. She seemed to like the plain mint ice tea. Go figure.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Well, Dirty Mick has dained to pass on another Guest Post. Apparently he's "very busy" doing "important stuff" so he doesn't have time to regularly post on this "sorry excuse for a blog." Enjoy this one.
In honor of recent additions to the Larry clan I would like to offer a brief comparison between Macchiatos and kids, which I happily admit, is really more of a comparison between baristas and parents. This will all be from a cynical outsider’s perspective, and I, like all good critics, do not claim to be smarter, better, or more capable than the poor, filter tossing, sod that I am about to indirectly lambaste.
I have had moments–and I do not think that I am alone–when a little child has come waltzing up behind me and proceeded to whine or cry or, if they have managed to learn a few words, beg for something. Sometimes they run around and knock things over, and other times they simply make obscene, distracting noises and interrupt my daydreaming. Regardless of the disturbance though, the rambunctious child is almost always followed by an adult making excuses.
“The babysitter lets her do anything she wants, how am I supposed to compete with that?”
“School lunches are too sugary, little Jimmy always gets so hyper.”
“He has such a potty mouth sometimes, why doesn’t that FCC just take South Park off the air?”’
On the other hand if a child does something good, like picking up an old lady’s jar of apple sauce, receiving high marks in penmanship, or sleeping quietly through the entirety of a cross country airplane ride, this same adult takes all of the credit.
“Sometimes I just hold her and make airplane noises to practice. Yeah, really, yeah.”
“I know I made him do them every night, I even posted his best ones on my blog.”
“That’s because I read to her all the time. No, of course we don’t own a tv. What kind of slacker parent do you think I am?!!”
This fluid relationship between action and result–and I’m sure some of you are already onto my little comparison–is often reflected in the arrogant ramblings of your friendly, neighborhood barista.
Say you are caffeine deprived and anxious and the only thing that you want in life, the one simple thing, is a smooth, sweet macchiato, delicious and prim and aesthetically pleasing. But when your drink comes out a thimble of acrid tar water, topped with an almost offensive dribble of over-foamed milk. The first thing you will hear out of the barista’s mouth is an excuse, some form of blame aimed at any number of uncontrollable forces.
“This non-organic milk is just molecularly opposed to being foamed correctly, really… smell it”
“The temperature of the room is always off this time of day, it has something to do with the albedo of our new La Marzocco…yeah, I know…what’s a dual boiler system anyway?”
“The moon was full last night, tides are all crazy… Schomer couldn’t have even pulled that shot.”
And of course this same barista will always insist that the perfect ones, the macchiatos worth his or her weight in solid gold peaberries, were entirely their doing.
“Look! Did you see those trickles at the bottom, just like a root system, amazing, I know.”
“Sometimes I don’t believe it either, chocolaty and fruity at the same time, like one of those Cadbury bars. But $%&#, I could make stale Starbuck’s taste like that.”
“Look a five leaf rosetta…what?..Cappuccinos are just big macchiatos, you know that’s what you really wanted.”
It’s nice to know though that there are baristas in the world like Larry who are humble and stylish and never disappoint, even if it is only because they are just lucky, every single time.
In honor of recent additions to the Larry clan I would like to offer a brief comparison between Macchiatos and kids, which I happily admit, is really more of a comparison between baristas and parents. This will all be from a cynical outsider’s perspective, and I, like all good critics, do not claim to be smarter, better, or more capable than the poor, filter tossing, sod that I am about to indirectly lambaste.
I have had moments–and I do not think that I am alone–when a little child has come waltzing up behind me and proceeded to whine or cry or, if they have managed to learn a few words, beg for something. Sometimes they run around and knock things over, and other times they simply make obscene, distracting noises and interrupt my daydreaming. Regardless of the disturbance though, the rambunctious child is almost always followed by an adult making excuses.
“The babysitter lets her do anything she wants, how am I supposed to compete with that?”
“School lunches are too sugary, little Jimmy always gets so hyper.”
“He has such a potty mouth sometimes, why doesn’t that FCC just take South Park off the air?”’
On the other hand if a child does something good, like picking up an old lady’s jar of apple sauce, receiving high marks in penmanship, or sleeping quietly through the entirety of a cross country airplane ride, this same adult takes all of the credit.
“Sometimes I just hold her and make airplane noises to practice. Yeah, really, yeah.”
“I know I made him do them every night, I even posted his best ones on my blog.”
“That’s because I read to her all the time. No, of course we don’t own a tv. What kind of slacker parent do you think I am?!!”
This fluid relationship between action and result–and I’m sure some of you are already onto my little comparison–is often reflected in the arrogant ramblings of your friendly, neighborhood barista.
Say you are caffeine deprived and anxious and the only thing that you want in life, the one simple thing, is a smooth, sweet macchiato, delicious and prim and aesthetically pleasing. But when your drink comes out a thimble of acrid tar water, topped with an almost offensive dribble of over-foamed milk. The first thing you will hear out of the barista’s mouth is an excuse, some form of blame aimed at any number of uncontrollable forces.
“This non-organic milk is just molecularly opposed to being foamed correctly, really… smell it”
“The temperature of the room is always off this time of day, it has something to do with the albedo of our new La Marzocco…yeah, I know…what’s a dual boiler system anyway?”
“The moon was full last night, tides are all crazy… Schomer couldn’t have even pulled that shot.”
And of course this same barista will always insist that the perfect ones, the macchiatos worth his or her weight in solid gold peaberries, were entirely their doing.
“Look! Did you see those trickles at the bottom, just like a root system, amazing, I know.”
“Sometimes I don’t believe it either, chocolaty and fruity at the same time, like one of those Cadbury bars. But $%&#, I could make stale Starbuck’s taste like that.”
“Look a five leaf rosetta…what?..Cappuccinos are just big macchiatos, you know that’s what you really wanted.”
It’s nice to know though that there are baristas in the world like Larry who are humble and stylish and never disappoint, even if it is only because they are just lucky, every single time.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Just in case you were wondering...
Coffee doesn't really catch on fire when you have a roaster "fire" ; it just smokes a lot and turns into a giant glowing coal.
Yeah, we had one, and it was freaking sweet. We poured the smoking mass of coffee-charcoal out on the drive-way. It was so burnt that it crumbled to the touch. I tested this by riding my long-board at speed into the smoking pile. Yes, it just plowed through, leaving two smoking wheel tracks and some "wheel-ground" coffee in its wake.
And to think that some people have suggested to me that I should get a "real" job. How many of you get to do this at work?
Coffee doesn't really catch on fire when you have a roaster "fire" ; it just smokes a lot and turns into a giant glowing coal.
Yeah, we had one, and it was freaking sweet. We poured the smoking mass of coffee-charcoal out on the drive-way. It was so burnt that it crumbled to the touch. I tested this by riding my long-board at speed into the smoking pile. Yes, it just plowed through, leaving two smoking wheel tracks and some "wheel-ground" coffee in its wake.
And to think that some people have suggested to me that I should get a "real" job. How many of you get to do this at work?
Thursday, July 05, 2007
All Right!
There she is, Baby Barista. 8lbs, 12 oz. Home birth, Mamma's happy, baby's happy, Papa's happy, even big sister is happy. She's less than an hour old in this pic, I think.
Truly amazing.
Oh, and I saw the Transformers movie, too. Very good, as long as you don't care if there's a cohesive plot; you like giant robots and John Turturro. I say yes to all 3.
Oh, and coffee content... I can't imagine helping with a birth without a cup of joe. If you're up in the wee hours of the morning pushing on your wife's back during contractions, it's pretty freaking sweet to sip on an amazing Costa Rican coffee in between. Sweet, and essential. Caffeine is definitely of the essence: Honestly, I would have taken caffeine pills if I'd had to, but the Costa was much better.
-Papa Larry
Monday, July 02, 2007
Basically, the FB-80 has the same internals, with a few twists which make is ridiculously temperature stable. The resulting espresso taste, once you get the temperature dialed in correctly, is ridicuously wonderful every single time. The old machine took a bunch of tweaking to get it temperature stable, and it never gave the same taste twice. That was a bit fun, but not really a desirable trait.
The old machine was klunky and noisy--in a very endearing way. The new machine is earily quiet: I can't tell if it's on or off, except that the "on" button blinks. Never had that "trouble" with the old one. I miss the noise.
The steam wand is a bit improved--it takes less wrist movement to turn it on and off, just 1/4 turn. Yet it feels so familiar that there was no break-in time needed: perfect foam from the get-go. Another nice improvement is that the wand dial moves away from the machine as it closes, and towards the machine as you twist it open. This seems to solve the problem on the old machine where the dial would sometimes get stuck in the off position.
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