pleasant surprises

[quarrel]

After getting my hair cut this afternoon, I walked to the far section of that particular shopping center to check out a coffee shop that I did not recall ever seeing there before. It was rather far out of my way. I'm not sure now what possessed me to return all the way back there, a large block and a half distant, when I had already visited that block of stores before the haircut to get myself a smoothie.

The first thing that struck me was how the fellow in the window by the coffee roaster waved to me. The second was how large the place was. It was no mere hole-in-the-wall, deeper than it was wide, sandwiched like all the other stores in the strip mall; it looked like it might have served as a shoe or clothing store, or a large drugstore, in the past. There were bongos, a piano, and several guitars on a rack to one wall, and chess or domino sets on half the tables, and apparently they were all for customer use. One of the customers immediately struck up a conversation with me. (Let me stress at this point that this does not happen. I am the sort of guy who can stand right at the counter, in full view of the cashier and everyone else, and be ignored until someone walks up, butts in front of me, and orders.) We chatted for a bit, about how long the store had been there (only since December), who frequents it (Sunday groups, locals, families with young children who are looking for someplace other than a hangout for their kids), and what the audio equipment was for (open mike nights and karaoke, not professional guests), then he introduced me to the fellow from the window, a.k.a. Steve the Owner, and his wife Carol.

I got into a long conversation...well, more of a listening session...with Steve as he told me about the business of running a shop and the business of coffee. Told me they were barely breaking even month-to-month, and how the lure of T.V. news coverage of the war was the most likely culprit for depriving him of nighttime customers. Told me coffee beans turn brown when they roast because they're seeds, and a fundamental property of seeds is that they're high in sugars (why did I know this?), and sugar caramelizes when it cooks. Told me that the roasting time is more important than the species or origin of the bean in determining the final flavor. Told me that anyone can roast their own coffee beans at home using a hot-air popcorn popper. Told and demonstrated for me, as he stood watch over the in-house roaster, that you don't even need a temperature guage, really...you can tell by ear. At a certain well-documented temperature, the beans crackle as they split slightly further apart along the central crack, then crackle again, lighter and faster, at a second well-documented temperature as they pop a small disc-shaped nugget off the curved side. Told me that the nationwide chains like Starbuck's roast beans too far, contrary to innumerable years of experimentation in Europe, because there's a higher profit margin on their drinks that add milk or whipped cream or whatever, and people order those more often when the coffee is bitter. Remember the Cynic's Oath: never attribute to stupidity what can be accounted for by malice.

In the end I bid him adieu and walked home. I'm glad now I took this little side trip. I can see myself visiting this place a lot on my way to work in the mornings, and not a few evenings. All I need to do, I figure, is steer clear of karaoke night. Heck, I might even learn how to play chess finally.

Comments

[donnaidh-sidhe.livejournal.com]

Noo! Must sing! Sing! Sing.

[quarrel.livejournal.com]

It's not the singing. It's the listening.