'Seattle Chic':
The Naked Truth
"Yes, it is, how may I help you?"
"Well, I have a question. I want you to think VERY CAREFULLY before you answer. Because if you answer incorrectly, I shall FedEx the scissored shards of your little blue courtesy card to you and never darken your doorway again. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I suppose so. What's the question?"
"Okay: Have you stopped carrying my good old Eight O'Clock brand coffee beans? Because you haven't re-stocked them for two weeks now, and their space seems to be occupied by a bunch of boutique coffees from Seattle."
"Well, Mister, um ... "
"Never mind the name. Just answer. Eight O'Clock. Yes or no?"
That's right, friends, it's coffee time again!
Those of you who know me realize that I'm a moderately flexible guy on most counts, but there are two issues about which I will brook no compromise.
The first is full, complete, and even surplus funding of the space program. (Note to Dubya: You've been a BIG disappointment here. Go to your room and watch "The Right Stuff" again until you get it right.)
The other issue is, of course, coffee. Specifically, MY coffee. I know what I like and I know how I like it, and whatever anyone else has to say about it of no concern to me.
And what I like to kick me out the door and down the steps each morning is a jolt of double-strength Eight O'Clock brand French roast. Fresh ground by me even as the kettle is heating up on the stove.
What, you say, a coffee aficionado like you doesn't insist on the most expensive and highly-touted brews from the Pacific Northwest? Surely they're the very best, why else would they have a stand for every man, woman and child in town?
Well, friends, I'm here to tell you that when it comes to Seattle chic, the emperor has no clothes.
Mind you, I'm not singling out any particular brand here -- there are several making the rounds -- but rather the way all of them are roasted.
Which is to say, burnt.
But Maxie, I hear you saying, you just said you like your coffee dark-roasted and double-strength. What's the difference?
Well, since I just drink the stuff, I don't roast it, I don't know the exact mechanics. All I can tell you is that my plain old Eight O'Clock is plenty dark and plenty stout, but still mellow and companionable, while those trendy coffees from Seattle seem to have been cooked to within an inch of their life and complain about it to the last angry sip.
You know what I mean. Just walk into one of those upscale coffeehouses and see how many people actually drink the stuff straight up, as opposed to the ones who "sophisticate" the meanness out of it with milk, cream, flavorings and other garnishes. They're not ordering that mochaccino latte because they're uptown folk, they're just trying to make that in-your-face Seattle brew go down a little more smoothly than a dose of castor oil.
I mean, a good, spirited coffee's one thing, but a brew that flattens its ears and bucks like Satan unchained until it's bridled, saddled, haltered and blindered with frothed milk, hazelnut syrup and shaved chocolate has no place in MY morning.
Nope, I'll take the old standbys for my coffee mill -- Cain's, which has probably been waking Oklahomans up since before the Run. Community, Seaport, and French Market, if they ever decide to sell a whole-bean package locally.
And my dear old Eight O'Clock, the venerable Atlantic & Pacific Tea and Coffee Co.'s workhorse label, probably the same cuppa God poured for Adam to get him on his feet back at the Creation.
So I ask again, Crandell -- are you just late in re-stocking my Eight O'Clock? Or have you let those Northwestern Johnny-come latelies elbow it off the shelf?
Which is it? I'm reaching for my scissors now.
