Coffee lovers, prepare to throw your tomatoes:
In 2018-2019, I worked at a bustling Starbucks in the heart of downtown Portland, Oregon, right across the street from City Hall. At that time, there was a bit of pride to being a Starbucks worker, especially so close to headquarters and the original store in Seattle–this was also, arguably, their peak social awareness era, famously shutting down their stores for a day in order to facilitate anti-discrimination training, following a very public racially-motivated incident in Philadelphia earlier that year. (Since then, unfortunately, Starbucks as a corporation has made more and more unfortunate decisions, and I gladly support the baristas currently attempting to unionize and improve circumstances.)
I spent many, many mornings parallel-parking my huge hand-me-down Chevy Silverado in downtown Portland at 4:30AM, running the peak opening shift from 5-9, and then somehow taking a nap and then doing rehearsals/performances of Mamma Mia! in the evenings until after 11PM… and I still managed to avoid caffeine addiction, despite all the free espresso. I was never the fastest at the bar, but I held my own, even when making Mike’s horrible 4-shots-espresso-4-pumps-mocha-4-pumps-white-mocha-heavy-cream-no-ice-iced-latte on repeat. This was also the era of the keto diet, so everyone was convinced a heavy cream latte was better for them than their usual soy vanilla… oy vey.
Anyway, credentials verified: confession time.
These days, I start my day with french-press black coffee, sometimes with a splash of cold oat milk.
I don’t make the coffee, my husband does. He’s never been a barista.
When I inevitably forget about my coffee long enough for it to go tepid, I top it off with whatever is left in the french press (which, awkwardly for our household, only brews three cups’ worth).
If the press is empty and we decide we need more, I just sprinkle fresh grounds on top of what’s already there, and re-brew as-is.
If the press is empty but my coffee is cold, I just turn on the electric kettle, and top up my cup with hot water, weakening the coffee.
If I forget the coffee until cold multiple times, I will continue topping it off with hot water, until it is a weak facsimile of what it used to be, basically brown hot water, and this continues in perpetuity, sometimes until the very end of the day.
We actually have an espresso machine that came with our apartment, and I haven’t learned to use it yet. It’s been 8 months.
Even though I CAN make an excellent coconut-mocha-latte-with-cinnamon-steamed-in, I don’t.
Coffee connoisseurs, I’m aware I commit several unforgivable sins daily. But in the end, the most barista-ish coffee order to have is simply coffee you don’t have to make yourself.
The Franifesto 