Coffees and Conversations Piss Me Off
I made two stops this weekend on my quest to find a cup of American-style drip coffee. I had plans every day last week to go to Barista after work to get a cup of coffee and read some of my rural social development books I got from the CRY library. Every day I left work too late to drink coffee, but on Friday night, I had no plans, and it was on.
I can describe Barista perfectly. Barista was designed as a rip-off of Starbucks, which in turn was designed as a rip off of the Italian café. In other words, a cup of espresso served in India at Barista has endured some cultural torturing to get to your table. I know Starbucks does not do an Italian café justice. For one thing, the coffee is not as good, and anymore Starbucks is not about lingering over a cup of espresso and savoring the day, it’s about getting in, buying your fix, and getting the hell back to work. Some people, like me, still linger at Starbucks, and even then, I know, it’s not an Italian café, and I think that despite Starbuck’s original intentions, it’s not trying to be an Italian café anymore. Starbucks stands on its own.
But Barista is trying so hard to be Starbucks, maybe it’s the real deal to Indians, but it’s just painful to me. (Maybe Starbucks is painful to Italians.) This Barista did not have drip coffee. When I asked for this, the waiter looked confused, and after some more clumsy interchanges, he said, “Filter coffee?” Yes, I said, just regular coffee, only black coffee. He brought me a latte. I don’t like lattes and can barely drink a latte, but I finished it anyway. Before I drank it, I said to my waiter, “This is not a drip coffee. This is a latte.” He looked confused, and I felt rude telling him my culture was right and his was wrong. It’s like a French person coming to America and insisting the appropriate way to pronounce “nation” is “nah-see-ohn.” No, this is the U.S. That’s not how we do it.
But come on, this is a coffee shop for Indians to live out their American fantasies. Almost everyone was wearing jeans. There was a loop of about 10 American hip-hop songs playing, including Nelly. (and this is another problem, rap is awful coffee shop music; coffee shop music needs to be something with less defined lyrics and with a slower and softer rhythm; something more conducive to reading and talking)
Next I ordered an espresso, and it was awful. It was served in a shot glass, which is retarded. I drink my espresso with no milk and no sugar. I also like to drink it while it’s still hot. By the time this espresso was cool enough to pick up to drink (there was no handle, it was a shot glass), the coffee was at the gross too-cool temperature. Downing the cup of coffee was like downing slightly warm ash water. I almost gagged.
Today
I made a stop off at Mocha, which is about a 2 minute walk from my house. This place has pissed me off before. The waiters don’t like to come take your order. They like to stand around and talk, and during a prior visit I ordered a fresh lime soda, and it took 15 minutes to make it even though the place was deserted. Fresh lime soda is made by adding soda water to lime juice. Marico lawyer Mritunjay and I were trying to figure out if, in fact, Mocha preferred to hire the mentally retarded.
I went there another time, and no waiter ever came to take my order, so I left.
Mocha serves hookas and tobacco. It’s in the Middle Eastern style, and it’s called sheesha. Mocha is sort of the place to see and be seen. I went there at about 4pm today, and there was nowhere to sit. I said, screw this place. I walked home in the muddy street and tried to avoid being near a puddle when a car drove by.
I can describe Barista perfectly. Barista was designed as a rip-off of Starbucks, which in turn was designed as a rip off of the Italian café. In other words, a cup of espresso served in India at Barista has endured some cultural torturing to get to your table. I know Starbucks does not do an Italian café justice. For one thing, the coffee is not as good, and anymore Starbucks is not about lingering over a cup of espresso and savoring the day, it’s about getting in, buying your fix, and getting the hell back to work. Some people, like me, still linger at Starbucks, and even then, I know, it’s not an Italian café, and I think that despite Starbuck’s original intentions, it’s not trying to be an Italian café anymore. Starbucks stands on its own.
But Barista is trying so hard to be Starbucks, maybe it’s the real deal to Indians, but it’s just painful to me. (Maybe Starbucks is painful to Italians.) This Barista did not have drip coffee. When I asked for this, the waiter looked confused, and after some more clumsy interchanges, he said, “Filter coffee?” Yes, I said, just regular coffee, only black coffee. He brought me a latte. I don’t like lattes and can barely drink a latte, but I finished it anyway. Before I drank it, I said to my waiter, “This is not a drip coffee. This is a latte.” He looked confused, and I felt rude telling him my culture was right and his was wrong. It’s like a French person coming to America and insisting the appropriate way to pronounce “nation” is “nah-see-ohn.” No, this is the U.S. That’s not how we do it.
But come on, this is a coffee shop for Indians to live out their American fantasies. Almost everyone was wearing jeans. There was a loop of about 10 American hip-hop songs playing, including Nelly. (and this is another problem, rap is awful coffee shop music; coffee shop music needs to be something with less defined lyrics and with a slower and softer rhythm; something more conducive to reading and talking)
Next I ordered an espresso, and it was awful. It was served in a shot glass, which is retarded. I drink my espresso with no milk and no sugar. I also like to drink it while it’s still hot. By the time this espresso was cool enough to pick up to drink (there was no handle, it was a shot glass), the coffee was at the gross too-cool temperature. Downing the cup of coffee was like downing slightly warm ash water. I almost gagged.
Today
I made a stop off at Mocha, which is about a 2 minute walk from my house. This place has pissed me off before. The waiters don’t like to come take your order. They like to stand around and talk, and during a prior visit I ordered a fresh lime soda, and it took 15 minutes to make it even though the place was deserted. Fresh lime soda is made by adding soda water to lime juice. Marico lawyer Mritunjay and I were trying to figure out if, in fact, Mocha preferred to hire the mentally retarded.
I went there another time, and no waiter ever came to take my order, so I left.
Mocha serves hookas and tobacco. It’s in the Middle Eastern style, and it’s called sheesha. Mocha is sort of the place to see and be seen. I went there at about 4pm today, and there was nowhere to sit. I said, screw this place. I walked home in the muddy street and tried to avoid being near a puddle when a car drove by.
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