A Nice Cuppa

I’m a barista. I thought I was a barista. I work in a coffee shop after all. I grind it, brew it, serve it in a cup and ring it through after all. I even smile, and if they smile back I’ll beam an even bigger one at them. But it’s not that simple. No, it’s not. I walked into my latest place of employment earlier this week, a to-be-unnamed coffee shop here in “T-dot”, Toronto, Ontario. A first day on the job isn’t so unlike a first day at school, Cub Scouts, or Fat Camp. The same hopes and insecurities apply regardless of age, the only difference being how long you go before calling Mommy to come pick you up. I resisted for now, though I have her on speed dial. It was a short day, half the length of a normal coffee serving shift. A half decaf day. I grabbed an apron from the office, gave a polite nod to my new co-workers, and schlepped off to the employee washroom to change.

By nature, the facilities in coffee shops are built for micronomicons, incredibly compact. You’re often lucky to find one with enough floor space to turn around in, save you the trouble of assuming the position first and walking in backwards. Employee washrooms are typically as bad, plus they often double as stockrooms. At the least, you’ll never be short on paper products. I throw on the get-up. Black shoes. Black socks. Black pants. Black belt. Black t-shirt. Black apron. If I were a McDonald’s character I’d be Burnt to Hell Soulless McNugget, collect all four. What could be better though: a nice part-time kick backer of a job, drinking coffee, talking to customers who drink coffee, etc. I was ready to barista. Until I was told I wasn’t a barista…yet, and that the apron I was wearing on which “barista” was embroidered in caramel colored thread was, at this point in my career, a misnomer. I can take it.

In a world of earthworms, lego, and microwavable steak, I’ve come to accept that this can be a complicated planet. There are things unknown to me here. I don’t mind. It’s a way of maintaining perspective, keeping humble. But when I’d been told I probably shouldn’t wear the barista apron because I may cause confusion in certain customers who expect espresso magic….well, how does that floaty Aladdin song go? A Whole New World.

Barista is a word of Italian origin meaning one who possesses a degree of skill and knowledge in espresso making. On this side of the Atlantic the title is watered down, but coffee is more complicated than most of us give it credit for, even those who work with it. The quality of any naturally grown food (without eyes) will be affected by such things as temperature, humidity, altitude, soil conditions, and rainfall. Coffee is no exception. It all begins with the bean. There are two garden variety types: Arabica and Robusta, the former being the higher quality bean due to the elevation of growth. Cooler growing temperatures extend maturation time, resulting in a more flavorful bean. Serve and enjoy. The End. Not yet actually.

In order to create the aromas and flavor characteristics we might assume are made by nature, professionals skilled in the art of blending will combine coffee varieties, much the same as certain wines may consist of grapes from different vineyards, plots, regions, or barrel types. A lot of love goes into keeping you awake at the office. Roasting, packaging, storage, grinding, and brewing round out the process, each one dependent on its own standards of care, each one potentially damaging to the final product if not done correctly. For example: Mr. Schmegular walks into Coffee Hut for his 6 am double espresso. Assuming the beans arrived at your shop at the height of perfection, there is still much room for error. Even the most lax of establishments need take care when grinding the beans. For zee espresso, too large and course a grind setting (which can also occur when the grinding mechanism on your machine begins to wear) will result in water flowing through the grounds too quickly, causing dilution. Too fine a grind will slow the process and do the opposite. Ideally, brewing time should fall between 20 and 30 seconds. Water temperature and purity are also critical. Proper brewing temperatures (198-202 degrees F.) maintain a recommended middle ground between lack of flavor extraction (low temp) and burning Mr. Schmegular’s lips off (high temp). Unfiltered water has its own problems. Aside from its affect on taste, mineral deposits may hamper the machine’s heating element or damage the machine itself in a process called scaling. Did I mention that I once made instant coffee with the same water I had just boiled eggs in? No? God loves a comeback.

In short, the coffee game is an art if not a science, a bona fide case of the more you know, the more you realize you don’t know. So be it. And if barista is a designation I have to work for, then I’ll work for it. I’ll live up to the standards of espresso’s Mediterranean forefathers. But should it be this way, in this land, at a time when doing the body right means Whopper combo 3 with juice, and The Simple Life is considered investigative journalism? I hope so. I’d like to think people still appreciate perfection, or at least the effort at. After that first sip, it certainly appears that way.

Stay tuned….