The Perfect Pourover

Blue Bottle's James Freeman demonstrates at their Brooklyn roastcafé.  The San Francisco stalwart, which conquered the Williamsburg caffeine scene last year and placed pop-up perk points at Rockaway Beach, the New Amsterdam Market, Milk Studios and Highline Park, will open its latest location at Rockefeller Center this November.

(You know the man is an artist when he's being translated halfway around the world—though in all fairness, Blue Bottle does import probably more Japanese java junkie paraphernalia than anyone else in the biz).

Mud and Muppets

muppet.wikia.com

Today marks Jim Henson's would-be 75th birthday.  And here's something you might not know about the man whose hands first felt the felt-lined depths of Kermit the Frog's backside: he got his big break doing coffee commercials.

It's hard to believe his majesty of marionettes found his earliest success in two slapstick sadists pimping instant perk brands that haven't existed since Barry Manilow was mainstream.  But these 300 syndicated spots, which ran between 1957-61, propelled his puppeteer career and gave him easy green to start his studio, thus making them directly responsible for Fozzie Bear, Bert and Ernie and Gobo Fraggle.

The ads were first (and most notably) commissioned for Washington DC-based Wilkins Instant Coffee, but their memorable style later promoted other brands as well, even a few in that then-new fancy shmancy thing called technicolor.

Get a load of these ancestral Muppets, named "Wilkins" and "Wontkins."  Though Wontkins most closely resembles Grimace of Golden Arch fame (perhaps with a few Beaker-esque facial features and Rowlf's voice), tell me we're not seeing little Kermie as a tadpole in Wilkins—albeit with a significantly more aggressive disposition.  Their fame grew so that the coffee company, "for a limited time only," even slapped mail-in plush toy offers on their cans.  (A cursory eBay search turned up niente, but I still hold hope to someday score some to stage on my desk with a rubber mallet).

So the next time you see Big Bird, Miss Piggy, Yoda or that '80s flick with David Bowie and the gremlins, first thank him—then look down and thank your cuppa.

Now to fulfill my dream of getting a certain toque blanche-sporting Swede in here for an incomprehensible culinary guest video column...

Click here for a complete history of Wilkins Coffee ads at Muppet Wikia

Pumpkin Lattes Made Easy: A Reccessionista-Friendly Recipe

Takeaway—Wikimedia Commons

Most all my friends dig some sort of joe, if only those flavor-filled FourBucks lattes I equate to the Bacardi Breezers of coffee.  Despite my relentless appeal to the case a quality cuppa, like a good steak, needn't be drowned to death with sauces or syrups for compensatory taste, I prevail with few.  Recently, one such paisan gave me the ghastly experience of watching the most magnificent mug off the pour-over bar that took a barista five minutes to make murdered with non-dairy creamer and Sugar In The Raw packets right before my very eyes.  I was momentarily traumatized, and momentarily wondered why I'd ever associate with such a person.

Nevertheless, pumpkin lattes are my weakness.  And no, not from the green goblins.  Why carve four bucks from your wallet at FourBucks when you can make one yourself (or come close) with the simplest steps, espresso bar not even prerequisite?  But every year when I thirst for a velvety mug of fall, it's how I roll.  Here's how you can, too.

First, you'll need some sort of espresso maker or appropriate analog brewing apparatus.  So your kitchen lacks a piece of Krups.  No biggie when you figure San Francisco-based Philz Coffee, perhaps the most prominent perk purveyor with espresso bar absent at from all their stores, offers a "hand-crafted espresso" that's basically a triple pour-over in a Chemex.  You might not get that same caramel-y crema, but whether by pourover, Moka pot or other means, there's plenty of ways to make espresso without electricity.  (Even Keurig brewers have espresso brewing option, and Green Mountain makes the K-cups to do it).

Drilnoth, Wikimedia Commons

Next comes the pumpkin part.  The most common way to pull it off is a flavor syrup like Torani's, available in both sugary (Pumpkin Pie or Spice) and sugar free (Pumpkin Pie) versions.  But if you're lucky enough to find the right roast, you also bring it out of the beans.  Stew Leonard's in Connecticut (and Yonkers, NY) does a seasonal Pumpkin Spice Roast that, with a twinge or two of vanilla syrup, is too perfect for the job.

Get and grind your beans espresso-fine.  It's great if they're fresh, clearly—but if you're feeling frugal reuse of your leftovers, this is the perfect chance to turn those turds to pearls.  If you've scored the aforementioned Pumpkin Spice roast, you're golden (not to mention I've had it stay fresh six or more months at a time).

Then comes the milk.  Since being espresso bar-less leaves you without a steam wand, those without that luxury will probably want to score a battery-operated frothing stick like the Aerolatte, Bodum's Schiuma or their $1.99 Ikea counterparts.  You'll probably end up with more of a cappuccino, but as my mother would say, it's all the same in your stomach.  (Note: I have no personal experience with these doodads—but my co-editor, Kristina, says they work, so I'll defer to her judgment on this one.)

Once you've got all that down, it's as easy as 1, 2...you know what, I refuse to use that stupid infomercial cliche.  Just do this and you should be good:
-Brew the espresso
-Pour 1-2 shots in a cup with desired amount of syrup (trust your gut on this one, bearing in mind the espresso-to-milk ratio and and cup size variable).
-Top off with frothed milk

Then just rub your hands together, shout "meka leka hi, meka hiney ho" whilst waving them over the mug and kazaam, you've made your own pumpkin latte.  (Or at least something like it that hopefully isn't as bad as the Shaq flick I just referenced).  Sure it might not be as good, but given the results considering the $15,000 espresso bar you likely lack in your breakfast nook, I'd still wager it a win.

Old java junk can be a terrariable thing to waste.

The guys over at Sprudge (yes, I'm plugging another blog—it's a shared mission, not a competition) proved that point with this terrarium made from a converted Hario siphon pot.  This sustainably re-purposed fishbowl looking thing makes a solid statement how one cafe's trash sits until scored by someone else waiting for the win.  Speaking of winning, I've 28 minutes to the Comedy Central Roast of Charlie Sheen Roast, so I'll have to keep this one short before I miss the first Lisa Lampanelli groaner I could probably catch on the next 50 reruns anyway.

But this turned me into deep existential thought mode.  Be it from copious consumption of caffeine or a coincidental convergence of intellect over common grounds (pun intended) java junkies jive among the most inventive, resourceful creative circle of individuals known to man.  What can they, we, possibly think to reinvent next?  I've long felt that if one drink possesses the power to save the world, it would be coffee—and not just because the term "fair trade" sounds earthy.  That's not to say I've never seen Hennessy get someone spewing ideas on the subject, but the next time I catch an inebriated imbecile word vomit one out that's in any way comprehensible and bears any merit whatsoever I'll be sure to revise this entry.

ADDENDUM:
Of course after so surely rendering myself relevant with an oh-so-timely pop culture reference, Señor Adonis DNA wins the first roast dais absent of LL.  Fail.  (Not like anyone noticed with Mike Tyson and the Priceline Negotiator up there).

Brewed and Boozed

Coffee and alcohol.  The last two great legal addictions sans the smart phone that won't make you smell like the smokestack of a death factory or turn pearly chompers to corn kernels.  God love the genius—almost certainly of Anglo-Saxon ancestry—who decided to mix them together.

But Irish coffee is merely a door frame to a whole hedonistic hybrid world.  The coffee cocktail category is incredibly versatile, coming hot and cold with flavors for every season.  In fact, there's more caffeinated creations to be crafted on the evening bar than its crack 'o dawn counterpart.  Liqueurs like Kahlua or Van Gogh triple espresso vodka are proverbial syrup pumps of the night, accelerating your java jolt and kickstarting your buzz simultaneously.  After all, you've paid your cover, you might as well stay up and get your money's worth.

There's a lot more than pouring Bailey's or Cuervo (for "Mexican coffee") in your cuppa and calling it good (and by personal preference: while mixtos work with restaurant dishwater, if I'm starting with grade A Stumptown or Intelligentsia pour-over, it's breaking the border with Patrón Silver).  There's also a lot more than a simple sambuca addition to your espresso shot or pre-mixed perkohols.  So last night, chilled by the crisp New York autumn air and feeling in a shot sort of mood, I opted to craft a warm caffeinated cocktail of my own.  I looked down at the espresso bar, scanned a row of bottles until landing on Disaronno, and got to work experimenting on a round of "squared" shots.

Rocky Road Hot Shot
Shot of espresso (long)
Disaronno® Originale amaretto (approx. 1 shot)
Mocha syrup (approx. 1/2 tbsp.)
Dollop of foam and/or whipped cream

Glaze decent-sized demitasse cup with mocha syrup.  Pull espresso shot long and pour Disaronno as desired.  Top with foam or whip—and for overachievers: garnish with chocolate shavings or marzipan drizzle. With steamed milk, this same little recipe can be scaled up for a macchiato or cortado.  (Note: The espresso to Disaronno ratio is pure preference and dependent on the size of your cup.  I'm by no means a mixologist, but hey, it tasted good to me).

Perk up :)

"This coffee falls into your stomach, and straightway there is a general commotion.  Ideas begin to move like the battalions of the Grand Army of the battlefield, and the battle takes place.  Things remembered arrive at full gallop, ensuing to the wind.  The light cavalry of comparisons deliver a magnificent deploying charge, the artillery of logic hurry up with their train and ammunition, the shafts of with start up like sharpshooters.  Similes arise, the paper is covered with ink; for the struggle commences and is concluded with torrents of black water, just as a battle with powder."

-Balzac, "The Pleasures and Pains of Coffee" 

(He's also said to have sipped some 40 cups a day.  Then again, can you blame him?  I mean, he is from the source of French Roast.  Swig-gluuuuurp).

The Coffee-Powered Car

Well now I've seen everything.

Meet the "Carpaccino."  It certainly isn't the first caffeine-driven car I've encountered; after all, I drive one every morning.  But it is the first I'm aware of powered via direct java injection to the engine rather than the driver.  It's hard enough to fathom such a utopian vehicle exists, let alone that the land speed record it just broke has since 1988.  Where have these things been hiding the past 23 years?  Where is the French Roast formula car?  Clearly there should be more overlap between these two institutions beyond Starbucks NASCAR sponsorship and the scene where Sacha Baron-Cohen's character spills his macchiato in Talladega Nights, even though—and call me a snob—I've always found it more of a Miller Light kind of venue.

Leave it to Brits to conquer this uncharted territory.  The caffeinated clunker, which bears strange semblance to a certain 1985 modified DeLorean, uses a process called "gasification" to derive combustible gas from burnt waste coffee pellets, sending a smell out the tailpipe more "like a house fire" than roasting arabica.  Apparently this WWII-era technology only flies with carbureted engines, so you need a piece of crap car for the conversion.

The end goal: be a traveling statement to teach kids coffee is "more than just a drink in a cup."  Park it, Prius.

http://www.coffeecar.org

Hooked On Siphonics

Siphon brewers: let's talk about 'em.

You needn't even know what they are.  In fact, you could straight up loathe coffee and probably still be unable to take your eyes off them.  They're just that flipping cool.  Watch this video of one in action at Blue Bottle in San Francisco and you'll see what I mean:

Like sushi, Nintendo and countless other helplessly and unarguably cool things, they came from Japan and commanded a cult following sooner than they even hit our shores.  Appropriately, in similar fashion to my friend and I's moms regularly trekking to the Asian import mart in Cupertino to score us Power Rangers back in the day, you'll only find them for sale in specialty spots few and far between —though it may be merely a matter of time before the first one hits Williams-Sonoma.

Mind you, the multi-burner bar above cost in excess of $20,000 USD, but those so inclined can score a single-globe Hario unit for roughly $150.  Blue Bottle sells them via their webstore (branded Bonmac for legal reasons, though they swear they're the real deal), and I recently spotted some for sale at popular Coffee Labs Roasters in Tarrytown, NY, a half hour north of New York City.  A handful of Amazon.com partner stores are also now selling siphons, from the $33 Yama stovetop model and its butane burner-equipped counterpart to the sexily sleek $299 Size D Cona, a gadget of such utilitarian beauty it gives my inner designer a funny feeling in its proverbial pants.  (I hate to spew sacrilege, but tell me those lines don't challenge the Chemex at least a little bit).  Hario makes tea siphons, too.

For more on how these glass vessels of awesome suck only in the literal sense, I recommend this piece by resident New York Times java junkie and my personal journalistic idol, Oliver Strand (an article which actually predates the adoption of his nationally-known nom de plume).

The next time I'm craving spicy tuna rolls and instead sit down to blog: Kyoto slow drip brewers.

A Beautiful Grind

A multitude of factors pour into play producing a quality cuppa, but in many respects it's all in your grind.  After all, the grind controls everything—strength, flavor, texture, brew time—so unless you embrace diner-grade dishwater with open mouth, this is one step you don't want to bollix.

Baratza G 285 Maestro

Here at Café Krups-in-my-Kitchen, I use a Baratza Maestro conical burr grinder by SolisCrema, first recommended to me by my old college haunt, Coffee Labs Roasters.  Many regard the Baratza brand as the best around, and the lower-end models are both beautifully designed and reasonably priced for home baristas.  Even these feature a professional grade burr (rotating cutting tip) spinning at 450 RPMs and nearly 20 refined settings, from the finest Turkish to the coarseness of the cast of Jersey Shore.  A substantial improvement from the Cuisinart pulse grinder mine replaced, which consisted of "on" and "off."

Some may question how one can justify spending $100+ on something just to grind coffee, let alone actually make it.  I, for one, was given a college graduation check with explicit instructions not to save it but "spend it on s@#% you don't need but actually want."  But there's many ostensible advantages.  By not owning one and grinding your stash elsewhere to last days—if not weeks—at a time, you're compromising serious flavor as your grinds inevitably oxidize in ambient air, even in seemingly sealed containers.  Aside from the freshness factor, a good grinder also affords you the flexibility and to brew any beans into whatever you want.  I've pulled espresso shots with single origin medium roast and pour-over brewed espresso roast.  Being creative is half the fun.

Baratza Virtuoso

It's hard to remember the dark days before my Baratza.  My parents' house was a Maxwell House house, grossly ill equipped to fulfill the needs of my perk palate.  My father, though void of his own standards, did however recognize the need for an alternative to avoid offending company; this was accomplished via swiping a silver commercial-grade whale of a percolator pot from the office and the aforementioned Williams Sonoma-purchased apparatus, which being void of settings served me little purpose and reliant on pre-ground vacu-sealed Illy or Lavazza espresso.

The memories are too disturbing to continue.  Any semi-serious java junkie should be spared the misery I endured for so many years as a broke college student dependent on canned coffee goods, so if you haven't already, seriously, hook yourself up.  Procure the power of these grind tricks.   Dishwater isn't the coffee you're looking for—move along.

Tea for Me

The tasting room at Harney & Sons

I consider tea coffee's commonlaw spouse, consummated by menu marriage anywhere warm beverages and pastries are served.  Markedly different, yet bonded by a common set of values: they're both best warm and pair equally well with Pepperidge Farm products or streusel muffins.

In coincidental homage to today's Tea Party debate, I seized this sunny 75-degree day to trek my northern escape route to tranquility for a day jaunt to Millerton, New York, home to Harney & Sons Tea Company.  For those unfamiliar, the work of master tea blender Michael Harney is served in some of the world's finest dining and hospitality venues, and is the exclusive tea offering by both Four Seasons Hotels and all Barnes & Noble in-store cafes.

Millerton, a town of roughly 1,000 residents (on a weekend) two hours north of Manhattan, blends bohemian bliss, rural ruggedness and big city chic—something a Bay Area boy can appreciate anyday, but hardly the place you'd expect to find the headquarters of possibly the world's most prominent tea blenders.  But the factory and tasting room are here, as is the company store and small sit-down café with table service overlooking the busy bike trail built on the old New York & Harlem Railroad. The entire operation is as unassuming and understately elegant as the town of two blocks itself.  While the factory, located along Route 22 on the outskirts of town, isn't open to the public, the latter three facilities are conjoined in the heart of the village.

My personal cup of tea (come on, you saw that one coming) is the tasting room, a veritable cornucopia of loose leaf blends from floor to ceiling where friendly staffers steep free samplings to assist in almost always challenging selections.  Each sachet is a flavorgasm to give your tea tongue pleasures it has never known.  Today, I scored some of my usual favorite, Tropical Green (a pineapple-infused take on the traditional Asian base), and season appropriately, African Autumn (a cranberry-orange rooibos blend).  And for my friends and relatives in the kosher nostra, you won't have to give either up for passover either.

Despite their impressive presence in Millerton, the company officially calls neighboring Salisbury, Connecticut home and recently opened its flagship store in SoHo.

Millerton is also home to Irving Farm Coffee Company, the regionally revered farm-based roasting outfit spawned from 71 Irving Place in Manhattan.  That's it's own entry for another day, but after all this talk about teas, I'll tease you with this food porn of the espresso chocolate chip crumb cake I scored this same day.  Om nom nom.

Essential knowledge at Oblong Books

This postage stamp-sized village, ranked among the 10 Coolest Small Towns in America by Frommer's Budget Travel, has other draws too.  My inner bookworm has always been down with Oblong Books & Music, a bi-locational bastion of the classic neighborhood bookseller (the other being in Rhinebeck) many hope the demise of Borders will bring back.  Aside from the awesome selection of local and special interest titles, the coolest part is the shape of the store itself: not its namesake one, but an irregular two-story "L" snaking two blocks.  The whole town is also close enough to hock a loogie into Connecticut—and you drive a few more miles north to the Massachusetts border and strike a Twister-esque pose, you can be in all three states simultaneously.  Cool beans.

There's also the Oakhurst Diner, a postcard perfect 1930s greasy spoon recently rebirthed with a farm-to-table twist (and known to be frequented by Law & Order's Chris Noth).  Far from the dingy dinette it used to be, the new menu balances classic fare with organic options and emphasizes its almost entirely locally-sourced ingredients.  And would you believe it: the new ownership, which oversaw the transformation, includes a Harney.

Food for thought: coffee beans only grow south of the equator, yet tea is most closely associated with the jolly old island nation with the fewest sunny days and palest people on the planet. (I can say that remorselessly, because I'm one of them).  Cheerio!

Handsome Coffee's espresso lives up to its name.

Behold my new stash, courtesy of espressoNEAT in Darien, Connecticut.  But this isn't just any almost-$20 bean bag: this double dime of demitasse is the beautiful brainchild of none other than Intelligentsia veterans Tyler Wells, Chris Owens and 2010 World Barista Champion Michael Phillips.

And it's hot, even on ice.

Last Spring, the talented trio ditched the revered Chicago roast house, went west and poured their hearts into Handsome Coffee Roasters in Los Angeles, and their reputation is spreading faster than their 1964 Ford Falcon van—which looks something like a decaffeinated Mystery Machine—could possibly travel.  All the more impressive considering their alma mater's lead role in the local caffeine scene, with three coffee bars and a full-fledged commercial roastery credentialing the Smog City as serious Intelly turf.

After Phillips worked a guest shift at the promontory Gold Coast perk point last month, it was only natural NEAT, in its regularly rotation of only the awesome artisinal roasteries (Handsome and Portland, OR's Coava, as of latest), would give Handsome a shot.  So when I went to restock on Black Cat and saw Handsome espresso roast on the shelves instead, I figured I'd grab a bag and pull a few. 

Just grinding the stuff, the tongue-tantalizing aromatic release from my Baratza was foreboding.  Tamping was almost torturous.  One of those smells you wish you could eat whole, but like a Yankee Candle or your girlfriend's cinnamon roll-scented lotion from Bath & Body Works, know the actual source would taste quite antithetically.  (Not that I'm entirely convinced someone hasn't tried eating scented wax before—namely this guy).

The best word to describe this roast is breadth.  A breadth of flavor and fullness on the tongue.  A breadth of all the elements in a good espresso blend.  A breadth of awesome.  A deep, caramel-y crema packing a pleasantly medium punch but bold sweetness.  It had true depth, and I dug it.  Imagine a perfect slice of cheesecake that isn't too rich, isn't too bland, but is somehow just in the zone.  Like that, only not cheesecake.

A Handsome cuppa indeed.

"I think the coffee wars defined who we were: egotistic style whores."

I'm not sure what's more epic here, the hilarity of the video itself or the poster comments beneath it.  (The references are highly San Fran-centric, but filtering out all the neighborhood stereotypes is something any urban caffiend can relate to).  A quality YouTube ROFLCOPTER to lift up my morning.

The sad part: filtering out the obvious dramatizations, it's frighteningly accurate.

Burning Beans

It's time for the festival of all festivals.  Insanity to make the conventionally insane look sane.  A marvelous melange of art, sex, steampunk and a balance of other pleasures despite how debauched or hedonistic they may be—all, of course, in good fun.

I speak, of course, about Burning Man.

As 50,000 hit the "playa" this week, they'll be able to buy just two things in their temporary community: ice and coffee.  And wouldn't you know it: for the few days it exists, it's home to the world's largest java joint.  According to Burning Man's website, the Center Camp café touts 120 feet of linear counter space and and takes a team of some 500 volunteers to perk "burners" 24/7 throughout the event's duration.  Really, where on earth else will you find clowns pulling shots off a La Marzocco covered in stickers with such phrases as "freedom jail: sounds like pot rock?"

Rules expressly prohibit the engagement of any other acts of commerce within Black Rock City limits (clearly they have their priorities straight), so for anything else, you better bring it yourself, barter the Black Rock market or you're s%#* out of luck.

Burn, baby, burn.

I will follow you, will you follow me?

It's official: I'm a Twit. Or rather, my not-so-alternate blogger personality is.  You'll find my act of mainstream web 2.0 rejection-turned-contemporary conformity @perksandrec.  Holler at me.

Now suck it up and watch the pre-MTV era music video for the Phil Collins song I milked for a cheap-witted post title.

(Insert politically-correct, non-language specific and overly cliche first post salutation of choice here)

I'll be straight up: I like coffee.  I mean seriously, what's not to love?  The taste, the tweak—it's the other crack, really.

Of course, this isn't news to those who know me (and reasonably inferred by the blog's entire premise for those who don't), but being one who hates mixed signals I hope you respect the reaffirmation.  Being that super straightedge kid in high school who dug things like dead poets and indie rock bands nobody heard of (except, of course, all the other cool kids), it seemed like an intellectual, legal and innocent vice to succumb to that embodied everything about who I was and was also comparatively cheap juxtaposed with the cost of respectable libations out on the town for anyone with standards—or as I call it, PPS: Pretentious Palate Syndrome.

I'm originally from a little town called Los Gatos, a San Francisco suburb known for Netflix, the bands Trapt and Dredg (dope), feline references ad nauseam, Apple founder-turned-Dancing with the Stars sensation Steve Wozniak, and a place where perk receives more attention than most.  (We also produced the Pet Rock and its short-lived successor, the Sand Farm).  In the 408 area code, it's that trendy town you go to for mom and pop shopping, chic dining, and of course, charming non-corporate coffeehouses.  Where you catch an art house flick followed by macchiatos and bear claws at The Great Bear, or spot the Sunday morning Spandex crowd getting gawked by Golden Retrievers outside Los Gatos Coffee Roasting, the prevailing pit stop for cyclists pedaling the creek trail and the consummate meetinghouse for resident early risers.  Granted your Silicon Valley nouveau riche types have tried to turn it all into a mall-on-Main Street deal, but thankfully beyond bringing Banana Republic and a few FourBucks to strip malls well outside the downtown proper, they've been reasonably checked in their efforts.  In any case, contemporary Los Gatos represents a uniquely anomalous amalgam of crunchy, laid back casual and what flamboyant bon vivant Lucius Beebe coined "cafe society."  And you better believe Los Gatans loved their lattes long before the Seattle siren lured mainstream America aboard the Venti frappa-whappa-whatever train.

My entire life, you see, was shaped by this town. The town where I watched my first beans bake in a roasting drum like the Wonka factory for insomniacs.  The town where in first grade, I traded my caffeine v-card for a sip of an older woman's cappuccino.  The town where I learned to live, and learned to love.  Coffee, of course.

Now I'm (supposedly) all grown up and live in a slightly bigger town: New York, where I'm a fresh out of college freelance journalist and graphic artist breaking the bank to support my espresso habit.  It's certainly no NorCal, but cool enough in its —and with Left Coast expats like Stumptown and Blue Bottle now reppin' I'm adjusting surprisingly easier than expected.

And so this forthcoming blog flume will be my caffeinated chronicles from here, there and everywhere.  Mostly about coffee, but also other fun things—adventure, good food, righteous music, awesome art—which, given my overcaffeinated lifestyle, will more often than not also involve coffee.  Oh plus, after rereading my URL and casting it in an entirely new light, I realized it's also appropriate to work in content about my other home: the beach.  I drink copious quantities of coffee there, too, so it's all good.

If you're still reading after all that, I can tell we're going to have a fun time together.  So perk up, and let the insanity begin :)