Sure, it looked easy from the other side of the counter. But how many of those demanding gourmet coffee palettes knew there were over forty variables that affected the quality of their espresso alone? Forty ways to mess up the perfect cup, including machine cleanliness, ground coffee portion, particle size distribution, porosity of caked grounds, cake shape, cake moisture, water quality, water pressure, water temperature, extraction time, and, oh, about thirty others.
Just last year the industry issued a report saying only approximately five percent of coffee bars in America operated their machines properly. Only five percent gave their customers a true espresso experience.
I was appalled, but not entirely surprised. Take “Perk Up!,” the rival coffeehouse that went into business across the street from the Blend a few years back then swiftly went out again the very same year, and for a very good reason—they bragged about making their espressos in record time, seven seconds.
Now most people in the food and beverage service business would agree that speed in making your product and getting it into the customer’s hands is usually a lucrative idea, but here’s the problem: To produce a quality espresso, you’ve got to have nearly boiling water at pressures of eight to ten bars. Creating hot water at these pressures is the basic function of an espresso machine. Unfortunately, at these high pressures, water can be forced through the ground coffee too quickly if the barista does not make sure that the coffee is ground fine enough or the grounds are packed tightly enough into the filter-holder cup.
If the grounds are too coarsely milled or too loosely packed, coffee practically gushes out of the portafilter spouts. This rapid process extracts only the soluble components of ground coffee, making it brewed coffee, not espresso.
Thus are standards lowered, and as Madame says, when we lower our standards, we lose our soul—not to mention our returning customer base.
When I make an espresso, I slow down the extraction process by using a finer grind and a very packed filter-holder cup. That way the espresso oozes out of the portafilter like warm honey (as it should) instead of gushing out like water. When it oozes out, you know that oils have been extracted from ground coffee and not just the soluble components as in brewed coffee.
A quality espresso should consist entirely of rich, reddish-brown crema as it flows easily out of the portafilter spout. Crema, or coffee foam, is the single most important thing to look for in a well-made espresso. It tells you the oils in ground coffee have been extracted and suspended in the liquid—the thing that makes espresso, espresso.
“Got that mocha?”
“Got it!”
“XXX!”
Triple espresso.
“Skinny hazelnut cap with wings!”
Cappuccino with skim milk, hazelnut syrup, and extra foam.
“Caffé Caramella!”
Latte with caramel syrup, topped with sweetened whipped cream and a drizzle of warm caramel topping.
“Caffé Kiss-Kiss!”
Otherwise known on our menu as Raspberry-Mocha Bocci. One of my favorite dessert drinks. “Got it!”
“Americano!”
Also known as a Caffé Americano. An espresso diluted with hot water.
“Grande skinny!”
Twenty-ounce latte with skim milk.
“Double tall cap, get the lead out!”
Sixteen-ounce cappuccino with decaf.
Decaf.
A shudder ran through me as I glanced up and saw the wane, pale, overanxious face of the man ordering the decaf.
Okay, I’m sorry, but decaf drinkers annoy me.
Expectant mothers I can understand, but lifelong decaf drinkers give me the creeps. They’re usually the sort who have a half-dozen imagined allergies, eat macrobiotic patties, and pop Rolaids like M&Ms when their acid reflux kicks in from anxiety over the Chinese restaurant’s delivering white instead of brown rice.
Look, I’m not saying anyone should overdo ingesting caffeine, but let’s face it, researchers have already declared too much water is a bad thing. So overdoing anything isn’t a particularly good idea. All I’m saying is that I find it difficult to believe the bedtime story that true “health” completely hinges on the number of milligrams of salt not consumed, always and forever ordering bernnaise on the side, and—god forbid—ever letting yourself enjoy a warm, satisfying beverage in the natural state it’s been consumed for, oh, about a thousand years.
Okay, lecture over, back to work—
“Mocha-mint cap, vanilla lat, espresso, espresso, espresso!”
During a typical day, when things were in control and enough hands were on deck back here, I took the time to talk to the customers, savor the look on their faces as they took that first sip.
But for a solid forty minutes there was no time to enjoy their enjoyment. Not even any time to ask Tucker where the hell Matteo had disappeared to. Eventually, however, the crowd thinned. A dozen or so bodies lingered at the marble tables on the first floor, but the bulk of the waiting customers had gone, returning to the offices whence they’d come—whether cramped cubicle, receptionist desk, or the plushest of executive suites. (All hail mochaccino!—the great equalizer.)
With the lunch rush over, I fixed Tucker and myself double espressos. Most espresso drinkers like their shots black or with sugar. Some like lemon zest (gratings of lemon rind) or a twist of lemon and sugar.
Matteo drinks it straight black. Tucker and I like a bit of sugar.
(The thing to remember when adding sugar is to use white granulated—it desolves much faster and smoother than cubes or brown sugar.)
Some of my customers even add a bit of frothed milk, but this version of espresso “stained” with a bit of milk is technically called a caffé macchiato (macchia being Italian for stain, spot, or speckle).
As I finished making our drinks, Tucker put a New Age instrumental CD into the sound system. The mellow music was a tradition I had reinstated.
Before I’d returned to managing the Blend, Moffat Flaste, the previous manager, had driven customers away not only from his lack of attention to store hours, his improper cleaning of the espresso machines, and his laziness in keeping the seating areas tidy—but also with his exclusive and incessant playing of Broadway show tunes on the coffeehouse sound system.
As Madame put it: “How can one read, write, cogitate, or converse with Ethel Merman caterwauling in the background!”
Unfortunate but true. I mean, Broadway musicals are fine things, but their raucous tunes are distracting: worthwhile when ensconced in a velvet theater seat or cleaning the refrigerator, but downright irritating when trying to relax with a cup of cappuccino.
So about four weeks ago, on my first day back managing the Blend after more than ten years, I instructed the staff to return to the routine that the Blend had maintained for decades: classical, opera, and New Age instrumentals in the morning and afternoon; jazz and world music in the evening.
In less than a week, the old customers began to return. And with word of mouth traveling as quickly as it does in the Village, the customer base was now almost back to a profitable level.
“So where the hell did Matt go?” I finally asked Tucker.
He shrugged. “All I know is that he was helping me get ready to open when he said he’d be right back. He went up to the manager’s office, came back down about fifteen minutes later, said he had to take care of something very important, and left.”
“He said it was very important?”
“Dire was the word Matt used.”
“Dire,” I repeated and took a fortifying sip from my cup. The stimulating warmth reached out to rally every weary nerve ending in my weary body.