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.