The Press Coffee Company, Belmar

Everything is better with bacon, they say.  I suppose there's something about that salted meaty goodness, with just enough crunch, that makes any otherwise boring meal into something spectacular.  I've even heard some postulate that bacon and its enjoyment is the meaning of life.  A once visited a restaurant that offered a specialty menu, where they offered a bacon sundae, complete with maple syrup.  I was not brave enough to risk my life or eternal mental torment over the memory of eating that.  I once bought bacon dipped in chocolate, hoping to expand my culinary horizons, but when I lifted it, soft, sticky, and limp, between my thumb and forefinger, I suddenly preferred to work on diminishing the horizons of my waistline instead.

That memory was far from my mind when I entered the doors of The Press Coffee Company, a warm little place in the heart of Belmar.  The sidewalks on that gorgeous Sunday afternoon were bustling with the crowds and canopies of a Fall-drenched farmer's market.

The first thing I saw was a large pig depicted in chalk upon the wall.  It's caption declared, "Bacon Mocha."  I had a taste for adventure that day, and you can't get much more adventurous than a Bacon Mocha - unless there are large precipices or unchained carnivorous beasts involved.  I knew it wouldn't give me a true perspective on the coffee, and would not tell me whether the roaster, Vail Mountain Coffee and Tea knew its business, but the urge was irresistible. 

I asked the barista, "Bacon Mocha?"  She opined that the flavor was not so much bacon, as a smoky flavor.  My friends and I were soon waiting on the arrival of our newly purchased Bacon Mocha Lattes.  As we watched, Mitch remarked, "Hey look, they have bacon juice over there!"  Indeed they did - an actual syrup bottle full of bacon flavoring.  I really don't want to know where that comes from.

With cup in hand, I hesitated, uncertain of my resolve.  Mitch sipped his, and immediately remarked, "I don't like it."  Our circle of friends took up the repeated chorus, "Mitch didn't like the bacon."  As they each passed the cup and tasted for themselves, I decided it was my turn.

There was a very strong coffee flavor, but I can't say whether the coffee was good, because chasing the coffee was a rich dark chocolate, following by something else... It was like licking the inside of a dirty, old, deep fat fryer.  I wished that I could purge it out of my mouth, off of my teeth, and forget the experience entirely.  Like a dog with peanut butter stuck to the roof of its mouth, I tried to wipe out the taste - to no avail.  Nikita said, "It tastes like it has beef jerky in it, followed by Veronica, "Bacon just doesn't belong in a drink."  I have to agree.  I didn't like it at all.  Very meaty - which is not something I ever would have associated with a beverage.  I will give The Press another chance, but Bacon Mocha will not be on my menu.

http://www.presscoffee.com/

Blog Again, Blog Again, Jiggity Jig

How to begin?  How does one go about reanimating that which has been thrown asunder into oblivion?  There are laws against abandoning children and pets which carry heavy penalties.  Those who leave leftovers unattended are destined to suffer strange odors and unidentified life forms populating the refrigerator.   Unfortunately for silent blogs worldwide, there is no retribution, no salvation, no champion.  When they fall into disrepair and neglect they suffer quietly, fading into utter darkness alone.  Such has been the fate of this poor little blog. 

If it were a houseplant, it would have long ago withered into a dry husk of death.  If it were a landscape, it surely would be overrun by weeds and all manner of detestable pests.  If it were a child in a third world country, I could perhaps offer to sell it and its parentage rights to a famous benevolent movie star.  If it were the national debt… well, you get the picture.

I determined from the beginning of this adventure that I would continue to blog until I was no longer able, or until it simply wasn’t fun anymore.  I have to admit, I have bored myself at times (I hope you can’t say the same).  I would hate to think that my blog would lose relevance as entertainment before I stopped, and I kept writing pedantically, fooling myself into believing that it actually had some value, when even my closest friends would rather bathe in Worcestershire sauce and dance around with miniature poodles in orange berets than have to endure another single sentence of my putrid pen.  No, the reason for my blog’s currently decrepit timeline is directly related to the number of seconds in a minute, minutes in an hour, hours in a day, days in a week.  I didn’t have enough… enough seconds that is.  I have had a distinct lack of time in which to perform my blogging duties. 

No longer! It is time to turn over a new leaf!  Under said leaf we hope to find coffee beans.  Otherwise, the whole leaf-turning thing would be irrelevant, now wouldn’t it?

I hope to entertain you with many more posts in the future.  I want to make you think, to help you enjoy life, to encourage you to appreciate friends, and to laugh.  Laugh long, hard, and boisterously, or with grimace, a silent chuckle, a snorted guffaw, or when in desperate measures, a sarcastic rolling of the eyes.  Laugh with me or at me.  I’m good with either.  Just laugh…

And while you’re at it, think to yourself whether you would actually take the advice of a tanker truck driving down the highway, proclaiming to know the secret to life and good coffee.  I had to wonder whether the truck actually contained said coffee, or whether it was false advertising.  And if indeed one wanted to partake of its promised coffee goodness, would the truck stop for you, or would you have to balance on top at 70 miles an hour, carefully balancing, siphoning, and watching for low bridges all at the same time?  These questions being too much for my road-weary mind at the time, I let the opportunity pass.

Dining Hall Dare

Memories of summer camp are often sprinkled with pranks and practical jokes, dares and disasters.  I recently had the privilege of being counselor at one such camp.  Teenagers were swinging from trees, chasing bears, playing games, and having a great time enjoying the beauty of nature.  At dinner one fateful evening, one of the girls had an idea, which was immediately deemed to be brilliant by all but me.  She decided that I should blog about the coffee machine.

The coffee machine?  Seriously?  Somebody’s cheap concept of coffee, instantly available at the touch of a button?  This was cause for great consternation on my part.  According to camp tradition, one cannot refuse a reasonable challenge.  Since this dare was not illegal, immoral, dangerous, or particularly fattening, I did not have any excuse.  Hence the topic of today’s blog.

I felt oddly cowed by the task before me.  The machine was branded as Maxwell House, but that gave me no comfort.  I don’t know Maxwell House from any other grocery store brand.  Even as I placed the cup beneath the spitting nozzle, I knew that I could still stop.  I could simply turn away and leave the building.  The clouds and sky and rocks and chirping little birdies were all waiting for me just outside the doors.  All I had to do was go… but I couldn’t.  I’ve told the girls often of my quest for new adventures.  They were there at the inception of my blog, and know that I would not let my hate for coffee dictate my actions.  I had to go through with it, or I would never live it down, and my status as adventure-seeker would be forever sullied.

I started with regular coffee.  It poured into the cup at an odd irregular angle, making a sloshing sound against the plasticized cardboard.  At the table, I sat for a moment, dividing my time between staring at the brown liquid and ignoring it, hoping it would go away.  I was partially avoiding it, but it was also extremely hot.  The girls around the table wanted to participate, so they took turns smelling my coffee.  Kyle remarked, “It smells like coffee. Get over yourself.”  Laughing, I took my first sip.  Faith giggled and pointed that I drink coffee, “pinkies up.”  I usually forget that I’m doing it.  I drink coffee, tea, and most beverages with my pinky finger sticking out like some 17^th century British wanna-be.  In fact, as I’m writing at this very moment, I realize that I also type that way – with the thumb and first two fingers of each hand, pinkies sticking out.  Kyle said, “Do you do this everywhere you go?  Make faces while the baristas laugh at you?”  I know I was making some pretty foul faces.  Some of them may have even been fowl faces, but I’m not certain that chickens even make faces.  I don’t really do that everywhere – especially not in polite company – but I didn’t figure that I needed to impress anyone with formality. 

The flavor was very dark and burnt.  It tasted a bit like roasted pinecones and was just as prickly.  I took several sips, and the girls asked why I continued to drink it.  I told them I had to give it a chance - there might have been something I was missing.  Kyle took the cup, smelled it, and announced, “creamer.”

I next tried a cappuccino, but discovered a problem.  Since I didn’t want a full cup I pushed the stop button, but the drink didn’t finish.  At first I thought the machine was broken, but then realized that absence of coffee in the sweetened milk was entirely my fault.  It was disgusting – since I don’t like warmed sweetened milk – but it does not reflect on the machine’s ability to make cappuccino.  To replace the cappuccino, I tried the mocha, patiently waiting for it to fill.  It didn’t really help.  The mocha was bland, flavorless, and sweetishly nasty.  It was promptly discarded.

The experience was traumatizing.  I cannot see myself experimenting with another such machine in the near future.  I was concerned that I might actually have mental scars.  However, all such worries were soon forgotten.  When I stepped outside, I saw the glorious American flag waving in the billowing breeze.  I was reminded of what it is to be free – free  to explore the great outdoors, free to write my unvarnished opinion, free to worship in whatever way I choose, free to drink nasty coffee… if I really wanted to.

Frankie’s Coffee, Fort Morgan

I found a treasure amid twinkling lights one afternoon.  The quaint farm town of Fort Morgan is home to a little place called Frankie’s Coffee, just off of the main drag.  You wouldn’t think much to see it on the side of the road.  Frankie’s was once a store-front shop of some kind, made obvious by the display windows and the strip-center location.  Within the block you can find antiques, thrift stores, novelties, and other nostalgic mercantile selections.  The door chimed as I entered and it took a moment for someone to respond from the back room. 

The barista, who introduced herself as Candie, had a brusque friendly manner about her.  She asked about my day, asked if I was shopping, and made sure I knew that Goodwill was having their Grand Opening Sale.  After exchanging the expected small talk, I inquired about coffee.  She suggested the Milky Way latte, which has caramel and dark chocolate. 

While waiting, Candie filled me in.  She was brewing Malibar Gold, which is a coffee from India.  It is a light roast, with a low acid content.  She likes it, because it doesn’t hurt her stomach.  The beans she brews are Arabica, with about seven percent Robusto mixed in.  Water goes through the Arabica grounds so quickly that it doesn’t pick up much caffeine.  Adding the robusto beans adds caffeine as well.  According to Candie, Starbucks uses approximately fifty percent robusto beans in their blends.  This greatly increases the caffeine content, and causes people to get hooked.  I was charmed by Candie’s openness and spontaneous information.

The Milky Way had a very mild flavor, and yet I could still taste the coffee very strongly.  It was a bit sweet, and somehow comforting with the familiar combination of caramel and chocolate.  I didn’t find it to be delicious, but possibly bearable.  As I sipped it, weary from the long drive and the dreary day, I absorbed the ambience.  There were strings of icicle lights everywhere.  Twinkle lights lined the doorways and windows.  A giant red twinkle-light heart had been arranged on the front display window.  The wall nearest to me, adjacent to the cheap vinyl booth, was painted intricately with a flowering tree – full of leaves and imagination.  The furniture – tables, chairs, sofas, and rabbit-eared television, had all stepped out of an era gone by.  The barista could have easily come with them through some fantastical time-warp.  It was surreal.  It was like a moment from the Twilight Zone.

As I reeled in my euphemistically swirling thoughts, I returned to my coffee.  It was fairly mellow.  There was no long-lasting aftertaste; in fact it was almost bland.  I wanted something a bit more exciting, but somehow, it seemed to fit the space. 

 

The coffee was very much like the location of origin.  When it was done, it was forgotten.  Frankie’s Coffee was also quickly forgotten.  Sitting down to write about it, I was surprised to read my notes.  I didn’t remember that emotions and sensations that Frankie’s Coffee had evoked.  Somehow, it had all faded when I left Fort Morgan behind me.  It was as if I truly had left the Twilight Zone.  It almost makes me want to go back just to see if I imagined it all.


Urban Spoon - Frankie's Coffee

Say No To Boring Coffee

As I continue my journey towards coffee snobbery, I find myself at odds with many.  No longer can I count myself among the staunch coffee haters, because coffee haters would never stoop to this quest upon which I have embarked.  Neither can I call myself a coffee lover.  I love the experience, and the chance to write, but I can’t honestly say that I love coffee.  In fact, the other day I was traveling around the great and glorious state of Colorado, taking pictures, shopping, trying new things, and touring coffee shops.  As I sat before the very last cup of coffee for the day, trying in vain to tease out tangible flavors lying just beyond my perception, I came to a realization.  I was sick and tired of coffee – drinking coffee, describing coffee, finding coffee, thinking about coffee.

I came across an article a few days later on Yahoo Shine entitled, “10 Worst Food Trends,” by Jonathan Gold of Sunset Magazine. Jonathan seems to carry much acclaim, having won a Pulizter Prize for Criticism.  I’ve won no awards for my writing, except perhaps recognition from my third grade teacher.  Therefore, I believe that many of his opinions are well-founded, and indeed I have found many of them to be true in my own personal experience.  The item I take offense with is number nine of ten.  Jonathan makes the following statement:

“Third-wave coffee: Do we applaud fair-trade, sustainable farmed, shade-grown joe? Sure.  Why not? But when we sit down to a cup of coffee in the morning, we are not particularly interested in the blueberry, caramel, or tomato soup nuances a dedicated roaster can coax out of a bean, not in the intricate ballet of the four-minute pour-over or the Eva Solo flagon.  We want coffee that tastes like coffee, and we want it now.”

I could not disagree more.  It is difficult enough for me to try to enjoy coffee, without having to chug it like an imbecile.  If I’m going to enjoy it, it has to have more going for it than just being coffee.  I would most certainly want to know if the coffee I was about to slurp had an essence of tomato soup – it might taint my opinion, but you had better be sure I would be upset if I wasn’t warned.  Furthermore, Mr. Gold’s supposititious remarks are denegrading to both the roasting artist and the pursuant of good coffee artistry.  I don’t yet know what an Eva Solo flagon is, but I do hope to find out.  I intend to make full use of all resources available to discover what it is that has infatuated so many coffee connoisseurs.  The coffee that simply tastes like coffee has a flavor that I call something-foully-odorus-hung-from-a-polluted-urban-rat-infested-high-rise-windowsill.  If that’s what you want, brew your own or find a cheap substitute.  I refuse to contaminate my sense of taste for the pleasure of your apathy.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, lets go get some coffee!  I’ve got a blog to write! Opinions to form!  A World to plague with inane coffee-related questions!  The journey has only just begun!

Pearls Before Swine, Steve Pastis, 6/1/2011

10 Worst Food Trends

Solid Grounds, Littleton

The thermometer is creeping upward on a path that marks destruction for sanity around the Northern Hemisphere.  People everywhere are scurrying for refuge, for a place of tranquility, for a rock under which to hide.  Of course, the problem with rocks is that snakes and various other creepy crawlies have known the secret undersides of rocks for generations.  I don’t know about you, but my search for peace would be quickly overthrown at the appearance of anything slimy, slithery, or bearing an exoskeleton.  Luckily, I found none of these at Solid Grounds.  My refuge of choice was that of friendship and board games.  Solid Grounds is the perfect place to congregate, because its second room can easily accommodate multiple small groups or a large group of fifty.

As far as I know, Solid Grounds is the first coffee shop I have visited that brews Kaladi Brothers coffee.  They are a well-known local roaster, and I’ve heard much about them.  I asked the barista, Rusty, what he would recommend that was unique.  He described a flavored latte that tastes like pancakes with butter and syrup.   “it literally tastes like a short stack in your mouth.”  Come to think of it, I can’t think of a whole lot of other places where I would put a short stack.  I asked, “what is it called?”  He answered, “a flavored latte.”  Originally, it was invented as a steamer, which is just milk and flavoring, but was later made into a latte.  He said that it was actually better as a steamer – which was not encouraging for a coffee hater like me.

The coffee flavor was very strong, but not with nasty coffeeness; a bit sweet, slightly buttery, and bitter.  There was just enough sweetness to offset the bitter coffee, without covering it up.  Despite all of the hype, I didn’t really think of pancakes at first.  Maybe it was a bit like pancakes drenched in coffee, but not in butter and syrup.  I drank the whole twelve ounces, but never did taste the maple.  The flavor was mostly coffee and cream – as is common with lattes.

The second drink I tried was the Chocolate Espresso Bean Blended Latte.  It was promoted prominently on the menu board, and is the very first iced coffee drink I’ve attempted.  The concoction was invented another Solid Grounds barista, Micah.  The uniqueness of the drink comes from ground espresso beans that are blended into the iced espresso.  The mixture is then deposited into a chocolate-drizzle-lined cup, and topped with whipped cream.

It was strong!  There was really no comparison on the flavor.  I could not say at all what it tasted like.  However, …it made me think of Legos®.  Strange.  I know.  Growing up I was always of the opinion that boy toys were more fun, and Legos® were particularly fascinating to me.  I enjoyed playing with them often, but they had a way of make indelible impressions… on my feet.  Having younger siblings, there were always plastic bits and pieces lying in wait for the pain of my toes and tender foot tendons.  That’s kinda how the Chocolate Espresso Bean Blended Latte was.  It was fun, as are most things covered in whipped cream and chocolate, but it had a sharp flavor that served well to bring me back to my coffee-hating reality.  But even then, the emotions and sensations that it evoked were varied and colorful.  Despite the unpleasant graininess, I found it to be sweet and whimsical, as are my fond Lego® memories.

One of my compadres asked, “Is it good?  I don’t like coffee.”  My emphatic response was, “Then you wouldn’t like this.”  I can imagine that it would give a caffeine junkie quite a boost.  I remarked after a moment, “I feel really bad that I don’t like this drink.”  The baristas Micah and Rusty had praised it so emphatically, that I felt in some way obligated to like it.  That’s one interesting aspect of the coffee culture.  People take their coffee very personally.  If you don’t appreciate the coffee that I make or love, in some way you do not appreciate me.  It causes quite a problem with guilt.  On the other hand, I’ve been told recently that I am too nice.  That hasn’t always been the case, but in order to correct a problem, you must be aware of it.  Therefore, I must say: I didn’t like it.  (That’s not to say I won’t order it again.) Haha.

La Patisserie Francaise, Arvada

Have you ever thought you knew where you were going, and ended up driving all over creation, only to realize that you’ve been circling your destination like a demented vulture?  I have.  Many times.  Especially when I’ve been to a place and thought I remembered the landmarks.  Normally this kind of time-wasting unnerves me past the point of pet peeve to utter frustration.  Not so on this particularly gorgeous Saturday afternoon. 

How could I be upset knowing that I was about to enter the hallowed pastry nirvana of La Patisserie Francaise?  It’s a quiet, unobtrusive little shop, unnoticed and quite probably ignored by most passers by.  Inside, luxurious goodies are displayed invitingly, encased in glass like gems of inestimable value.  I was on a mission.  A coffee mission, of course!  I selected three coffee pastries and took them to my carefully (spur-of-the-moment) selected review committee.

The first was a Couronne: a 2-layer chocolate cake, with a mocha-chocolate buttercream icing, covered in walnuts.  Rachel – not me – said that is was ok if you like coffee.  She also suggested that it would benefit from a bit of coconut to make it sweeter.  El Conquistador de las Truchas* thought it to be a bit dry, had good flavor, bold with a hint of whimsy.  He somehow detected a hint of oak, apples, and mushrooms.  I personally think El Conquistador* may have spent a bit too much time with mushrooms of the psychedelic kind.  I found the Couronne to indeed be slightly dry, and a bit nasty due to the coffee flavor.  I also thought it tasted a bit like paper.  Yes, I have tasted paper – as I’m sure many secret-keeping children have – in accordance with requests to “eat this message after reading.”  I can’t say that it was horrible, but certainly not my favorite.

 

The second delight was called a Mocha Square.  It consists of three layers of white cake with mocha buttercream frosting, topped with nuts and two coffee beans.  Rachel deemed it to be, “pretty blah.”  El Conquistador de las Truchas* said he liked it better than the first, but was unsure why.  He said it had a bit more coffee in the flavor, which was for him a good thing, with hints of maple, vanilla and perhaps some cocoa.  I thought it was very strongly coffee flavored.  Unfortunately, it was that flat, stubborn coffee taste that has no depth or intricacy.  I found it to be sweet, yet somehow flavorless; not the worst I’ve ever tasted, but not something I would go out of my way for. 

Lastly, we indulged in a Café Bombe.  It was described as a Bavarian Mocha, with a brownie bottom and raspberry.  The kindly woman behind the counter extolled its superiority over all other pastries feigning to be coffee based.  Repeatedly she told me that it was by far the strongest flavored and best tasting of all its fellow desserts.  It seemed to be a round chocolate cake, on a chocolate brownie-cookie, with a layer of coffee mousse and raspberry covering it, topped with a sort of chocolate ganache icing.  Rachel immediately declared, “This is the top.”  El Conquistador de las Truchas* said, “The coffee mousse is a nice touch, and the raspberry is superbly sublime – a nice surprise – like Christmas morning.  A most pleasant experience.”  Lissa added a very profound opinion, “It was fruity, yet chocolaty.” 

After hearing all of the various comments, I finally took my first bite.  The coffee flavor was very strong.  I was a bit surprised, considering how little of the coffee mousse there seemed to be.  The raspberry was surprising and almost sour.  It complimented the sweet chocolate very well.  I’ve not found that I really like raspberry and coffee together.  Come to think of it… I don’t much like coffee.  I’ll bet you never could have guessed that.  Haha.  Though the coffee seemed to contradict the other flavors, I would like to try it again.  I feel like I didn’t do it proper justice.  I was too busy enjoying the company and outrageous comments.

I am grateful to La Patisserie Francaise for a very enjoyable experience.  I was lucky to have such a beautiful day on which to experience its goodness, but even if the day had been horrid, what day could remain sour in the presence of such sweetness?

*Some names have been changed, but not necessarily for protection or for any other good reason. Haha.

http://www.lapatbakery.com

Stella’s, Old South Pearl

I find such comfort in small old towns.  Old South Pearl is a little village within the city of Denver.  Somehow, it manages to hide itself in the folds of trees and nostalgia – only blocks away from the bustle of Broadway.  There, it cradles a particular treasure.  Stella’s is charming little coffee shop in a renovated cottage, quietly welcoming students, professionals, artists, eclectics, bohemians, and modest folk.  On this particular Wednesday evening, the sun shone warmly through breezy clouds, alighting on the afternoon crowd.  People of all shapes and sizes spilled from the door, across the patio, and through the garden.  In search of a place for twenty people to meet, I had remembered Stella’s.  Though it looks small, there are several rooms for studying and gathering, some of which can be reserved.  A good place to congregate in the city is surprisingly rare.

I asked the barista for a coffee suggestion, and found it surprisingly difficult.  She could not recommend any unique coffee drinks.  The one thing she suggested was tea, but that didn’t meet my requirements.  Finally, she mentioned the Florentine: half drip-coffee, half hot chocolate.  That seemed to be the most unique of the options, so I went with it.  Knowing that I would probably be disappointed with the offering, I decided to do something new.  By popular demand, it was time to try a double espresso.  I don’t know why it hadn’t been recommended by any baristas yet.  Perhaps it is not considered a popular drink or a delicacy.  Perhaps they only expect true caffeine fiends to like it.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that I’m going to have to get used to it eventually!

I don’t know a lot about espresso, but I’ve heard that its not meant to be sipped.  So, in accordance with tradition as I know it, I took a huge gulp.  Oy!  My tonsils thought I had just given them a death sentence – a fight to the finish!  The taste overwhelmed me for a good minute before it faded enough to actually taste what had just been swallowed.  I have noticed that most coffees cannot really be tasted until after the first swallow.  That’s not the case with double espresso.  I could taste it almost before it touched my tongue.  It was as if my mouth knew what was coming and tried to run away.  Ack!  I couldn’t even think of the words to describe it.

I knew I couldn’t wait too long to drink the rest, or I might lose some effect.  The rest was gone with one additional gulp.  I sat and pondered - with as calm a face as I could muster – the affects I was tasting.  Finally, this is what I decided.  I imagined I was a dinosaur.  I’m running around, eating stuff, smelling flowers, chasing giant bugs, and suddenly a giant meteor hits the earth directly at my feet.  The world turns black.  I’m laying at the edge of a giant crater filled with fire and fury.  The blast was immense.  All living things are dead or nearly dead – as am I.  I open my mouth and with a rasping croak I lick the meteor-charred, lava-encrusted earth before I finally close my eyes on my way to the great tar pit in the sky.  I’m pretty sure that’s what double espresso tastes like. Hahaha.

At this juncture, I must issue a series of addendums and apologies.  I’m sorry I do not yet like espresso – I will continue to try.  No, I do not believe traditional scientific theories about dinosaurs.  Yes, I am funny… at least I think so.  So there. 

The Florentine was exactly what I had expected, unfortunately.  In combining the coffee and hot chocolate, neither one was done any due justice.  It was too weak to be considered either.  I drank the whole thing, but only because I was thirsty, nervous, and had nothing better to do.  I would not really recommend it.

I would however, recommend Stella’s.  Looking at their website, I was surprised that the barista did not say more about their coffee, which is roasted weekly by Pablo’s Coffee.  I don’t think I’ve tried Pablo’s coffee, but I will do so again when I have the opportunity.  So much of what a coffee shop means to me is about atmosphere and the opportunity to spend time with friends.  After a full, enjoyable evening with people I love and care about, I had no complaints when at last Stella’s door closed behind me.

http://www.stellascoffee.com

http://www.pabloscoffee.com

The Cheesecake Factory, Park Meadows

Had the story of Pandora and her box been true, I wonder what would have gone through her mind at the moment of realization.  As she cracked the forbidden box’s lid, would evil have screamed past her, burning her face with ferocity and shame, or would it have been silent and subtle.  If her experience was anything like mine, it would be a quiet knowledge that something is not right.  Something has been done that can never be undone.  The world will never be the same, and I am to blame.

Ok, I’m being a bit melodramatic.  I don’t hold the keys to good and evil in my hand, but I sometimes hold a fork – which can be an instrument of destruction.  Such was the case on that late summer evening, when the air stood still and dessert beckoned with promises of respite and friendly conversation.  Though I wasn’t in the least bit hungry, I wanted to find something coffee-ish, and found opportunity at The Cheesecake Factory.

The Kahlua® Cocoa Coffee Cheesecake is described as: a rich brownie topped with Kahlua® Cheesecake, creamy chocolate mousse, and chocolate ganache.  To complete the experience, I asked the waitress which coffee drink she would recommend.  She pointed out several of the popular drinks - all creamy, sugary, caramel-laced, froofy things – but then said that she prefers the cappuccino.  The cappuccino is a double espresso and foamy steamed milk.  As my first experience with restaurant coffee, it seemed like an appropriate choice.  I’ve tried to avoid restaurant coffee and chain stores, simply because it seems almost irreverent to the coffee quest.  To drink coffee of unknown origin has seemed pointless.  I realize though, that it is part of the coffee culture.  If I am to truly understand coffee and all that surrounds it, I must explore its various venues.

As I waited for the order, I thought for a moment that I could already taste coffee.  It was very strange.  I’m not sure how one’s brain can conjure up so strong a taste memory as to fool one’s senses.  I haven’t been able to determine whether this taste-mirage was an indication of excitement or dread.  Nevertheless, the cheesecake and cappuccino soon arrived.

The cheesecake was exactly as cheesecake ought to be.  It’s light creaminess melted chocolate and heavenly fluff together in delicious unity… but I couldn’t taste any coffee.  In fact, the coffee flavor was so subtle that I had to really concentrate for several bites to detect its presence.  The flavor built up gradually, but it was still not overwhelming.  If I hadn’t detested even the suggestion of coffee in the past, I would have probably enjoyed the cheesecake - even as the true coffee hater I used to be.

I paused before sipping the cappuccino, grinning mischievously over the poised cup, and found Andrea grinning back, eyebrows raised.  She laughed, “I’m waiting for the face, I’m sorry.”  I tried to thwart her expectations by not cringing.  Instead, I took on a thoughtful pose, looking into the distance, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed to the side.  It didn’t work.  She thought that was funnier than my cringing faces.  Can’t win for losing. Haha. 

My immediate thought was of mud.  I’m not sure why, but I got this picture in my head of thick, dense, smooth, brown mud.  The flavor was very strong, but not overly intense, not burnt, and not sharp.  It was kind of like running into a coffee-shaped wall.  It didn’t grab me, or choke me, or twist my tongue into little origami shapes.  It smacked me upside the face – like running into a door jam that I had not prepared for, despite its having been in the same place forever.  Yes, I dohave extensive experience with running into stuff.  There seemed to be slight nuances of caramelized pecans, but I had no way to know if it came from being paired with cheesecake.  I don’t think I would order the cappuccino again.  It was not horrible as an experience, but I found no pleasure in it.

So, we come to the end.  Perhaps you are wondering how all of this brought about such a strong correlation to Pandora and her fateful box?  It is this: coffee is everywhere, but most especially in desserts.  That is very bad.  I have unlocked the forbidden door.  The time may soon come when I will have to choose between coffee and food.  If I am to review coffee or dessert, I will have to refrain from eating my fill of other nutrients.  I have this vague notion that I may end up with Stockholm syndrome.  By being held captive by the necessity of coffee for the purpose of blogging, I may begin to relate to my coffee-captor with unnatural affection, thus defiling the purpose of the blog.  This could be a vicious cycle!  The alternative would be to eat normally, drink coffee, and eat dessert with alarming alacrity, until I feel as if I’ve eaten a whale, and begin to take on a whale’s characteristics.  They say, “You are what you eat.”  I am not prepared to be a whale.  I believe I would have some difficulty driving to work.


http://www.thecheesecakefactory.com

Crowfoot Valley Coffee, Castle Rock

I awoke this morning to a gorgeous day on the Rocky Mountain front range.  I am often playing tourist, but rarely do I get to actually be a tourist.  As I have blogged my way through the coffee shops of Denver, I rarely get the true picture of the coffee shop experience. I’ve made an effort to visit at times when business is slow, and when I have time to sit and enjoy the atmosphere. Today, that was not the case.  Waking not long after the sun, I considered the full day ahead with anticipation and a touch of dismay.  It’s going to be a long one.  First things first… COFFEE!  Is this what it feels like to need one’s coffee in the morning?  I suppose it is, though I probably enjoyed the experience more than most.  Like all things coffee, the simple act of going out for coffee to begin one’s morning is unique in and of itself.

Crowfoot Valley Coffee was a delight to find nestled at the foot of the mesa which gave Castle Rock its name.  The sign announced its dual purpose: Crowfoot Valley Coffee and Crow Bar.  Those with me, who had not as yet joined me for my coffee adventures, found this anachronism to be fascinating.  I think it is worth mentioning that I find myself becoming more of an expert on coffee-type things than those who enjoy it regularly.  Perhaps it stems from having set out to pursue the study of coffee as a discipline, rather than a casual acquaintance.  I knew, therefore, that some coffee shops double as bars in the evenings, but this was startling news to my companions. 

Jason, owner and operator of Crowfoot Valley Coffee, gave no hesitation when he suggested the Trio – made with chocolate, vanilla, and coffee.  He said it’s one of his favorites, because it is not very sweet and allows the coffee flavor to come through.  He wasn’t kidding.  The coffee was just barely masked by the sweetness of chocolate and vanilla.  In all honesty, if I had been asked what flavors had been added, I would not have been able to identify them.  What I tasted was coffee. 

To get the full effect, I ordered another cup of the house blend, black.  I considered this to be especially important, because Jason roasts his own beans.  He sources them through various connections, but they are roasted on-site.  The house blend was very dark.  My first impression was a heavy burnt taste.  From what I have heard, this is very popular in our current society.  I’m told that Starbucks roasts its beans very darkly, and, as I’m sure you know, they don’t lack popularity.  I don’t really like the dark burnt taste, but I would not discount its quality. 

As you know if you’ve read my blog for any length of time, I have always hated coffee.  Though I am trying to change that, it has been ingrained into the fabric of what I always considered to be me.  That old coffee-hating me cringed at the first taste.  I try not to make horrible faces in public, but when nobody was looking, I indulged the impulse.  In fact, even as we return ed to the hotel room, I found myself continuing to mutter, “yech,” under my breath.  I know I wasn’t being fair.  I’m aware that I stand at the end of a personal era.  I can no longer truly say that I hate coffee.  It’s sad, I know.   I don’t yet love it either, but I can see equally the perspective of the lover and the hater, and recommend options for both.  My vitriolic exclamations, therefore, were by reflex alone. 

Crowfoot Valley Coffee has quite a few unique selections, and has a very enjoyable, retro-urban, community feel to it.  Nancy, who ordered a Rosso, flavored with chocolate and raspberry, noticed the conversations passing between Jason and his customers.  She remarked that the familiarity indicated the small-town location.  In opposition, I feel that a good coffee shop will feel like home, no matter how large the surrounding population.

http://www.yjprod.com/sites/crowfoot/

Divine

While playing tourist in Old Colorado City, I decided to try something a little different.  I happened upon a fun little shop called Yobel Market.  Among the fantastic fabrics and furniture was an ancient unassuming traveler’s case.  Though it had inherent qualities I’m sure, they went completely unnoticed, because the interior was filled with chocolate.  Chocolate!  One of the Divine chocolate bars called itself Coffee Milk Chocolate.  How could I resist the chance?  This certainly was not the first bar of coffee chocolate I have ever seen, but it was the first that day, and I felt especially hungry.  Fate had brought us together.

I am not a huge fan of milk chocolate usually.  I like very dark, rich chocolate, particularly with nuts or some other texture.  I must preface all remarks with that, because many do not have the same tastes, and should not be swayed by my opinion. 

The chocolate was creamy, smooth, and extremely soft.  It seemed able to melt with only the slightest touch.  The taste was not so.  The flavor of coffee was so strong that I could hardly taste the chocolate at all.  The sweetness was nearly overpowering and long-lasting.  When drinking coffee, the flavor can be swallowed, ignored, and quickly forgotten if necessary.  With this chocolate, it melted through my mouth, clung to my tongue, and stuck to my teeth.  It lingered much past its time of welcome.

I wish there would have been some depth to the flavor or some texture involved.  It was just coffee.  There is a “just plain coffee” taste that I associate with my childhood.  When I was a little girl, my grandpa would take me for a walk early in the morning, with the birds chirping, the sun shining, and the trees of Salem often dripping with the dew of dawn.  Inevitably, our journey would end at Dunkin Donuts.  He would sit at the bar, drinking coffee, talking with his buddies, and I would consume the biggest most icing-and-sprinkle-covered donut they had.  I truly think they knew when I was coming.  I have never seen such icing creations as they made when I would show up with grandpa.  That moment in time has a certain smell to it.  It is sweetness and donuts, but it is predominantly coffee.  I can’t describe it with any further detail.  Just coffee and old guys.  For that memory, I am thankful to Divine chocolate.  To have to taste coffee and old guys… not so thankful.  

Fireside Books & Coffee, Englewood

I have done a great disservice to the humanity of Denver and its greater Metro Area.  In all of the weeks that I have reviewed and written about coffee, I’ve had yet to mention my home away from home.  Fireside Books and Coffee is unique amongst coffee shops – in essence, because it is not a coffee shop.  Owner and operator, Sam, has designed his business model after the reading rooms of London, rather than ordinary book stores or coffee houses.  When I first saw the little shop, sitting alone on the street corner, I had the impression that I’ve heard from many others since.  It looked barren, stark, and a bit scary.  The neon coffee signs glare into the night sky, seeming to welcome friends and warn away strangers.  I would have remained one of those strangers if I had not been introduced properly. 

When I stepped inside the doors for the first time, I found myself falling for the place almost immediately.  One side of the little shop is filled with books, piled high from floor to ceiling, in simple wooden shelves, stacked so closely together that one must pull in all elbows and large-sized ears to avoid catastrophe.  Used books of every type and genre tower over the literature pursuant, daring one even to try limiting oneself to just one book.  Next to the café is an entire wall of old, unique books, smelling of dust and paper and ancient ink. I often stand and gaze longingly at the old manuscripts, tenderly leafing through the musty pages of German volumes, absorbing every word that I understand.  It is a reader’s paradise.  I don’t often have the time to sit and enjoy a good book, but the ambience at Fireside makes one wish to cast all other cares into whatever abyss they came from, curl up, and marinate in words. 

On the other side of the shop is a warm reading room, complete with study areas, tables, comfy chairs, fireplace, and grand piano.  Low shelves line the wall beneath the windows, begging to introduce the adventurous to new ideas, local authors, and exciting best sellers.  Often small groups will gather for discussion, study, and games.  Between the two sides is the coffee bar, laden with delectable goodies, brought in fresh from local vendors. 

Fireside brews Community Coffee, from Louisiana.  Founded in 1919, they are the oldest family-owned independent coffee roaster in the U.S..  According to Sam, they have built relationships with the supplying communities in South America over the past 92 years that allow them to choose the most premium beans.  Though coffee is not all of what Fireside is about, Sam prides himself on having a very unique, specially chosen brand of coffee, available fresh at any time of the day or night.  Did I mention? Fireside is the only coffee shop in the area that is open 24 hours per day, including all holidays.

In all of the months that I have spent at Fireside, I had not tried the coffee until just recently.  For my first experience, I chose a unique offering from the menu, called Chicory Coffee.  According to David, one of Fireside’s baristas, Chicory Coffee is made from a lettuce root that is roasted, ground up, and combined with coffee grounds before brewing.  The whole idea seemed a little odd to me, but hey – I can only die once!

The coffee smelled very mild.  David said that it was a light roast, so I should be able to taste the nuances in it.  My friend Clint Washington Jones* declared that it smelled a bit like lettuce.  That was not a very good sign.  At first taste, however, I was very surprised.  It was of a medium flavor, and quite mellow.  I had expected it to grab my tongue and twist it into knots as so many have before, but it never did.  There was no bite, no extreme bitterness.  Another friend, Mary, agreed that although it did not smell wonderful like some coffees, it didn’t taste horrible either.  I detected a bit of burnt flavor underlying a buttery nuttiness.  At one point, I even thought it tasted slightly musky, and mused to myself at whether it could be compared to an old dude’s cologne.  Overall, though I cannot claim to have enjoyed the experience, I could definitely tolerate it.  I was quite surprised that such a light roast would have clear nuances.  My experience thus far has been that only the very dark roasts have depth to them.  It will be interesting to try other coffees from Community Coffee in the future.

* Some names have been changed to protect the innocent. Haha.

http://www.communitycoffee.com/

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