Monday, August 27 2007

Live, From the Internet, It's . . . Another Blog!

I was in downtown Vancouver the other night at a book signing, and decided to drop in on Caffe Artigiano, a hipster coffee shop such that only Vancouver could manifest. The patrons, individually and collectively had more tattoos, piercings, street cred and attitude than I could possibly manifest, even if I had sixteen lifetimes and an unlimited supply of body parts to stick needles into and through and skin surface area to decorate.

Still, they make very good coffee. Strange as it may seem, I probably drink more coffee than I do wine (although I spit less of it out, so I guess that evens things up) and I'm fond of high-end beans. No fancy-pants drinks though: I know it's not a popular stance, but I think that mochas, whatchamacinos and frappe-type drinks are simply milkshakes in disguise. Rather than gulping down eight hundred calories of milk, sugar and fat to get an ounce of coffee, I'll just take sixteen ounces of drip coffee, please.

When I went in, I saw a sign advertising a 'special'. (What a world we've come to when the simple act of selling coffee has come to include daily specials.) That used to be reserved for full-service restaurants, didn't it? This particular offering was for Hacienda la Esmeralda Especial, a rare and exclusive type of bean grown under special conditions. Apparently it was the Kobe beef of coffee, with the beans hand-fed little shots of espresso as they grew, getting massages and soothing music every morning.

It was also $15 for a single eight ounce cup.

Now, before anyone rolls their eyes, that isn't the highest price I've ever paid for a cup of coffee. When I was in college I hung out in a coffee shop that sold the infamous Jamaica Blue Mountain coffee with a little ceremony. In addition to doing the equivalent of a Japanese tea ceremony in preparation of your cup, they also sprinkled powdered gold dust on the top of the coffee right before service (ahh, the Eighties–was there no excess we could not indulge in?) The gold didn't affect the flavour, but was said to enhance the experience. I dunno about that, but they did make a good cuppa joe.

The other coffee they served was a bizarre and strange rarity called Kopi Luwack. The less actually discussed about this the better, but I'll just say that it was definitely the harvest method that drove up the cost of the beans, and they had a very earthy taste.

So I ordered a cup, to be prepared by an inscrutable young alpha-nerd who looked like he might have been equally at home hunched over a hot Sun workstation or a Magician's forge–a coffee wizard. Preparation was gravely discussed, solemn nods and assent were given, and eventually I was delivered a pristine white vessel of impeccable coffee containment.

It was okay, if kind of bland and watery. I complained of this to my wife. She doesn't drink coffee, but she is a super-taster. Equipped with a hundred times the taste buds of mere mortal humans, and the trained palate of a Red Seal chef, she is capable of tasting a dish and immediately teasing out every component and nuance, and can go home a replicate the most complex recipes the first time she tries (hey, how did you think I got this big, eating my own cooking?) She took a delicate sip and gave me a dubious stare.

"Burgundy, not Bordeaux", she said, "What were you expecting?"

I understood her immediately. I had made a classic tyro's mistake. Because I prefer very strong and usually dark-roasted coffees, I had assumed that a cup of mud that cost that much would be just like what I was used to, only more of the same. This happens to fans of California Cabernet, or Australian Shiraz who decide to splurge on a very expensive bottle of French Burgundy–they look forward to an enhanced experience of exactly the type they are used to, with double-plus doses of goodness and turbocharged tannins to boot. When offered an ethereal, lyrical and delicate example of the finest and most enthralling Pinot Noir in the world, it seems they've been cheated with a thin and watery wine, fit only for hot dogs or perhaps pretzels.

It also can happen to wine kit purchasers who trade up to a premium or super-premium kit of a different type than they normally make. Fans of our VR Mezza Luna Red who grab a Selection Pinot Noir or folks who normally make Selection International Australian Chardonnay who grab an Estate Series Washington Riesling are sometimes flummoxed by how different the two products are. Truth is, the extra money doesn't go into making more of the same; it goes into making a varietally distinct and intensely focused wine with a good expression of the terroir of the grape.

I took another sip, and suddenly realised it reminded me of something else: tea. To be specific, it tasted a lot like Formosa Oolong Estate Silvertips, a tea we have on special occasions at our house. It's a black tea, but regardless of how much you might put in a pot, it never goes 'black'. It's a lovely light mahogany colour, with delicate fragrance and light tannins that chase around your palate and a finish that is almost like perfume, if perfume were made out of smoke . . . okay, that's a bit flowery, but so is the tea. I mentioned this to my wife and she agreed that it had the same sort of fragrant delicacy.

Suddenly the coffee tasted a lot better to me. Of course, it wasn't the coffee that changed, or even my palate. It was my expectations and my appreciation of the coffee for itself, rather than as a comparison to something I had had before.

And, at approximately a dollar a sip, I'm glad I took the time to think about what I was drinking.

Posted by Tim AT 8:07PM

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