Ode to a coffee urn: common grounds

T+D, May, 2004 by Haidee E. Allerton

When did it become all about coffee?

Just last month, this column featured a makeshift Starbucks set up by U.S. troops in Iraq and what a boon this little piece of home has been to soldiers' morale. In the September 2002 column, we tallied how much it costs a year if you order a latte five days a week on your way to work every week (deducting vacation time). The total: $921.20; that's not counting the weekend frap and was before a price increase. I've even heard a financial planner on TV calculate how much more money people can have for retirement if they just give up their designer cup of java every day. The amount saved with compounded interest is substantial. And, yet, the luxury seems worth it to many people.

Why hasn't Jerry Seinfeld asked, "What's the deal about coffee?"

It's not the coffee. It's the coffee culture we now share as common ground--or should I say, grounds? (coffee humor) Getting a coffee, going out for coffee, is our little space in the workday to call our own. The corner Starbucks (and it does seem as if there is one on every corner) is the one place in the world where we can be choosy, idiosyncratic even, and get away with it. "I'll have a half decaf triple shot no sugar vanilla skim latte wet extra foam, with whip."

"Retail! Half decaf triple shot no sugar vanilla skim latte wet extra foam, with whip," the cashier shouts to the barista. And no one rolls an eye (except maybe the person standing behind you in line).

Culture migrates, so you can pretty much order your personally crafted brew without a fuss at the other coffee cafes cropping up since Starbucks arrived on the scene. Still, Starbucks is the proto type, the standard, the ubiquitous one. There are 14 within a 1-mile radius of my office.

I haven't yet narrowed down my drink to one choice. I alternate between a tall skim latte with extra foam, a grande iced Americano (I plan to try it "dry" soon, which means without added water), and an iced decaf venti skim mocha. For this latter, I silently practice the correct order of the words while waiting my turn.

I'm also addicted to the iced skim cappuccino at Dean & Deluca, a food emporium in Georgetown in D.C., where I live. In fact, the only time I've ever stumped a barista at Starbucks is when I ordered the same drink there. She said, "It won't have any foam." (the whole point of a cappuccino) I retorted, "The one at Dean & Deluca has foam, lots of it." Her brow began to furrow and her eyes darted about, so I took pity and settled for a latte.

The 2003 Coffee Consumption Trends Report by the National Coffee Association costs $350! but it spilled one statistic: that 28 percent of daily coffee consumption in the United States is of the gourmet kind. That's up from the 2000 figure of 18 percent.

Coffee fluctuates between bad press and good press. (more coffee humor; a press is a type of coffeemaker) Coffee has been (tenuously) linked to stillbirths, the production of cortisol (a stress- and fat-inducing hormone), and high blood pressure. On the pro side, long-term consumption is now thought to help lower risk to type 2 diabetes. And every regular coffee drinker knows that you get a headache when you skip your morning jolt of joe. Thus, it makes sense that caffeine opens up your arteries to increase blood flow, which can help a headache. (I'm going to hear from doctors now.)

Good or bad for you, coffee is part of our urban and modern zeitgeist. If anyone doubts it, consider an item that appeared recently in the Washington Post. A local D.C. artist tired of the lack of a coffeehouse in his neighborhood painted a trompe l'oeil facade on an abandoned building--cups of coffee, pastries on tables, curtained windows--and titled it, "Bistrot au Ghetto." He didn't paint a faux dry cleaners or convenience store, but a coffee shop. Says the artist, Ray Milefsky, "It was a wakeup [and smell the coffee?] call to start developing the neighborhood with amenities that others take for granted." For now, the sign he painted on the wall reads, Toujours Ferme, "always closed."

Starbucks, are you listening?