A Pilgrim’s Digression

I am ready to admit I was wrong about you, Starbucks (The Last Drop).  Maybe all I needed was some time with another coffee shop to see the error of my ways.  In the end, when I needed a good, inexpensive cup of coffee, it was you who came through for me–not that diner around the corner.

You lowered your prices.  I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting such a blatant attempt at luring me back.  You didn’t need me or my money.  Yet you lowered your prices anyway, and that meant a lot.

At the diner, I paid almost six dollars for a cup of Maxwell House and a breakfast sandwich.  Then, when I stopped in to visit you last week, I found that you could make me a better cup of coffee and a better sandwich for under five dollars.

That made an impression.  Your nickname “Fivebucks” is now a misnomer, as long as I don’t buy any of your specialty drinks.

Your coffee seems to have improved as well.  My first taste, this morning, made my eyeballs tingle with the sudden jolt of caffeine.  We’re off to a good start, Starbucks, and I hope we can keep this relationship on solid ground for years to come.

I know I’ve been fickle.  I know I’ve suggested you are elitist, and that you are an expensive mistress to maintain.  But now I am asking you to take me back.  And please, now that you’ve got me again, don’t raise your prices.  You’ve got me on the hook for years at these prices, just don’t press your advantage too far.

I am cursed to live in a small college town with little choice in coffee shops.  There are only two, and the better of the two only stays open until five on weekdays.  The second best coffee shop stays open until six on weekdays, but until eight on Sundays; however, it’s small and always packed on weekends.  Just now I literally stood at the counter drinking my coffee while waiting for a table to come open.  Finally, I think I made the two women at the table nearest me nervous, and they got up and left.

Why doesn’t the other, larger coffee shop keep longer hours?  I don’t know.  Supposedly it has to do with the owners inability to find college students willing to work evenings and weekends.  That may well be true, but it doesn’t sound true.  Whoever heard of a downtown coffee shop closing at five?  It just makes no sense.

My wife has heard this complaint of mine so many times, she’s sick of it, which is why I am now bending your ear.  No one else wants to hear it anymore.

When I was in college, the best coffee shop in town, the Blue Moose, stayed open until eleven on weekends.  It was open late during the week as well.  It was roomy, and given the layout may have been a diner at one time.  There were poetry readings and live music on those late weekend nights, and it was nearly as packed as the local bars.  I spent so many hours of my life in that place.  Every town needs a coffee shop like the Blue Moose, especially college towns.

Another thing that truly bothers me about having so little choice in coffee shops is that if the coffee is bad, I’m out of luck.  I’m no coffee snob–I’ll drink just about anything as long as it isn’t instant coffee.  In fact, I think I’m at that point in my addiction where, if I were a smoker, I’d be buying the generic brand rather than the Camels, just because my taste is so ruined that it hardly matters anymore.  Maxwell House coffee is perfectly fine for me.  But my coffee needs to have some flavor.  It can’t be muddy, hot water.

The coffee here really isn’t that good.  Mostly what you taste is the cream and sugar, if you add any.  If you don’t add anything, what you taste is hot water.

Also, this coffee shop tends to attract people who buy nothing, but who set up shop for hours at a time, taking advantage of the free Internet and tap tapping on their laptops.  If the coffee shop were larger, it wouldn’t matter; but there are only five tables, and when you walk in and every table, large or small, is occupied by one person, a laptop, and a stack of books, it can be annoying.

I’m just pissing and moaning today, for lack of anything better to write about.  I did get a table after all, after giving two girls the evil eye until they departed.  Now my wife has joined me, and we are both complaining about the shitty coffee.  Lynn says the house blend is the owner’s favorite, so because she likes it, we all have to suffer.  It tastes like bitter almonds, or baker’s chocolate, swirled in hot water.

But I’m still drinking it.  A two pack a day smoker doesn’t care if the cigarette has been laying on the dashboard for two weeks and has gone completely stale.  It may make you choke, but it’s still a smoke.

Following are some tips for how I make my perfect cup of coffee at home.

1. The brand of coffee isn’t that important, though I’ve never liked Folgers. I use Eight O’Clock Bean, but I grind my own. I set the grinder on the finest grind available, usually Espresso grind even though I am going to use it in a drip coffee maker. Maxwell House is good coffee, too, but coarser; I usually add an extra scoop or two to heighten the flavor.
2. Keep your coffee pot clean. There is nothing worse than a cup of coffee that tastes mildewy because of an unclean pot. Wash the carafe and filter basket regularly, and run some vinegar or special coffee pot cleaning solution through the pot at least once a month to kill the evil things that can grow in the pump and tubing.
3. To measure the coffee, I use a 2 Tbsp. scoop. For every two cups of coffee, I add one heaping scoop, so for a 12 cup coffee pot, that means 6 scoops or 12 Tbsps. The “heaping” part is where things can go wrong for you.  I’ve made so many pots, good and bad, I know exactly what a “heap” should look like, just like my grandma knew what a “pinch” or “sprinkle” meant in a recipe.  It will take practice to get it right.
4. If you take cream with your coffee, use only half-and-half. Any of the substitutes, such as Coffee Mate, are nothing more than dyes, in my opinion. Powdered Coffee Mate is just plain wrong and should not even exist in a perfect world.  It doesn’t even dissolve properly.  These artificial creamers do not add anything to the flavor, but real half-and-half actually does contribute to the experience of a cup coffee. As for flavored creamers, why? Why would you do that to a perfectly good cup of coffee? I drink coffee for the taste of coffee, not for the taste of vanilla or Baileys Irish Cream.
5. Sugar in coffee is a matter for individual taste. I used to be dead set against it, but I’ve had to accommodate my wife’s tastes. If I’ve screwed up the coffee to water ratio and made a pot of stronger than usual coffee, I don’t mind a little sugar in mine to cut the bitterness. Typically, I forgo sugar, however.

I think I make a pretty good cup of coffee, but it should be said that not everyone agrees. My Mom, Dad, and Grandpa all say I make it too strong, as do my sister-in-law and brother-in-law. They won’t drink my coffee, and if I even act like I am going to make a pot of coffee in their house, they usually stop me.

My wife and mother-in-law, however, prefer my coffee to that of Starbucks.

I don’t do anything special to make a good cup. I grind it fine, and I brew it strong, with special attention to the scoop per cup of water ratio. And that’s really all you need to know about preparing the perfect cup.

I tend to write about coffee quite a bit here at my blog. If I don’t write about it directly, it’s always there nonetheless, like the cigarette between the fingers of Edward Murrow’s right hand.

Coffee is ubiquitous in my life and in my writing.

I make a pot of coffee first thing in the morning at home; sometimes I make it the night before and set the timer so that it is ready when I get up.

Sometimes I make another pot later in the morning. Then I make another in the afternoon, sometime after lunch. Then I make another pot in the evening after dinner.

And sometimes, I make a pot late in the evening, before bed.

A 2.5 oz. bag of coffee might last a weekend in our home, more or less.

I’ve been drinking coffee since I was about eight years old. As best I recall, I drank my first cup while fishing in Ontario with my Dad. The mornings on the lake were cold, so he allowed me a cup of black coffee and a piece of lemon pound cake to warm up. A good combination, that.

Admittedly, I’ve come to realize in the years since that Dad’s coffee is terrible. Usually when people say coffee is “terrible” they mean that it is too strong. This is my Dad’s reaction to Starbucks coffee. Therefore, you can guess that the coffee Dad makes is pretty weak.

By my standards, you can recognize a bad cup of coffee by the way the cream swirls when you add it to the cup of coffee. If it looks like you just poured milk into a cup of vaguely brown water, that’s a bad a cup of coffee.

The cream should mingle with the coffee like brown and white oil paints mixing to a golden tan.  When brewing a pot of coffee, the coffee should be dark and slightly foamy, not tea-like in clarity.

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Starbucks, we’re through.  I can’t do this any longer.  No, no…it’s not me.  It’s you.

Like Loretta Lynn sang so many years ago, “It’s funny what success has done to you.”

You can’t make me a decent cup of coffee anymore.  You don’t even listen when I tell you to leave room for cream.  You’ve tried to keep me happy with your terrible sandwiches, your “perfect” oatmeal (I know it’s just instant oatmeal from a package, you’re not fooling anyone), your stale baked goods.  Just today, I asked you for a turkey club and you gave me a turkey, pastrami, and pepper jack cheese sandwich with a spicy, roasted tomato dressing.

Starbucks, that isn’t a club sandwich.  Your sandwich sucked.

The truth is, I haven’t been coming around as much because I’ve been seeing someone else.  Her name is Wendy.  She’s a redhead, and she makes a terrific chicken sandwich.

And as for coffee, I’m through trying to find satisfaction in a diva like you.  I’m looking for a solid relationship that will stand the test of time.  I’m looking for ordinary coffee.  Just coffee, in a non-biodegradable styrofoam cup, a common coffee such as one might find in a diner or gas station (if one can even find a diner anymore).

The problem is, even gas stations sell so-called “gourmet coffee” these days.  But it’s fake gourmet, and I know it, so as long as I know I’m being lied to, it’s alright.

Yeah, I know you don’t care.  You’ve got men lined up around the block waiting to throw money at you.

I just wanted you to know we’re done.  I may come around for a cup of coffee sometime when I’m desperate, or someone gives me a gift card for my birthday, but don’t expect to see me much anymore.  Feel free to serve the next person in line.