If procrastination was an Olympic sport I'd compete in it later. I love stationary, popcorn and thinking I make witty observations.

Oct 11, 2016

The Crazy Coffee Cult

REGULAR black coffee. In a REGULAR cup. This is how I like it.

I needed coffee; in a line, in a shot, in an IV drip, I didn’t care. I had crossed multiple timezones, had an overnight flight next to a baby with the most powerful lungs known to mankind, and a connection at 6am. Coffee was the only chance I had of making it through. Exhausted, sleep-deprived and entirely useless, I trudged up to a Starbucks in the airport, joyous at the prospect of rejuvenation offered by caffeine.

“Hi, can I get a cup of black filter coffee please?”
*Barista stares. Barista’s face contorts into a mixture of pain and incredulity. Barista’s expression abruptly transforms into one of steely determination.*
“We have chai lattes on offer today, can I offer you one instead?”
“No thanks, just regular coffee will do”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes”
*Barista’s eyebrows shoot so far up his face I’m scared they will disappear into his hairline. Barista’s afore-mentioned steely resolve is no more to be seen. Previous facial expression of intense discomfort makes a comeback.*
“Our caramel macchiato is also a very popular choice”
*Barista’s eyes stretched wide open. Barista is mildly terrifying at this stage, silently begging me to change my order because my refusal to consume overpriced sickly sweet chemicals in hot water is too much for him to handle*
“I just want filter coffee please, (with a shot of judgment if you have any left)”
*Barista is disgusted. Slams a cup in front of me. Makes no effort to mask his contempt at my uneducated heathen ways.*

Since when does ordering black coffee make me a filthy abomination that has to be marginalised from all of Western civilisation? I apologise that the notion of a flat white espresso served in a double cup hand-crafted by Ethiopian peasants does little to arouse me. No really, I am truly sorry that I am not willing to sacrifice all of my self-dignity to order a mocha latte made from Madagascan beans flown in on winged unicorns and served in a pretty pattern. I don’t consider that coffee. It’s chocolate caramel hurl-a-chino with extra faff and 10 shots of obnoxiousness.

What I imagine a hurl-a-chino to look like

Gone are the days when ordering a macchiato was seen as vaguely metrosexual and going out for a coffee meant gravy-like instant coffee at the local bar. The world is suddenly transforming into the most entitled group of coffee drinkers around. Caffeinated, but — Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the camel — pretentious as hell. They use words like “double double” (toil and trouble?), “unleaded” (like petrol), and “with room” (where you have to leave SPACE IN THE CUP). Their orders sound like the dialogue from a foreign porn flick.

“Chai Tea Latte, 3 pumps of vanilla syrup, skim milk, Smart water, no foam, extra hot” (“Smart” water???)
“Half caff soy cappuccino, 180 degrees” (I wasn’t aware we were conducting science experiments, I thought you were just trying to order coffee)
“Nonfat, peppermint frappuccino, hot milk, 2 percent foam” (3 percent is just a little much for what I imagine to be Father Christmas’ favourite beverage)
“Half-whole milk, one quarter 1%, one quarter non-fat, extra hot, split quad shots, 1 1/2 shots decaf, 2 1/2 shots regular, no foam latte, with whip, and 3 sprinkles of cinnamon” (Only the most intelligent people place orders like this, must be hard to have to explain the small details to your barista which are PERFECTLY SIMPLE OK? DOUBLE…NO! DID I ASK FOR CHOCOLATE?)

What the hell happened to real brew for real people?

A rare image of the woodelves making sure the coffee is of acceptable quality

I can’t keep up with the new coffee elites. They have Chemex filters, Aeropress machines, ceramic funnels, contraptions that measure, uniformly grind and drop the beans in precise pretty patterns whilst water from the Alps is poured in through organic filters woven by silk spiders. They drop mad cash on coffee beans they have to grind themselves, but it’s totally worth it because the beans are roasted under the full moon by wood elves humming Tchaikovsky’s Concerto in D Minor. Coffee shop menus change faster than Rihanna changes her hairstyle and caffeine-related trends are followed obsessively. Starbucks is the new Anna Wintour.

I refuse to order a “extra hot caramel macchiato upside down” (CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT’S A REAL DRINK) no matter how flipping cool it sounds. I demand my right to drink regular black coffee without eliciting immediate condemnation and dirty looks from people concerned about atmospheric pressure at time of extraction. Get me some brew so strong it invaded Russia in the winter and won. That’s coffee. I’ll take a cup.