Confessions of a Coffee Snob

I am informed by those closest to me that I am a coffee snob. My suspicion is that I not only flaunt my penchant for a well brewed cup of java but also my apparent impatience for the lack of one. I confess. If wine connoisseurs can snobbishly natter of the joys of an aged California Pinot Noir then I am safe describing the smoky flavor of a freshly brewed espresso a la Starbucks. So, I dismiss my accuser’s diatribes as unadulterated jealously. They probably drink Folgers instant coffee or linger at Maxwell House’s last drop.

I wonder. Is it wrong of me to consider those whose intake of “coffee” consists of the pseudo-drink purchased at trucker frequented convenience stores from machines that spew brown tepid fluid. What comes out of these looks more like what you might get from a tea bag that’s been recycled one too many times?

What could possibly be inside of these wannabe soft drink dispensers turned one-stop cafes? Only God knows. I imagine age old hard rubber tubes, caked with java cholesterol that ooze out what is supposed to be coffee but in reality is hardly what the “Freshly Brewed Coffee!” sign lures the caffeine addict to believe.

Out of sheer desperation I gave one of these javachines a go one day last week. I stood before my mechanical coffee shop pop-eyed as it coughed, sputtered, and whizzed into a cheap paper cup. The only redeeming quality of such an act of desperation is my ability to qualify my criticism with age old experience. Amazingly, I sipped once and then apologized to the pavement when I baptized it with the remains. Life is simply too short to drink this stuff.

Recently I was in Huntsville, Alabama and in hot pursuit of a good cup of coffee. My sojourn there would last for several days and so it was critical that I find a supplier to meet my needs. In my caffeine wanderlust I roam the streets in search of a café. They know about rocket ships in Huntsville but I suspect that Starbucks has yet to impact this town.

I find a quaint shop that actually bears the French word café as part of its name. I’m in luck! Hooray! Brighter days ahead during my brief stay in rocket town! There really is a God in heaven!

I knew I was done for when with twisted face the waitress informs me,

“It takes us a while to make a latte.”

I glance around like a tourist gone mad. It’s early in the day. There are five people in this joint and no one fighting to get through the front door. Hmm. What gives? I muse that perhaps it takes so long because they are purist and grind their coffee beans by hand. I’ve nothing better to do so I sit down and wait. And wait. Oh, and … wait.

I was patient for an entire 22 minutes when the moment of truth finally arrived. I stared at the miniscule paper cup my “latte” was served up to me in.

Huh? For a moment I entertain the thought that perhaps my order was confused with someone else’s. Normally I would keep quiet, but this is a matter of life and death here.

“Oh, I’m really sorry, but I ordered a latte!”

I note that the waitress’ eyes navigate the room. She replies,

“Oh, but that’s what that is.”

I thought for a moment that I would momentarily define the elements of a classic latte but I could see her eyes already glazing over and I could smell what seemed like toast burning. She leaves. I sit with my arms crossed and stare downward.

“This is a latte?” I say to myself. Lips moving, no sound.

My lips pucker with frustration as my head sways to and fro. I reach for a plastic stirrer and poke the top of the drink. A latte is supposed to be a trinity of coffee, steamed milk and a head of froth. My investigation reveals to me that no such trio exists inside this paper cup.

I drink up and remind myself that at least I didn’t press a button for this cup of … well … this beverage. I appease myself with the thought that I’m not at a fast-food sweat shop where the coffee sits on a burner long enough to make java tootsie rolls.

It shouldn’t be this difficult to find a decent cup of coffee! But then again I am not in Seattle, the coffee capital of America where lattes and espressos are brewed up for you fresh right out in the open air in those adorable mobile cafés.

I wonder what the job scene looks like in Seattle. Hmm.

I zoomed to New Orleans last week just for the day. It was my one moment to feel like a trendy businessman on the move. A dear friend informed me that should I want a good cup of coffee that I should visit a place in the French Quarter. It had a French sounding name. The café doo something. My business in this city takes me less than an hour to process which gives me all day to wander New Orleans.

The Café Du Monde in New Orleans is a coffee lovers paradise. Think of it. A landmark café that’s opened 24-7 in the French Quarter of a sexy city that serves café au lait and the tastiest rectangular French doughnuts called beignets (pronounced bin-yays) that are served up hot and buried in a Mt. Everest pile of powdered sugar. I think I’m gonna like this place.

I don’t know about you but if I have to speak French to order my coffee, hell yeah, I’m in the right place.

It sure beats hollering “large coffee!!” into a drive-through speaker intercom.

“That’ll be a dollar twenty seven, drive around to the window.”

I sit and take in the wonderful scenery of an outdoor café in the French Quarter, my powdered sugar nose, lips and chin looking like Al Pacino’s cocaine covered face in Scarface. But this is okay because everyone else in this congregation is wearing the same tell-tale mask. I am no longer caffeine or sugar deprivated. This is pure ecstasy and I promise myself to return soon and have breakfast, lunch and dinner at the Café Du Monde.

At home I return to the safe haven of my espresso machine and coffee maker and have only myself to blame for a bad cup of java. I grind my beans, poke my finger in to make sure the grind is just right, pop in a filter, sit back, and think of how sad life would be without my coffee and without decent coffee shops where crowds gather to take in this drink of the gods.

So, am I a coffee snob? Well, sure. I can handle that.