(Atlanta)
November 16, 2009
Shafts of light pierced the atmosphere adding texture and shape to the skyline against a perfectly lit sky, a fleeting moment along Ralph McGill as the sun moves quick to set. (above)
In the middle of a dredged up yard in the Highlands, the tiny backhoe that had done the damage was sitting on top of a mound of earth. A man walking his long-haired dog had stopped to watch as I climbed halfway up one dirt mound to frame the shot. They eventually grew bored and continued walking perfectly into the frame. (below left)
“Have we met before?” I asked the barista after ordering a shot of espresso and a chocolate chip muffin. “You look familiar but I’m not sure from what”, she replied. “Marg, short for Margaret”, “Marg, Tim”, we exchanged names and said it was nice to meet again. I ate my muffin and drank my espresso, naturally sweet and syrupy. ”Who are you guys using for coffee?”, I asked Marg and the other barista behind the counter. “Batdorf and Bronson”, the bearded barista replied. “Marg,” I added, ”I just wanted to say that the shot tasted good.” She was proud of her accomplishment and replied, “Hopefully I’ll get my certification soon.” Latte art throwdowns and barista competitions are the eventual goal. I asked a few questions about their certification program, soon Mark was rushing to the back room to show me his certification flow chart, it was a simple diagram, I appreciated his enthusiasm. (above right)
The MARTA Civic Center Station has long corridors forming an overpass which straddles the width of the highway. These serve as massive outdoor waiting rooms for those in transit, those in transition, and for some who, it seems, would rather not move at all. (above left)
The top point of the Bank of America building looks like it was made out of popsicle sticks especially prominent at night with the lights glowing from inside the structure. (above right)
One of the best skyline views of downtown Atlanta is from the top of the parking garage at the main campus building of the Savannah College of Art and Design in Atlanta. It has always been a favorite spot. Originally I sought out the buildings lighted signage seen from a distance the way a mosquito flies toward blue neon bulbs to its demise. The top two levels are blocked off forcing one to walk the final leg to reach this destination. At night these last two floors are an empty, hollow, uniform space flooded with strange orange lighting. The line between covered and uncovered parking is dramatic due to the blue neon glow that washes over the uncovered spaces. I watched the highway traffic moving below and the fairly quiet airspace above, peering through the viewfinder searching cropping framing shapes and lines, the light of the skyline. (below left)
The sun was gone at this point but the warmth of it lingered. As I walked toward the Arts Center I noticed further up the street a large illuminated light board reminiscent of Times Square. I walked toward it and set up a shot just waiting for something to move into the frame. Soon the Jesus Bus rolled up. It was only after taking the shot did I notice the faces from inside the bus peering out at me. (below right)
On Highland Avenue just south of Ponce De Leon in the area designated as Poncey Highlands I saw a No Parking sign at the Highland Inn indicating the lack of spots for their neighbors at Soul Vegetarian or any other nearby business. (above left)
There was a murky haze in the air on the northbound platform at Five Points station. The man to my right tried to escape from the frame but was not quick enough. An approaching train sped into view from the left and far down the platform a striking figure in white walked into the tunnel of light ahead. Overhead MARTA reminded us to be safe. (above right)
Perhaps too safe and cordial to the point of possessing no sense of self or belonging. A landscape that seems bright from a distance yet feels distant upon close examination. However some elements continue to have drawing power, striking shapes stay burnt upon minds. Not enough perhaps to drive us, yet we keep on moving until we can find what does excite each one of us. They are diverse and fleeting moments, but the more of them we collect and the more of them we share, the sooner we will find that collective sense of self, of definition, of a city which demands that you belong here. (a)
Young Tree Coffee
October 18, 2009
In the olden days of Los Frios the entire town owned a single pair of shoes. When someone needed to go into the nearby city of San Juan they would take the single pair of shoes sling them around their shoulders by the laces and walk to the city. After crossing miles of rough terrain on foot they would reach the final river before entering the city. The rivers name translates from Spanish into English as, ”Wash your feet here.” There the traveler would wash his feet, put the shoes on, and strut proudly into town wearing the borrowed shoes.
I finally saw him swaggering in with an overstuffed camping pack on his back.
Saturday, September 5, 2009 9:45am I stood near the window of the cafe on the second floor overlooking the waiting area at Caribe Tours. Byron would be showing up any minute now. Eight-thirty had turned into nine and finally almost ten o’clock I was beginning to wonder what had happened to him. I went out front to smoke a cigarette finished up and walked back inside the air conditioned terminal to the waiting area on the first floor. At about eight minutes until ten I finally saw him swaggering in with an overstuffed camping pack on his back. As soon as he removed the floppy brown brimmed hat I was absolutely sure.
A couple of German tourists held him up at the airport, he explained. They split a cab into the city so he could drop them off at Pension Quisqueya where he recommended they stay. The fare for the couple came to six hundred Dominican Pesos, they only had eight US Dollars not even enough to cover half of what they owed, no Euros, nothing, just their word. “We can send you money.” They promised. The card he gave them had printed on it, Byron Holcomb, Young Tree Coffee. It would be nice if they would. With just minutes to spare we boarded up the next bus heading North toward San Juan making our way to Los Frios.
A single electric bulb sent sharp deep golden rays shining from the slats in the windows of Antonio’s house.
Saturday, September 5, 2009 6:30pm At near sunset Antonio, Byron’s farm manager and good friend, led us to the edge of one property near his house where the cell phone reception is clearest. The golden light was spilling onto Byron, Antonio, and all of the children following close behind. Another man showed up and the three of them discussed matters of the farm.
The sunset view from where they all stood looked over Byron’s property in the valley below. You could see the tall shade trees in a dense thicket which formed part of his farm. After wards the sun went down and the misty clouds made ghosts of everyone. A single electric bulb sent sharp deep golden rays shining from the slats in the windows of Antonio’s house. Eventually we walked back in the dark Byron lighting up the path with his blueish LED headlamp.
His broken leg was propped up on the couch covered with a blanket
Sunday, September 6, 2009 6:00pm “Euplina is telling me about the way things used to be in Los Frios.” Byron spoke with a wide grin on his face between one of her stories. I was listening politely but do could not understand most of what she was saying I continued eating the dinner that she had cooked for us rice and beans, boiled plantains and yukka. After dinner we all joined Lin, Euplinas husband, in their living room. His broken leg was propped up on the couch covered with a blanket, underneath crude looking bolts and screws were driven deep into the bone like someone had built a scaffolding around his limb with an erector set.
The couple who appeared to be in their sixties recounted old stories about Los Frios concerned that they might bore us. Byron however could spend hours with Lin and Euplina, and he has, having lived in Los Frios for two years as a Peace Corp volunteer. “The first time I met Lin,” Byron likes telling this story, “I thought he was going to shoot me.”
some older people complain about the passing of the olden days, they say back then there was no delinquency in society.
These days Lin who used to break wild horses and mules is recovering from a motorcycle accident from six months ago on one of the muddy steep roads. Euplina offered to heat up some milk for us then disappeared into the kitchen. Byron is like a son to them and he admires and respects them as if they were his own mother and father. He laughed again translating what Euplina had just told him, “She says that some older people complain about the passing of the olden days, they say back then there was no delinquency in society. But she also says, there wasn’t much of anything else either.”
Monday, September 7, 2009 9:00am Antonio was busy pulling up a plant from the ground, it is a tuber or root called rabano it grows the way potatoes do. “He planted this particular root because I like it so much.” Byron proudly told me, “Whenever Antonio pulls up anything he plants two or three more.” After inspecting the root they throw most of it away. “The rats have eaten it.”
I watched as Antonio hacked away at the thickest branch of the rabano that he had pulled up holding it in the air with one hand slicing off arm length pieces with wedge shaped incisions at either end. The machete was then driven into the ground to dig a shallow hole to insert the branch. Scattered around I could see where other branches had been planted some rabano, mostly yukka, another root that is planted in the same manner.
Our synthetic woven sacks and tin buckets used to collect the coffee were placed on the ground, filled with what we had picked all morning.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009 1:00pm We had been picking coffee all morning, eight workers in a pack scouring each tree by hand, careful to leave the unripe cherries, picking only those that were ready or beyond ready. When coffee is left beyond its optimal time to be picked as a red cherry it will eventually dry on the branch in the sun, it gets shriveled up like a raisin becoming black and hard. Our synthetic woven sacks and tin buckets used to collect the coffee were placed on the ground, filled with what we had picked all morning.
The meal that morning was similar to what we had at every meal on the job, boiled plantains and yukka, rice and beans. For the most part we ate quietly, resting. Byron showed up after most of us had already started eating. “¿Como tú ta?” He asked, everyone replied, “bien” or “muy bien” One of the workers then explained in Spanish how bien is always the answer you will always hear from a Dominican when you ask how they are doing.
Local wisdom dictates that it is best to accept the present state and focus on moving forward. “I learned that lesson early on” Byron later told me about an experience he had years ago. He was visiting, sending his condolences to a Dominican family, friends of his from the area and there they were getting ready to bury the deceased when he greeted them. He says he was shocked and surprised that they could answer him saying things were good.
like rice crispy cereal, a steady smoldering snap, crackle, pop.
Thursday, September 10, 2009 1:45pm There were a million tiny pine trees all sprouting tiny little pine needles in a single tassel on a single branch each separated by the tiny round pot it grew in. In a single glance the whole life of the pine flashed before my eyes, trees at every stage of life. A bed of pine cones was laid out in the sun to harvest their seeds they crackled like rice crispy cereal, a steady smoldering snap, crackle, pop.
I returned from wandering around the property and found Byron again. “How much longer?” I asked wondering when the Sur Futuro coffee meeting would be finishing up. ”Two more hours.” he said confidently. “Really?” I asked as more of a question of the existence of an itinerary at all. “It is always two more hours when you are in the Dominican Republic.” He qualified.
Running my hands through my hair it felt course and dry, dusty and ridged.
Thursday, September 10, 2009 5:00pm Traveling up the steep clay and mud road on the bed of a four wheel drive pick-up truck there were about seven people in the back and a few more crammed into the cab. A young man on a motorcycle by the side of the road got the attention of one of the passengers sitting in the back sliding his pointed index finger along the bottom of his neck. The young woman began sobbing.
We got off the truck at Lin’s house he sat a plastic lawn chair on his patio resting his broken leg upon a second chair. It looked like an infection had been spreading. The day before he had to have it re-set because it was not lined up correctly, painfully it had been rebroken. Byron spoke for awhile explaining the significance of the Sur Futuro meeting we were just returning from. Running my hands through my hair it felt course and dry, dusty and ridged.
Lin had already heard about the death, the news of which was just reaching the young woman on the truck. Her younger sister who had been living in the United States was tragically shot when a gun accidentally went off. Lin’s father, Ramoncito a shrinking man with leathery skin who had been quietly standing nearby now joined the conversation. “Machetes are for planting yukka, guns are only for killing.” Byron translated for me.
The sun was setting making the clouds a pinkish salmon tangerine color against the clear blue patches of sky.
Thursday, September 10, 2009 6:50pm We climbed the steep hill to the top where Boliviar’s house is. From up here there is an unobstructed view of the mountains except for the tops of the pine trees and a few small bushes that form a green fence around the small dirt yard. The sun was setting making the clouds a pinkish salmon tangerine color against the clear blue patches of sky. We sat down on five simple wooden chairs Boliviar, his wife, his daughter, Byron, and myself, leaving his young boy standing by curiously watching the conversation.
It was about a copy of a birth certificate that Byron needs to square away some legal paperwork concerning land he has purchased. Byron and Boliviar dance around the subject as I watch a rooster poking his head out of a sack in the shack that is their kitchen wiggling in vain for his freedom as flames dance in the fire pit nearby. On the way back Byron was counting the amount of times has had to ask Boliviar about this paperwork while I was counted the pine tree lined peaks in the distance.
the conversation eventually turned to the weather, the flooding to be more accurate.
Friday, September 18, 2009 9:00pm “I have some terrible news,” he began. I ran into Byron a week after we had returned from the Dominican Republic. This sounded serious, I thought someone had died. “Well, not terrible” he clarified. We had run into each other at the Castleberry Hill art stroll in Southwest downtown Atlanta. “That makes it sounds like something really bad happened.” I was a bit relieved. He continued, ”I got laid off from Counter Culture.” He was still absorbing the shock of it. “What happened?” I asked, this seemed so unexpected. He explained that the company came to the decision to cut four full time positions and he happened to be one of them. He had already begun to tap his network of contacts in search of a new job.
There was not much else to say about the subject that would help and the conversation eventually turned to the weather, the flooding to be more accurate. “The Krog Street tunnel was completely under water.” Someone else in the group was saying. “One poor guy had just moved his family back into their home in cabbage town after finally finishing months of repairs from last years tornado.” His house was now a disaster once again, he has decided to call it quits, sell it for cheap, and move out.
In the DR till November 24th Byrons status update reads. It takes foresight to endure present hardship for an uncertain future yield. In environments so removed from rituals of perseverence time is perceived as a unit that mournfully slips away. “There is no such thing as not enough time.” Byron told me before he left to spend seven weeks back in Los Frios patiently harvesting this years crop of coffee. Agriculture, it is said, provided the means for civilization, that uniquely human phenomenon. Perhaps farming was the first step, the very first human act of faith, it seems an appropriate place to start again. (a)
Low Key, High Octane
September 15, 2009
Theirs is not a story of a single place, at a single time, doing a single monumental thing. However the story starts at Octane Coffee in Atlanta, on a Friday night this past April, in the middle of a competition where some of the most accomplished baristas in the world were throwing down. Like the frenzied college basketball tournament held just weeks prior, this coffee competition was set up in a familiar brackets style elimination. The object of the game however was a little bit different, this was a latte art competition.
Amidst the cacophony of conversation from the gradually increasing crowd there were nearly a dozen people running between the crowd and behind the counter setting up video equipment, calling out drink orders, pulling espresso shots, ringing up orders for beer. Of those rushing around to keep the mob at bay I could see two in particular, hustling just as much as everyone else, they were Tony and Diane Riffle, husband and wife, owners of Octane, this is their story.
Octane is at the leading edge in Atlanta when it comes to quality coffee, but when it first began they were far from holding that title.
What I have found unique to the story of Octane is that in many ways it is the story of the recent radical developments within coffee on a national scale. Perhaps ten years ago quality coffee was just starting to gain momentum in the US. These days large companies are following this trend. Starbucks is pushing aggressive ads touting “Quality” and new packaging on their whole bean coffee feature more specificity of growing region, varietals, and elevation. “The best cup of brewed coffee I have ever tasted.” Howard Schultz founder and CEO of Starbucks was recently quoted, talking about the coffee he tasted from Café Grumpy in New York City, a place focused on quality coffee as is Octane. Octane is at the leading edge in Atlanta when it comes to quality coffee, but when it first began they were far from holding that title.
Every quality focused individual, be it with food, wine, or coffee, must start somewhere in their journey. For Diane and Tony it was at a Starbucks and a Caribou Coffee, respectively, where they worked for a short period of time before they ventured out to start their own coffee shop.
In 2003 they began the process of opening up Octane. In May they signed a lease, August began construction, finally at the end of the year in December of 2003 they opened their doors on Marietta Street in West Midtown near Georgia Tech. They made eighty-three dollars that first day. It was not bad considering the lack of foot traffic in the area. They choose this location with the expectation that the business in the neighborhood would eventually pick up, and it has.
I asked [Diane] how she ended up in Atlanta, “Threw a dart at a map.” she joked.
In the past few years new housing developments have cropped up on either side of Marietta, little shops and restaurants, a new brewery. Not to mention the King Plow Art Center had already been just down the road before they moved in. When they first started they had a large menu multiple size options, and much to learn. Things were slow and steady when Tony and Diane first opened, today they are one of the busier independently owned coffee shops in town.
I sat down at the bar in Octane on a quiet Tuesday afternoon Diane was there and Tony was splitting his time between my questions and duties behind the counter. The place was not as loud as the night of the throw down and much brighter with sunlight streaming in through the windows. I began the interview with questions of origins. Charlotte, North Carolina, is where Diane says she grew up. I asked her how she ended up in Atlanta, “Threw a dart at a map.” she joked.
This was the early nineteen-nineties Tony was a young man, driving a sweet ride, wearing acid washed jeans, studying marketing and psychology
Tony is from West Virginia, a state full of beautiful sleepy mountain towns. In his early twenties he was looking toward bigger things (slightly bigger) so he made his move out of West Virginia to Charlotte, North Carolina to go to school. This was the early nineteen-nineties Tony was a young man, driving a sweet ride, wearing acid washed jeans, studying marketing and psychology, and working at an Alamo car rental. It was there at the car rental company that Diane first met Tony where she worked with him in 1995. It was not until a few years later in 1998 when Tony and Diane would have their first date at a coffeehouse in Charlotte.
In 1998 Tony moved to Portland, Oregon where he was working for another rental company. “I didn’t like Portland at first”, he told me, “It rained ninety-four days in a row, very dreary.” In may of 1999 Diane visited Portland and loved it because of how friendly the people were. She moved out there in September that year. Because of Tony? I inquired, both Tony and Diane responded with various forms of no. “We weren’t really dating at that point,” they explained. Six months after Diane had moved to Portland Tony relocated once again. He left Portland and moved to San Diego, Six months after that Diane also moved to San Diego. It grew into a relationship, “We didn’t rush into anything.” Diane says. Like two twitterpated birds they finally ended their cross country courting when in 2001 they both moved to Atlanta, together. It was here that they would start their business. They wanted a chance to create something new and they wanted to have fun.
As long as we are having fun, we’ll keep on doing this. [Tony Riffle]
A few weeks after my interview with Tony and Diane I found myself back at Octane. It was late afternoon, where there should have been fading sunlight it was instead very dark inside of the space, blacked out by paper on all of the windows. In a little while Tony would step into Octane and back into time. This was his surprise fortieth birthday party in full eighties glory. Invitees, friends, family, the whole Octane staff, were urged to wear their coolest retro gear and to bring photos. There was one of Tony in a baggy blue sweatshirt and hammer pants, another with short shorts and a neon colored sleeveless undershirt. “As long as we are having fun, we’ll keep on doing this,” is what Tony told me about the future of Octane during our previous interview. He may have been slightly embarrassed with this bash but it definitely fit his own prerequisite.
The relationships that Tony and Diane have built with their employees, their customers, their mentors and peers in coffee has obviously been a driving force in their success. Early on they found people in the industry who were more than willing to help them out. Counter Culture Roasters has been there the whole way to offer great coffee, excellent support and training. The community of passionate coffee people around the country, many of whom they met during the Specialty Coffee Associations 2004 industry conference in Atlanta, were able to offer invaluable advise and help.
they do not seek congratulation for where they have come rather they consistently plod along continuing to make what they have created better and better.
This past April 2009 was the return of the Specialty Coffee Association’s conference to Atlanta. Diane says they feel like they have come a long way since that first conference in 2004 and they were able to redeem themselves this time around being more stable and confident in their craft. The excitement and camaraderie seen at the latte art throw down that they hosted during the conference was testament to the amazing community that has been grown around this place.
The evening of the latte art throw down was anything but a final climax because there is so much more left for Octane. There is a new Octane location opening up, much more for them to learn about the growing and roasting side of coffee. “We have just scratched the surface” Tony said, talking about their past trip to visit a coffee farm in Nicaragua.
Throughout the interview with Tony and Diane I was amazed by the complete humility about what they have accomplished. It was encouraging to see that they do not seek congratulation for where they have come rather they consistently plod along continuing to make what they have created better and better. Speaking about the lessons he has learned Tony says, “It is okay to change, make mistakes, just as long as you work hard to put it together.” So what else can we expect from Octane in the future, I asked the two. Diane quipped, “We just want to spread the love!” (a)
Playing with Coffee
August 15, 2009
He began by reminding me of the idea he was throwing around a few weeks earlier. It would be pretty cool, I thought, but was doubtful if anyone was going to try. And right on cue as if I was watching a magician performing on stage, the copper coil appeared in his hands. The idea was to brew hot coffee through a tube submersed in super cooled water resulting in instant (relatively instant) iced coffee. While we were sufficiently distracted looking at the carefully bent copper tubing, David was setting up the rest of his equipment, the magician shifted into mad scientist mode. The copper coil fit neatly inside of the roughly two gallon pitcher and the end of the coil peaked out of a small hole cut out of the bottom of the pitcher. He plugged up the crack around the hole with a wad of putty and began filling the inside of the pitcher and the coil with ice. “The salt,” he explained turning the little Morton’s girl and her purple umbrella upside down, “will catalyze the cooling process.” After filling the remaining space inside the pitcher with water he began to prepare the coffee. The top of the copper tubing had a small plastic pour over cone fitted to it with an extra tube for releasing the pressure that might plug up the cone. The filter was prepared and put into place, the hot water came to near boiling, and the coffee was ground up, placed into the filter.
it slowly crawled round and round, inch by inch down the cold coil.
The whole contraption was delicately balancing on top of a squat pyrex measuring cup turned upside down with a six ounce Gibraltar glass awaiting the end product. The whole pageant, from the moment he brought up the subject, to when the copper coil was first unveiled, to this final step, looked effortlessly precise. As if there was no question in David’s mind about whether it would work or not, his steady hand poured the hot water over the fresh grounds in the filter. The small audience of three or four of us left over from the cupping that morning eagerly watched to see what would happen. There was a moment of apprehension as it took nearly twenty seconds for the first few dribbles of liquid to emerge at the end. My imagination was working to fill in the details of what the liquid looked like as it slowly crawled round and round, inch by inch down the cold coil. The first evidence of surprise showed in David’s face as he said, “Huh, place your finger in that, it is actually pretty cold.” Amazing! We were all ready to taste it. “Hmm, it’s a bit salty,” “Yeah soy sauce,” “It smells a bit alcoholic.” We tried a few other coffees until we found one that suited the process well. Welcome to the Counter Culture Coffee Training Center in Atlanta.
Hundreds of miles west of Atlanta, on the far edge of the continent, I visited another coffee laboratory. This experimental coffee bar was recently given life with much press and excitement. As I made my way down Abbot Kinney Boulevard I was surprised at how comfortable the heat was. I then realized that the ocean was less than a mile from where I was, providing a cool breeze in what would otherwise be an unbearable desert. My first impressions of this cafe were true to what I had imagined. There was a west coast informality about the space that made everyone unsure about where to stand or what direction to face to get some service. If you go directly to the bakery counter that faces the entrance, you will find the host or hostess running between the back room and front of house. They will be the only person not wearing a black apron or vest over their regular clothing. On that particular Wednesday, she was wearing an attractive green shirt that helped direct the visual space. She was too busy to greet each customer as they entered but it became clear that she would be the first stop along the way.
The amount of care and precision might be easy to dismiss, until you smell and taste that first sip.
I ordered a croissant and was directed to the next barista station to open up. I asked my barista what brewed coffees were available and what methods I could choose from. She showed me the menu of available “in season” roasts and told me that I could either have her brew it for me on the clover (an expensive and precise machine that brews a single cup at a time), or I could step to the back counter and have Chris prepare me something at the “slow bar”. The “slow bar” is designed to push the customers expectations away from the quick fix coffee to a much slower pace. It is introducing coffee to people in a whole new light, similar to Atlantas training center, they are providing more education than most may have expected even existed.
I ordered a Chemex filtered coffee from Chris. The Chemex process is a simple elegant way to extract coffee using a paper filter and specially made glass urn. He began by pouring a small amount of hot water over the filter to pre-soak it. He measured out the coffee on a scale, selected the correct grind setting and put the whole bean coffee through the grinder. The hot water temperature was check one last time before he began slowly pouring the water over the coffee grounds. The cone filter holding the ground coffee was sitting perfectly inside the glass Chemex urn and the urn was sitting squarely on a scale that Chris was using to pour the correct amount of water. The amount of care and precision might be easy to dismiss, until you smell and taste that first sip. It becomes clear that the amount of precision given to the extraction, has also been given to this product at every stage from the farm to the processing and finally its preparation. Welcome to Intelligentsia Coffee and their Venice Beach location.
I watched the four baristas at their four separate stations carefully pulling espresso shots and comfortably pouring beautiful latte art.
Chris and Melissa Owens operate the “slow bar” at this new Intelligentsia shop where they are sharing the finer points of coffee with southern California. The staff of about ten, having had little to no prior barista experience, were trained up by Melissa and Chris. This left the Owens’ with little time to explore their new neighborhood, however the training has been quite thorough. On just their third day open I watched the four baristas at their four separate stations carefully pulling espresso shots and comfortably pouring beautiful latte art. It is natural to assume that the west coast gets the best new fads first but this time around, before LA there was Atlanta.
In the beginning of 2006 Chris and Melissa moved to Atlanta having relocated from New York City, they came to share coffee with Atlanta. Melissa became the “Coffee Boss” at Octane in West Midtown, responsible for implementing a rigorous training program for their baristas. This led to the success of many of their staff in regional and national barista competitions in the past few years. Just a short walk down Marrieta Street at the King Plow Art Center, Chris was hired to work at the then new Counter Culture Regional Training Center in Atlanta. Here he trained people on proper extraction, milk and espresso techinques as well as making service calls and participating in weekly cuppings. An emerging awareness of responsibly cultivated, traded, and prepared coffee among baristas and coffee drinkers is causing a growing movement in Atlanta. Chris and Melissa have since left Atlanta, first spending some time at Ritual Coffee in San Francisco, now at Intelligentsia in Venice Beach. There has been, however, a lasting effect on how Atlantans make and drink their coffee.
Back in Atlanta the resources for excellent coffee are here and the excitement is here as well. There is of course more to learn and alot of room for growth especially as the coffee industry as a whole moves toward more specificity and transparency. The coffee drinking public, from Portland to New York City, is coming to demand a better quality cup of coffee, fortunately for Atlantans it is so close the can probably already smell it. Quality training programs for baristas are starting to catch on at other shops in town, and as always the Counter Culture Training Center religiously continues its coffee cuppings every friday morning. For those who can spare a little extra time on a friday, stick around after a cupping. You just might get carried away, playing with coffee. (a)
Danielle Glasky
July 13, 2009
She is not a Southerner. I can relate to that, myself being a transplant to Atlanta. I found it very easy to identify what Danielle is not, but it is quite another thing to find out what she is. When I meet people I often find myself digging deep to find the admirable qualities, to reach beyond the flat first impressions, and look beyond the obvious conclusions that present themselves. With Danielle it has been quite the opposite, I have seen so many excellent qualities on the surface that I found it more difficult to pin her down at all. Here is my attempt to sketch out some of the details of who she is and consequently where she is going. People like her always seem to be going interesting places.
Born in Oakland, California in the mid Eighties, Danielle spoke proudly of her Pacific North West roots. After spending her younger years in the Northern California area, she was relocated in 1996 to an Atlanta suburb when her parents moved for job opportunities. As a young teenager she resisted the culture shift, she hated it, but she had no choice in the matter. As time passed, however, shallow roots began to grow. After high school she stayed in Atlanta to attend Georgia State University where she studied Childhood Psychology and Linguistics. Slated to graduate in 2007, thoughts of a career seemed a distant prospect during the first few years of college. This was the time to explore and try out different things to see what might keep her interests. The most convenient place to get lost in thought or to be distracted over the possible goals for the future was at Aurora Coffee Shop in her Highlands neighborhood. It was her boyfriend at the time who got her into the habit of going, eventually she was hooked.
soon she was going without cream and sugar, finally she began playing with the idea of working in a coffee shop.
Personally I have seen it happen, the occasional visit turns into whole afternoons, then a few days on the weekend becomes a near daily habit. The space that was a once quiet place to study becomes impossible to do anything but socialise. You end up talking to friends and acquaintances on the way in, then you spend a while chatting with the barista, finally you take your drink to an empty spot, only to be joined by more friends who you need to talk to. Soon it is late and time to carry your laptop back home not having opened it once. It was at Aurora Danielle says that she first began drinking coffee, soon she was going without cream and sugar, finally she began playing with the idea of working in a coffee shop. Not wanting to ruin the comfortable atmosphere she had at Aurora she decided to seek a job down the street.
During her first shift at Java Vino, her trainer asked her if she knew how to work the espresso bar. Having seen it done a thousand times at other shops, she confidently ground up some beans, dosed the grind, tamped it into the basket, plugged it in and pressed go. “I waited until the espresso cup was full then turned it off.” Is how she described her process. Java Vino told her she was good to go and Danielle confidently went home to tell, her boyfriend, that she was now a barista. He was appalled that they would let her coast through with virtually no training at all, Aurora makes their baristas train for months before they get to make drinks for customers he argued. “But they told me I was good.” She responded, slightly hurt at the lack of encouragement.
Grind, tamp, plug in, go, she pulled the cup away when it was filled and waited for a response.
She continued to work for Java Vino and started learning about other coffee shops in the city. She had heard good things about Octane Coffee in West Midtown and about Tony the owner. With the same naive confidence with which she breezed through her barista training at Java Vino, Danielle approached Tony at a party, where meeting him for the first time she told him that he should hire her. He said okay. “I heard that Octane was doing really good coffee, so I wanted to work there.” She explained. She started working for Octane in September of 2006.
In what seemed to be a simple repeat of her training at Java Vino, Tony asked her to show him how she pulled espresso shots. Grind, tamp, plug in, go, she pulled the cup away when it was filled and waited for a response. Tony waited until she was completely finished and calmly, graciously commented, “So… you pull Long shots?” In his patient and even mannered way Tony shared with Danielle a little bit about what makes up a good espresso shot. He split a shot three ways, the first ten, middle ten, and last ten seconds of a single shot. That thin watery bitter tasting last ten seconds he explained to her, you want to avoid. Her coffee knowledge started coming together.
She was learning from Tony and began attending weekly cuppings at Counter Culture just down the road. Finally Tony approached Danielle and asked her if she would be willing to go to an espresso lab training in Charlotte offered by Counter Culture Coffee, he would even pay for her to go. She was amazed and excited about the opportunity. “Tony was a great example for me, and he set the tone” She explained, “And once you catch that bug, its all downhill from there.”
and that was the moment she says that she verbalized her growing desire to make coffee her life.
One summer during her break from school Danielle had room in her schedule for extra part time work on top of her Octane hours. Tony suggested that she work for a friend at local tech company, Ripple. She took the job and began working long days, coming home exhausted from her extra part time work. It is not that the work was difficult, she is was very capable and tech savvy, but at the end of the day she felt like she was missing something. She wanted to be at Octane. It stemmed from more than the place, it was the people, and it was the smell and taste of great coffee, it was the exciting opportunities available. She asked Tony to meet up for a drink at Six Feet Under and that was the moment she says that she verbalized her growing desire to make coffee her life. It was comfortable, she explained, to finally have something solid.
In the time since that conversation with Tony, Danielle has come a long way putting down solid roots into the oddball community of specialty coffee. “Coffee is an industry of outcasts.” she told me and each coffee nerd is able to obsess in their own unique way. Though Danielle has done well in barista competitions she told me that is not where she wants to be. Her place is at an early morning cupping with other like minds, excited to taste great coffee. All of us are learning she explained, “I am still a newborn in coffee.”
“It is gonna blow up.” She told me with a confident anticipation that sounded as if I was receiving word from the future.
Newborn perhaps, but she is quickly growing up. Concerning her future plans, “If you had asked me a few weeks ago I probably would have said that I planned to stay in the Atlanta coffee scene forever.” But something happened during the recent Specialty Coffee Association industry gathering in Atlanta that gave her a new perspective on the potential opportunities available to her right now. “I am twenty-four, and I am able to do whatever I want.” She called up Stumptown and asked if they needed her in Brooklyn, they said yes. It was a hard decision for her to make and she tells me that Tony was very surprised but supportive.
Danielle has been a key part in helping grow the local Atlanta coffee scene, and it will be very difficult for her to say goodbye to the people. She will always be connected to Southeast coffee but this is something that she has to do for herself. So what about Atlanta? “It is gonna blow up.” She told me with a confident anticipation that sounded as if I was receiving word from the future. She warned however that Atlanta always needs to remember who they are. “You aren’t New York or San Francisco, you are Southeast espresso.” She advised, “be open minded, do not think you know everything and hold on to the Hospitality.” Danielle may have become more of a southerner than she even realises. (a)
Learning to Taste
June 19, 2009
Yirgacheffey? Tomato and Blueberry?
The first time I even thought about tasting coffee was in a “pallet enrichment” class that I had to participate in when I worked my first coffee shop job at a Caribou Coffee in Midtown Atlanta. We were given samples of french pressed coffees from different regions ranging from Kenya to South America. We tasted one coffee at a time and ate the accompanying fruit or nut that closely resembled the flavors of the coffee. It was a very casual introduction to tasting that seemed to have little impact on me, except I was facinated by the simplicity of the french press and ended up getting one for myself.
Months later I went to work for a local Independent coffee shop that was opening up in Atlanta’s Castleberry Hill. It was through this experience I became acquainted with David and Chris who represented Counter Culture Coffee one of the vendors we would be using in the shop. I soon found myself at their regional training center at the King Plow Art Center in Atlanta on a Friday morning for a coffee cupping.
I heard people using words like jute, tasting things like lemonade and green peas in their coffee.
Cupping, I was taught, is a tradition that comes from coffee buyers and distributors who needed a quick way to sample the quality of a lot of coffee. A small ammount of the roasted beans are coarsely ground and evaluated by the way it smells. Hot water is added and it is evaluated again,a couple more steps are involved until you finally get to taste a small spoonful of the brewed coffee. At this point the evaluator of the coffee can make a judgement about the coffees at the table.
Point systems are used in some circles, cuppings at the Counter Culture training centre however were more relaxed than that. All input is encouraged and David has always done a great job at making newcomers feel free to share their thoughts on what they are tasting. The first time I went to a cupping I could barely discern tastes and describe their subtle nuances. I heard people using words like jute, tasting things like lemonade and green peas in their coffee. That was about a year ago, I have been to more cuppings at this point yet I still have a long way to go. I continue to attend though, always thrilled by the constant learning process.
My own experiences in life are naturally intertwined with not only things like coffee, or places across the country and the world, but perhaps most importantly the people along the way. The same approach I have taken to observing and enjoying the coffee I taste, I extend to my experiences with places and people. One does not necessarily have to like coffee or coffee shops, but if one has any level of moral sense then they will understand what it means to look into the lives of another human being and attempt to understand who or what it is they are. If only for the sake of acknowledgement but most often with the added bonus of good company and enlightened conversation.
I asked him as I got off the bus if I heard his age correctly, he laughed and told me that it was in fact true.
Cuppings are usually done blind, meaning names and origins are withheld to prevent bias in the decisions of the evaluators. In a way however being unable to see what coffees you have infront of you makes one strive harder to use their other senses. I think it is no coincidence then that faith is called “blind”, that is essentially the definition of the word. Having faith however need not be foolish and unfounded, when practiced skillfully one can smell, taste, hear, and touch life more preceptibly.
On a recent trip to Lynchburg, Virginia, I found myself on a local bus heading toward the downtown area. As I rode the number ten from the plaza I overheard the bus driver say that he had just celebrated his sixty-ninth birthday. I asked him as I got off the bus if I heard his age correctly, he laughed and told me that it was in fact true. Actually he had been laughing and enjoying himself the whole ride long, flirting, chit-chatting, and cracking jokes with passengers. He looked about fourty, no older than forty-five years old. I would bet anything that this man has faith. In what exactly? That he will be healthy, the same way he believes that he will be happy, and so he was from what I observed on that thirty minute bus ride. He may not be able to “see” his future but he can probably taste it and hear it, smell it and touch it. To some extent that may be more enlightening and fulfilling that the visible and quantifiable past. Both are valid and I have come to recognise that neither are dispensable.
Whether cupping coffee or exploring cafes, I did not always know the particulars of the coffee being offered, the skill of the barista, or the quality of the machinery, but as I continue to sharpen my other senses I have more confidence in identifying what tastes good both in coffee and in life. (a)
