Il Disastro del Caffè

In the restaurant business there are certain times during the arc of a meal when things at the table have to happen fast—and they have to be right. In the beginning when someone orders a cocktail or bottle of wine, it has to hit the table pronto. At the same time, if anyone at the table looks hangry, food of some kind (usually bread) has to arrive just as quickly lest a blood sugar crisis ensue. Bookending the meal, if coffee is ordered after the entrées are cleared it needs appear in short order. Finally, and this is important, once the check is requested, it needs to arrive within 3-5 minutes. No exceptions. No excuses.

Likewise there are certain moments during the daily routine when things have to happen fast and they have to work. Example primo is one’s morning coffee. The process needs to be fast, efficient, and take into consideration the drug about to be administered is exactly what’s lacking to make things work. Further, the lack of said stimulant can also potentially create disaster scenarios like the one pictured above.

The tragedy occurred on the morning of February 20^th, 2014. I only know that because the date is attached to the photo via my phone. Thank god for that. It helps reinforce my already shaky past timeline and murky memory. Otherwise, it was a Thursday. Or so Google tells me.

No doubt it was a cold, foggy winter morning in the rarely sunny Sunset. At the time I was still buying coffee beans, grinding them, and making single cups of coffee. Mind you I’d been doing that for the better part of 30 years. And I didn’t call it “pour-over.” It’s called using a Melita. And we don’t need no stinking badges.

Usually, the process was simple. Heat the water, grind the coffee, and combine the two to create a dark, bilious, and magic liquid that revs the mind and boots up the mainframe. All this times two as Carla also needed a cup. However, on this particular morning, my subconscious had other things in mind. It must have been watching Buster Keaton movies all night and decided to go rogue.

The first part involving heating, grinding, and loading the two Melita cones with coffee was just ducky. But when I went to pour water, things completely went to hell in seconds. I somehow nicked my cup with the pot of hot water knocking it over. It, in turn, hit Carla’s cup, which also hit the counter. In seconds steaming Joe and silty grounds were all over the counter and dripping onto the floor. No doubt I barked out a few well-chosen expletives. But then I just stood there and watched in resignation as the coffee and grounds went everywhere. It's funny how as one gets older, getting outraged or pissed off at personal failure simply isn’t worth the effort.

But the moment was too disastrous not to capture for future generations. Then it took the better part of 20 minutes to clean up, reset, and make coffee without further incident. At least I had the photo to prove how spectacular the failure was. Carla and Maria were both impressed.

We got our first Nespresso machine the year before. It was a gift of sorts for my being a guest sommelier at a Nespresso-sponsored dinner. We used it from time to time. But within weeks after the incident above it became my go-to method for daily coffee. The lure of good espresso made with just the touch of a button was too much to resist, not to mention avoiding another coffee disaster.

We’ve used Nespresso ever since. Before anyone gets dangerously excited, we recycle all the used pods. The company makes it easy to do, providing recycling bags and free shipping via UPS. It should also be noted that new coffee pods are made from 80-percent recycled materials. The company also uses recycled pods to make bicycles and writing implements.

All that aside, the most impressive thing about the Nespresso gestalt is that it takes all the variables out of the coffee making process. Variables like the quality of the coffee, the particular grind, and the amount of water to coffee added—all of which combine to make or break the quality of a cup. It’s like the screwcap in wine. There only opposable digits are required to open the bottle. And there’s no chance of TCA taint from a faulty cork. That is not to say TCA can’t find its way into the wine from other sources. Sorry, too much information.

Back to stimulants. All this means that I can concoct a properly made double Cortado within several minutes of stumbling into the kitchen. And that is a beautiful thing of technology. I just wish the same principal could be applied to other arenas of my life. Perhaps that’s what Marie Kondo has been trying to tell me all along. Maybe I should listen to her. Or at least invite her over for coffee.