Roasted Not Toasted

I used to be a barfly but now I hang out in cafés. I had to leave the bar thing behind for lots of reasons, not the least of which was my liver. That and time, which I have come to value and beer is, among other things, a time accelerant. Sit down on a bar stool, drink steadily for seven hours straight and the time just washes by. And with so few memories to show for it. Some unexplained bruises, yes, a pounding headache to be sure and an empty wallet no doubt, but not so much recollection.

I’m not a teetotaler and I don’t avoid bars, I just don’t make them my living room. I still enjoy a good drink, and, in fact, since leaving the bar scene I’ve come to appreciate a wider variety of booze for the taste, not the buzz. Sara’s chef friend, Robin, told me the other day that “there isn’t a meal not enhanced by an alcoholic beverage.” Being the devil’s advocate type I immediately thought of a Happy Meal. Then again, a frothy, peachy Saracco Moscato D’Asti would complement (and cut the grease) nicely. PB and J -- a bright, jammy California Zinfandel. Mac and cheese – a cholesterol taming, zesty pinot grigio. Yes, Robin was right.

Now rather than squandering brain cells in a bar, I spend a few hours a week in cafés. I go to several, but my favorite is EVP, a local outfit. I walk in the door and savor every aspect of fine roasted bean. I mentally roll in the smell of it, add a little cream and admire its dark caramel hue, sip through the rich folds of it, and appreciate the warm ceramic mug on my hands.

The relationship between customer and barista is much simpler than that of drinker and bartender. With a bartender it’s important to cultivate the relationship so as not to be left standing at the end of the bar with an empty glass and a $20 bill in your hand while more popular patrons are served. For the most part, the best way to avoid such a travesty is through exorbitant gratuities and glib remarks – costly and subjective. On the other hand, EVP baristas seem quite pleased with the type of appreciation that ends up in their tip jar but don’t snub you when your offering rattles the glass. Conversation is more natural as less depends on it – they’ll never leave you high and dry when you present them with an empty cup, even if your jokes do suck. Of course, there is no presumption of psycho-therapy for tips, but that's probably for the best since the answer to pretty much every problem confessed in a bar is another vodka gimlet.

The café has become my social arena, much like the pub used to be, except that I remember the conversations and they don’t increase in volume in relation to consumption. And, hopefully I don’t sound quite so dumb all the while thinking that I’m very clever, buy rounds of espresso shots for all of my new friends and wind up stumbling on my way to the bathroom and pretending that I didn’t. The most deleterious effect of my time in the coffee shop is that I talk a little faster.

I don’t have a job at the moment so I have the luxury of spending an afternoon or two a week at EVP. I have time to write (case in point), read and chat. When I, once again, have to bend to the yoke, I’ll miss this. But for now, the afternoon is bright, I have a table next to an electrical outlet and a friend just walked in the door. So cheers to coffee, to the bottomless cup, to the dilettantes at the tables and getting all jacked up.