Coffee

I don’t drink coffee.  I never have, and can pretty honestly say that I never will.  I don’t like the bitter taste, even of the milkiest-weak latte, even of a dessert with a hint of mocha.  People are often astounded.  ‘You don’t even like the smell of it?!’ they cry when they hear about my aversion to the drink which seems to have become the Grange of Melbourne.  Nope, not even the smell of it.  

I can, however, understand the obsession and the love that some have for the bitter brew.  I live in an inner city suburb which is becoming famed for its café culture of single origin beans, fair trade beans, roasted on sight beans.  There is talk of the right ‘grind’ and of only heating milk to 62.5 degrees.  It is a serious business.  Even today in the paper there is yet another article about yet another café (Patricia) opened in the city with its own take on coffee and how to drink it  ( www.theage.com.au/.../black-or-white-short-or-long-20120206-1r0s... )  Melbourne is coffee mad.

Young men in skinny jeans and moustaches hop off their fixie bikes at various hole-in-the-wall venues to tweet about the quality of the coffee on offer.  I sometimes (read, often) privately (read, publicly) scoff at these Gen Y youths.  How cool they think they are!  But then I remember a time, not so long ago, when WE were the cool youths discovering the new place to hang out.  Actually, it was my friends and I who made ‘breakfast the new dinner’.   Who were those frequenting the new style of café.  Ordering gourmet breakfasts to cure our hangovers after a night out at a new bar.   Loitering over the paper and an extra latte, pot of tea or Limonata if it was really bad news.  Without our trail blazing, cafes would still be places of greasy toasted sandwiches and pies or focaccias and a bottle of coke.  

 I digress.  Coffee.

I wish I could will myself to like coffee.  Lattes with patterns on top are so appealing.  So is the idea that you can get a good take away coffee in a cool reusable cup.  I drink tea, (a whole other blog entry will be devoted to the topic), and you can’t really do a good take away tea.  It is always some sad little teabag in a paper cup that costs $3.50.  I don’t think so.

I also like all the gadgetry and accessories that come with coffee love.  People travel far and wide to get their favourite coffee.  They speak of their own coffee grinders, coffee machines, milk jugs.  The list goes on.  I understand this.  I love stuff.  Especially kitcheny stuff.  Especially shiny, groovy looking kitcheny stuff.

My partner loves coffee.  I have learnt to ask the important questions.  ‘Is it a good one?’  ‘How’s the froth?’, ‘It’s not too hot is it?’.  I have paid attention to the answers.  I can tell you where the good stuff is, and where to avoid.

Over the last few years (since the birth of our first child funnily enough) there has been talk of a coffee machine at our house.  But which one to buy?  Where to put such a large contraption in our kitchen?  How much do we need to spend to get a good one?  Why are they so ugly?!

The original Atomic

Then it was discovered that my parents had an Atomic.  A beautiful Italian stovetop cappuccino machine.  Made of gleaming cast aluminium and Bakelite. http://www.atomiccoffeemachine.com/ They had received it as a wedding present some forty years earlier and it had languished in a cupboard ever since.  I had never, ever seen it before.  My parents had all my life (until very recently) only drunk Nescafe Blend 43, with Moccona for special occasions.  Now they are into Robert Timm’s coffee bags and the odd plunger for guests.  I dropped hints about the Atomic.  I admired it, loudly.  And finally I flat out asked for it.  ‘ON LOAN,’ my mother said.  'It has to come back'.  Obviously, her cupboard would miss it.    We took the loan.  Here was a coffee machine that wasn’t enormous, but more importantly was beautiful, and made a good cup.  The shape and shine of the little unit make it a pleasure to have out on your stove all day, every day.  The steamer, totally controlled by you, is not high tech. Using the Atomic is like driving a fantastic old manual car.  Just my cup of tea.

How shiny!

Internet research ensued.  We could not afford to buy an Atomic of our own.  No longer in production, they cost almost $1000 for a working model.  Sigh.   

More internet research revealed that another such lover of the Atomic had got hold of the design specs and had been producing the La Sorrentina machine in Taiwan ( www.sorrentinacoffee.com ).  Still not cheap, and looking EXACTLY like an Atomic of old, it was the next best thing.  My partner’s birthday was coming up.  I ordered the machine online and waited.  I also ordered a milk jug and a tamper.  I told you about my love of gadgets.

 La Sorrentina.  I chose emerald green  knobs

Well, I LOVE the La Sorrentina.  I have jokingly told my partner that if we ever separate that I get the coffee machine.  Even though it was my gift to her.  Even though I don’t drink coffee.  She has never had to make a coffee on it.  I am perfecting my skills as a barista.  I can froth the milk to a dense creamy texture.  Even soy and skinny!  I have had a crash course…well, one lesson, in latte art.  A friend’s fiancé came around and showed me how to stretch the milk and to pour it into a glass with flourish. He demonstrated a pretty little fern, and I have been trying to replicate it ever since.  So far I have managed to make the heart coffee, the squiggle coffee, and most frequently – the foetus coffee.  I will continue until I get it right!

The heart.  Not bad for soy!

I am also experimenting with which coffee works best to get the right strength in a latte.  I have entered into deep discussions with the man at George’s Negrita Coffee  http://www.negrita.com.au/ in Victoria Street about the coffee I need.  I have settled on Blavatsky.  A strong coffee with a nutty aroma.  It is dark in colour and 500 grams of it seems to stay fresh until it is all gone.  He keeps pushing me to try the Cuban blend that he has on offer.  I suspect it might be a bit strong, but will probably give it a crack in the future.

 

 

 

A bit of a cultural landmark in the neighbourhood.

I like buying my coffee from Negrita Coffee.  It is an old school store wedged between Ray (the original very cool café in Brunswick) and the railway line.  There are probably 30 jars of beans to choose from.  They are weighed carefully on an ancient set of gorgeous green enamel scales and then ground to suit your machine.  In the course of my many chats with the Italian man who owns the store.  He has talked me through the kinds of coffee, and we have been experimenting with choices.  He doesn’t understand why I don’t drink the stuff, but likes to have a chat.  He claims that the Blavatsky is a coffee that ‘you really know you are drinking’.  I just know that it makes a dark, almost syrupy drop which combines perfectly with my stretched milk to create a caramel coloured latte for my beloved and any friends who drop by.  

I have, on occasion, bought Padre coffee from the Brunswick East Project. http://padrecoffee.com.au/  It is, according to my partner, always deliciously tasty.  The staff (those Gen Y skinny jeans types) are helpful and really know their stuff, but it doesn’t have the same olde-worlde ceremony as visiting George’s Negrita.  I do like to sit in at the Brunswick East Project and have a tea and a cake-thing when I get the chance.  It isn’t really set up with space for a pusher, but I can cram mine in if need be.  I know it is a favourite haunt of many friends and I can see the appeal.  

White with one please.

I feel very blessed to live within a stone’s throw of so many good cafes.

 

Enough said on the topic of coffee in the neighbourhood.   I'm off to make myself a cup of tea.