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Posted on March 10, 2010 - by deCadmus
Insert Groundless Starbucks Reference Here
If you could get past its provocative title — Is Stumptown the New Starbucks — or Better? — you might think Time’s Josh Ozersky has penned a decent enough article on the leading edge of specialty coffee today. But… damn, the phrasing here is loaded for bear.
Coffee aficionados have been asking the question over and over again: Is Stumptown Coffee Roasters of Portland, Ore. — the most conspicuous exponent of coffee’s “third wave” — the new Starbucks?
Um, no. Coffee aficionados *haven’t* been asking that question. Coffee aficionados are pretty well versed in the routinely awesome coffee that Stumpies has been cranking out year after year after year. Coffee aficionados don’t have to question Stumptowns’ authenticity, or transparency, either. Coffee aficionados have probably noticed, too, that Stumptown Coffee Roasters hasn’t had to cover up its logo like a scarlet letter when it opens a new storefront like, well… You Know Who.
Wait, you haven’t heard of the third wave? Get with the program! In cities across America, a fervid generation of caffeine evangelists are changing the way we drink coffee. They tend to be male, heavily bearded, zealous and meticulous in what they do.
Hey, lookit that! It’s another funny stereotype. We’re only just two graphs in and we’re two for two, already. And gosh, it’s pretty much true, too, save for James Hoffman who really should consider sporting a soul-patch at the very least. (He’d banish the Harry Potter look thataway, I’m certain.) And pity the non-hirsute women of coffee who — apparently by way of not being zealous enough to grow a beard — are missing the boat. Er, wave.
I’m certain that Ozersky isn’t leaning on the whole Starbucks lever merely for his own sake… his article suggests familiarity enough with the specialty coffee scene. Maybe it’s a sure way to get eyeballs, or to get his article batted round the Internet like kitty’s new play toy. But does he have so little respect for Time’s audience that he needs to beat them over the head with it?
Coffee. Meh? Thug does not grok.
Starbucks. Oh! Thug likes. Puts hair on chin.
Stumptown — unlike Josh Ozersky – doesn’t need Starbucks for a stalking horse. Stumpies’ collective attention appears to be in the right place. On the farm. In the cup. Good on them.
Posted on March 7, 2010 - by deCadmus
Oscar 2010 Blind Picks
Having watched none of tonight’s contenders for the little golden man — that’s right… of all of the nominations I’ve seen not a single one1 — I figure I’m still about as qualified as the next guy to pick the winners. Which, honestly, says more about the next guy who thinks he has a *reason* to support his picks. As if. So, without further ado:
- Best Picture: Avatar. Of course I’m pulling for the revolutionary, epic Sci-Fi flick here; I’ve got some geek cred to maintain. Above and beyond that, however, I’d really like to see this one on the big screen in 3D and I suspect that if it gets a bucket-full of awards it’s more likely to run long enough I can do that. Besides which, the folks who spend the most money creating a film should win, right? Amiright?
- Best Director: Kathryn Bigelow. Because if you wanna make sure the guy who just won Best Picture for the second time with yet another gazillion-dollar epic doesn’t let it all go to his head, you could do worse than award his ex-wife Best Director. Neener.
- Best Actor: Jeff Bridges. Because the dude has abided long enough now, don’t ya think?
- Best Actress: Sandra Bullock. And not just because I harbor a not-so-secret crush on Sandy. Well, mostly not because of that.
- Best Supporting Actress: Mo’Nique. ‘Cause the girl is all that. But please, let’s hope she’s shaved her legs for the red carpet this time?
- Best Supporting Actor: Cristoph Waltz. Because the academy like it’s Nazis nutty.
- Animated Feature: Up. Okay, so I lied… I saw one nominated film — Up — but only because somebody gave me the DVD for Christmas. And so, because I saw it I presume it should be the winner. Though, truth be told, I’d prefer they awarded only the first 10-15 minutes of the film. But that would make it an animated short film, wouldn’t it? So, on a technicality, I’ll choose Neil Gaiman’s Coraline to take this home, though I don’t think it’s going to happen.
As to the rest… beats the hell out of me. Tell me who won tomorrow, ’cause much as I didn’t have time get my tucus to a theater to see these, I’m not gonna take the time for a five hour long awards show. And, anyway, I’ve got coffee needs roasting.
Notes and Links
- So? I’ve been busy. ↩
Posted on March 4, 2010 - by deCadmus
March 3, 2010
Posted on March 3, 2010 - by deCadmus
Make Mine a Mokha
It’s unreliable, unaccountable, frequently unattainable, and I love it so. It, in this case, is Yemen Mokha, the stuff of heirloom varietals grown in village gardens and courtyards and tiny greenspaces carved out of the walls and warrens of ancient Arabian cities like Sana’a and Ismaili, where folk have tread for more than two and a half millennia.
I savor roasting and tasting Yemeni coffees for the same reasons that commercial roasters despise them — they’re a complete crap-shoot. Yemen coffees are either left to dry on the tree, or dried — whole, cherry and all — on flat, sun-drenched rooftops. Dried coffees are stored in the husk and traded through a seemingly endless series of middlemen, mixing crops from untold numbers of family coffee gardens. The resulting beans tend toward the misshapen and bent, and are — by the standards of clean-as-a-whistle wet processors the world over — an unseemly mess.
Oh, but what a lovely-tasting mess these coffees can be.
Got goat?
I recently completed three roasts of a single lot of Yemen Mokha — back-to-back — making every reasonable effort to eliminate stray roast variables. Regardless, the results of each of those roasts is unique. Each cup is arguably unique.
All are to one degree or another earthy, with notes of leather and dust; richly hued with wine-toned fruit, or tawny port, or sour strawberries, or apricots. This one has aromas of pitch pine and cherries; that one’s all peat moss and smoke and that one yonder, it’s got a bit of musty goat-skin in it. (Yeah… I skipped that cup, too.)
And the final cup on the table? Butterscotch and sweet chocolate with a creamy body and a technicolor cherry on top. I swear… a sundae straight outta your best blue-skied childhood memory of summers past.
Which is all to say… next time someone asks you what coffee you want with you onna desert island, you could do worse than to say, “I’d like to make that Yemen Mokha, please.” ‘Cause chances are, you’ll never have the same cup twice.
Posted on March 2, 2010 - by deCadmus
Repost: Town Meeting Day
Reposted in honor of Vermont’s annual tradition… today is Town Meeting Day!
Town Meeting Day — the first Tuesday in March — is an institution in Vermont, and throughout much of New England. It’s notable for being a hands-on, participatory style of democracy. In this story, the citizens of one small town in Vermont have their hands full…
Now in a handy ePub format, too!
Town Meeting Day
“I object!”
“Mr. Dunhill, this isn’t a trial. You may not object. Not that I can make heads or tails of what you’re objecting to.”
“I object to this venue!”
“Gabe, this is a town meeting, not a court room. These are your neighbors, they’re not a jury. Now kindly sit down and stop being an ass.”
Harvey Tuttle — large-animal veterinarian of Cold Hollow, Vermont, and just forty-five minutes ago elected moderator of Town Meeting — eyeballed Dunhill from his seat at the raised table at the north end of village hall. This morning he’d helped to set up the old wooden platform that came out just once a year, special for Town Meeting day. Old Ben Isham, the senior village selectman, had specifically asked for Harvey’s assistance in raising the dais. Harvey was, of course, happy to help. But in the intervening hours — and especially in the last few minutes — he’d begun to suspect the old wooden platform wasn’t all that had been set-up this morning.
Harvey could think of a dozen things he might rather be doing just now… getting kicked by a horse was near the top of his list. Right up there with getting stepped on by a pregnant heifer. That was always good for a grin. Buck up, Harv… just do the job in front of you.
Harvey stared down Dunhill, who — finally — took his seat. For good measure, Harvey eyeballed the rest of the gathering, too, to stifle the sniggering among the assembled.
The hall was packed… 250, maybe 300 folks had turned out, easily a quarter of the village, and a good many more than the room could seat comfortably. There were more — dozens more — standing behind the ranks of folding chairs and leaning against the whitewashed walls in the back. It looked like the sheriff was one of the leaners in back — Harvey could easily see Andy Barrow’s Stetson hat above the crowd — and Andy was a man who tended to get places early.
A high turnout at Town Meeting wasn’t unusual — folks here took their democracy seriously, thank-you-very-much — but still. Something was up. And, as usual, it seemed Harvey was the last to know about it.
Posted on March 1, 2010 - by deCadmus
Things I’ve Learned This Week
- Don’t take a back injury lying down.
- 300-year-old double bases are for playing. Well.
- Neil Gaiman has a knack for breaking it down. (Also.)
Posted on February 24, 2010 - by deCadmus
White on white (on red)
Local news: an untold billion crystalline paratroopers cast their downy way down, whirling, twirling, tumbling to land — gently — on roofs and posts and caps and the occasional expectant, outthrust tongue. It’s winter… it should by god snow.
Mind you, this is heavy, wet stuff; surely the prodigious sort that (we’re told) Eskimos have a hundred words for.1 This is the stuff that sticks, that clumps and bunches on wet, black branches and gracefully-draped power lines alike, and on the occasion that the first leans a little too much on the second, then it’s good to have a backup power supply. A genny.2
Meanwhile, it sure is pretty. And — fair warning — it makes for a right awesome snowball.
Notes and Links
- They don’t, not really. But they should. And if not Eskimos, then Vermonters. Maybe the old-timers do. Maybe they speak snow-language with Eskimos when anthropologists aren’t paying attention. ↩
- Old-time Vermonter for ‘generator.’ ↩
Posted on February 23, 2010 - by deCadmus
Would Poe Approve?
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’
Even as I thrilled at the exquisite juxtaposition of browsing and reading Poe’s gothic masterwork on my Nook’s ‘lectronic paper display, I thought I sensed a certain sinister susurration behind the dusty glass of my battle-scarred bookcase, a distinct and exaggerated looming quality to the weighty stack of books near my reading chair. . .
Do they know, I wonder? These dusty tomes Poe spoke of yonder,
That I’ve carted by the carton, shipped and carried by the score,
These weighty tomes of wooden marrow, that I’ve borne by the barrow,
Their words, themselves, a sparrow could convey unto my door.
`With this device,’ I marveled, `delivered to my waiting door -
Only words, and nothing more.’
Posted on November 26, 2009 - by deCadmus
November 26, 2009
Posted on November 19, 2009 - by deCadmus
And You Thought the Movie was Horrifying
To which I can add only, “Awesome.”
America, when it comes to food, you’re kinda messed-up. I should know… I’m one of millions of food-obsessing, calorie-counting, bacon-adoring goofballs who contributes more or less equally to purveyors of fitness equipment and makers of artisan cheeses. And after years of struggling, ultimately I’m good with that.
What makes me a little crazy, though, are those occasions — and there are lots of them — where perfectly good food is made bad by wanton disregard for the outcome. Like salmon (good for you!) poached in butter (bad for you!). A big pile of just-picked garden greens dosed liberally with Caesar salad dressing. A baked-potato smothered in sour cream. Or, for those who’ve given up altogether, the bacon explosion.
Air-popped popcorn has 31 calories per cup, no fat, 6 grams of carbs and 1 gram of good-for-you fiber. It’s also not worth eating as it tastes rather like dusty styrofoam. Fortunately, there’s a reasonable middle ground. (Thanks, Alton.)
Hello.
Bloggle is the online playground of Doug Cadmus, a usability guy, writer, photographer and sometime dramatist who moved to Vermont for the coffee. When not writing, reading or walking his old, blind golden retriever, he roasts coffee in his garage and is the Web Guy for Green Mountain Coffee in Waterbury, VT.Flickr Photos
