So just when I thought that New York couldn’t upset me anymore, I opened the NY Times food section today, and look what I saw: New York Is Finally Taking Its Coffee Seriously.
Read the article. No, go ahead, I’ll wait; it’s not that long.
I’m so infuriated about everything in this article that I don’t know where to begin. Let’s start with some quotes, shall we?
Some of the obsessiveness may get a bit off-putting. Want an espresso to go at Ninth Street Espresso? Forget it. The baristas there believe it should be drunk immediately from a warm ceramic cup. Want a cappuccino made from single-origin beans at Kaffe 1668? Sorry, you’ll be told, but milk would overpower the subtle flavors of the coffee.
How about a hot steaming cup of go fuck yourself instead? At the end of the day, all this coffee culture is based on how they drink coffee in Italy. In many Italian coffee bars, people will storm up to the counter, down an espresso and out. However, just as many will linger a little with a magazine or outside in nice weather, if they don’t have anywhere else to be. As for your single-origin beans, blow me. Italian coffees have been blended for hundreds of years to produce a consistent product. Italian food and drink is about tradition and quality. The esoteric search for the end-all and be-all of everything is uniquely american, and you can blow it out your ass. Oh to be a fly on the wall the first time an Italian tourist wanders into this place at the crack of ten and gets told they can’t have a cappucino. Che cazzo dici!?!
Wonder why the barista pulled and tossed out two shots of espresso before she served you yours? She was making sure it was perfect, the coffee evenly tamped, the water temperature ideal for the particular beans, the timing just right. (The best baristas will “dial in” throughout the day, tasting the espresso and adjusting the grind and dose.)
Spare me. The grind is the grind. The dose can need adjustment based on the roast and age. Don’t get me wrong, there is a true arte di caffè, but let’s not forget what makes Italian coffee what it is: La Macchina, every machine is different; La Miscela, the blend of beans; il Macinadosatore, the perfect grind to suit the machine: not your mood; and il Mano, the human touch that makes every cup of coffee different and beautiful, in its way.
Want a double espresso? You’ll have to buy two singles.
Suck what? Again, I would love to see my friend Alfredo be confronted with this. If only these hipsters spoke Italian. Maybe then they would have a clue what coffee culture is really about.
Today, most of the chains use about seven grams of ground coffee for a two-ounce shot. Espresso pods are filled with around five grams. Baristas at the best places in town, like Bluebird Coffee Shop or Joe, tamp down between 19 and 21 grams. Often the espresso is even more concentrated because it’s pulled “short,” with less water, so that the final volume is a thick 1.5 to 2 ounces.
Excuse me, espresso comes from an expression meaning ‘coffee made expressly for this person, this moment.’ That means I can have it any way I god damn well want it. “Short,” or ristretto is an option for coffee drinkers, not an edict. Many people, especially those with an upset stomach, might want a coffee lungo or long, made with more water. Or, gee whiz, I might just have it regular.
I’m so completely over people telling me what is good or right or cool. In the Afterthoughts of her seminal work “The Classic Italian Cookbook,” Marcella Hazan writes, “The world of Italians is not a phenomenon that needs to be subdued, reshaped, arranged in logical patterns. It is not a challenge to be won. It is there simply to be enjoyed, mostly on its own terms.” These nazi foodies, in their quest to find and be the apotheosis of everything, lose all notion of enjoyment. Coffee, like so many things, need only be made with care and of good ingredients. Remember what we say down south: Lu caffe si piglia con tre “C”: Cazzu, cummu coce: Coffee is drunk with balls, like it’s made.
Listening: “Take It From Me” The Weepies, from Say I Am You
