I got the bad coffee blues

BY LANE NICHOLS

I'm a reasonable guy. It takes a lot to rile me and make me lose my rag. But cock up my espresso and you'll unleash a monster.

I don't ask much. I'm not the sort of person who whinges about bad service from some spotty-faced, surly waitress.

If you send out my fillet steak burned to within an inch of its once tender life, I won't complain and demand another cooked a more palatable medium-rare.

And unless you're a complete imbecile, I'm a patient sort of guy and I'll hold my tongue as you struggle with basic mathematics in a tedious attempt to calculate my bill.

But send out an over-extracted, lukewarm double espresso with no crema and I'm likely to explode in a furious caffeine-depleted rage.

I guess you could call me a coffee snob

I know what constitutes a decent cup of Joe and I'm wise to someone trying to pass off a half-ass, pale imitation of the real thing.

I was a barista once and a damn good one. Making good coffee is an art form that requires the perfect balance between man and machine. Banging out hundreds of delectable bowl lattes, mouth-watering decaf, trim flat whites and heavenly soy hot chocolates at break-neck speed is not a task for the faint-hearted.

It's a tough job but one filled with immense satisfaction if you take pride in your work and appreciate the aesthetic in every little aspect of life.

But not all coffees are created equal. And when I'm on the receiving end of a lacklustre cuppa that I've forked out $3.50 for at my local coffee purveyor, I ain't prepared to sit passively and choke on the murky grounds.

I like my coffee black and sweet - like my women. When a Wellington coffee shop worker asks for my order, I reply like so:

"Long black, poured halfway. Make it strong."

I like it how I like it - not too short and not too long. I don't want a super-strength ristretto shot but neither do I crave a watered down, filter-like Americano.

But the number of times coffee monkeys ass up my order and send some balls-up of a brew to my table - lacking in flavour, beauty or flair - has driven me to the brink of taking up gumboot tea.

Is my order that confusing? Is it too much to ask for someone to fix my shot of black gold in the delicious, syrupy fashion with which I've become so enamoured?

For God's sake, take some pride in your work or go cock up some other basic commodity. Coffee is more than a product and it's much more than just another refreshing beverage.

It's a religion and it's a state of mind. A bad coffee is akin to blasphemy and in my book it's a capital offence.

A cafe worker who serves shoddy coffee is like a takeaway shop owner yet to learn the art of frying chips - a sad impostor who does not deserve the honour of manning their post.

Thank goodness for my local Deluxe - a caffeine oasis within the concrete metropolis.

Where are you guaranteed to receive a decent brew and who makes the most forgettable espresso?

- © Fairfax NZ News