New Year, new snobbery!

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I think anyone in the food service industry should make a point to visit “rival” establishments. It’s a good way to know what your competition is doing, what their clientele looks like, what their food tastes like, what their prices are like and how delicious their product is.

As a barista, I love to check out other coffee shops. I’m such a coffee snob that I look at their menu, their prices, listen to their music, listen to how they steam their milk, pay attention to how they pull their shots, what their latte art looks like, and any other thing that I pride myself on that I think other baristas should pay attention to as well.

I’m blessed to live in an area with a whole plethora of coffee shops. I don’t really want to call them our rivals because some of them just offer different services, or service a different area of town than where we’re located.

Or, to be perfectly honest, they just aren’t as good as we are so I don’t feel as if they really offer any competition at all. Seriously! There are three types of coffee shops - the corporate coffee shops, the decent coffee house and the seriously fucking amazing coffee establishment.

Depending on the skills of the barista working, a coffee house can go from good to great depending on the time of day, but that’s what makes a truly fucking seriously amazing coffee house what it is - there won’t be a skill disparity because the owners pay attention to every single detail, and most of all, make sure every single barista has had serious latte throw down training and can slight a shot with the best of the baristas.

Some places are decent coffee houses where, while they are friendly, nice, have good music, good service and honestly enjoy their work, they haven’t yet had the “coffee snob” training that a higher caliber coffee shop will cram down a barista-in-training's throat.

And that’s okay. Not everyone can be a coffee snob.

But I am (a little bit) so my new project for the new year, in addition to coffee rants, news and gossip, is to review coffee shops I’ve visited. I don’t want to be mean about my reviews, but rather constructive, and to give a peek into the coffee community through the eyes of a curious barista.

So stay tuned for my first review of the lovely, quaint, charming Café Dodici in Washington, Iowa, and after that Café Helios is Raleigh, North Carolina and maybe even the Dunkin Donuts I went to that one time in Washington, D.C. (ew!!)

Until then, in your opinion, what sets a decent coffee shop apart from a great one?

Please don't steal our milk, please! (IV)

The fourth and final installment of my intrepid adventures in dealing with milk thieves. Please read part one, part two and part three!

Presenting the wondrous conclusion – the ice cup resolution!

As you recall from part two, there was a girl coming in who was, essentially, making her own iced lattes by ordering shots of espresso over ice in a cold up and then asking us to top her off with skim milk after she added half and half.

Doesn’t really seem like a big deal, but in its own way, it’s stealing. Ordering pieces of a drink and putting them together yourself rather than ordering the whole drink is just tricky, underhanded and weird. Not to mention annoying.

So, she came into the coffee shop and did this a few times, often enough that all of the baristas started to recognize, if not her (because she looks like every other frumpy college girl) but her drink (because who could not recognize this double decaf over ice with half and half and skim milk monstrosity?)

One particularly busy day at the coffee shop we had three baristas working. One coming in, one going out, and one around to do any side work that needed to be done during the busiest part of the day before we all went our separate directions.

Rushes make me crabby enough as it is, but you add in a few uppity orders and a few spoiled brats and what little charm I have is gone down the drain. Double Decaf Over Ice comes in and orders her drink, and I ring her up for an iced Americano even though that’s more expensive than two shots of espresso, which she wanted me to ring her up as. Oh well. She never said anything about it, we got a few extra cents out of her (not enough, if you ask me).

Since I’m working register at this time, I turn to my barista to make sure he heard the order, and since he’s oh-so-good he knows exactly who she is and what she wants, so he just looks to me and we both roll our eyes at one another. See, the problem is that we’re both passive aggressive and a little bit reserved around people, so this problem that had built should have been handled months and months earlier.

The problem with that, however, is that these little things build on themselves. It’s easy to dismiss one wonky order, and when it happens a second time, it’s easier to say “oh right. I remember that girl. I won’t let it happen again.” But between four baristas working one store, it’s not like she came in and saw exclusively me every day, but ended up ordering her wonky drink just a few times from each of us. That, unfortunately, gave her enough time to figure she could get away with this drink since none of us called her on it any of the two or possibly three times we saw her.

On top of that, I’m horrible at faces. I know people by their drinks, usually, so it’s easy for me to forget to correct someone until it’s already too late.

Anyway, so, my barista goes to make this drink and I ring up the next customer, and our store manager is there with us and he says, “okay, kid, what do you got?” and I turn away to busy myself, and my barista repeats the drink to him, and the manager says “Okay. Let me make this.”

My barista is all too willing to conceded the machine, so he steps back and he busies himself with something, and we let the manager take over.

What happens next is beautiful. The manager makes her drink in a 12 oz. cup. Most people who want espresso over ice don’t mind if it’s in a small cup. It’s because they’re reasonable people and they realize that having it in an ice cup is just asking for trouble.

He calls the drink and she takes her espresso and says, “oh, I asked for this in an ice cup,” which is totally true. She did. So he pours her drink into an iced cup and she goes to the condiment counter.

I turn to my fellow barista and say “yum. Homemade iced lattes,” and he smirks because we’re catty that way. We watch her as she pours a splash of half and half over her decaf espresso over ice mixture, and then she goes up to the manager, because the rest of us have made ourselves scarce.

“Hey, can I get some skim milk?” she asks. So the manager so graciously gives her a gallon of skim milk and watches as she pours it into her now decaf espresso over ice with half and half mixture.

“We’ll have to start charging you for an iced latte,” he says. My heart skips a beat. Did he just say that? Really and truly?

“What?” the girl asks, and the manager says again, “Well, see, you’re basically making yourself an iced latte and that’s stealing money from the store, so we are going to charge you for an iced latte.”

The girl is flabbergasted. Overhearing this, my fellow barista and I look to one another in pure glee.

“Well, oh, um,” she says. “I didn’t know what the drink was called.” Yes. Like we believe that for one moment.

“Well, now you know,” the manager says. “It’s an iced latte and you have to pay full price. It’s about a dollar difference.” And he stands there and waits until she gets nervous enough, under his gaze, and fumbles for a dollar.

Pure gold.

I know it’s catty and mean of me to get so excited about this, but people are tricky. They try to dick you over every step of the way. In the end, a dollar isn’t a huge problem, but if it’s a dollar lost a few times every week, stacked up on top of all of those other tricky, devious people, it ads up. And it’s insulting, too, when people are greedy and miserly enough to scheme up new ways to save themselves money by doing things that cost you more than what they’re paying.

It’s also nice to not be manager, and to not have to step up and confront people, because confronting people is hard, especially because people always have lame excuses. (“I didn’t know that’s what the drink was called”? come on!)

That day my manager became my hero of all time. The other barista and I got a good laugh out of it. It was beautiful and it made us feel like, for that moment, we had one foot up on the game. And that girl hasn’t come back since (not that I’d recognize her) and sure I guess that’s money lost, but it’s money and time saved, too. And anyway, her drink was retarded. I’m glad I don’t have to suffer such an obscenity in my store, anyway.

It’s nice to not be a manager because things get tricky and managers are there to tactfully handle a potentially awkward situation.

Lucky for me, yesterday I was promoted up to assistant store leader (with a raise).

Let the awkward confrontations begin!

And thusly concludes the four part series “Please don’t steal our milk, please!” Please be sure to check out part one, part two and part three.If you have any good milk thief stories of your own, don’t hesitate to share!

Happy Coffee Days!

I'm far too lazy to take the time out to write a proper Bad Barista Blog this week, so here are some poorly rendered pics of a coffee tree I took this past summer.

Yum!

Please don’t steal our milk, please! (III)

Part three of a four part series, telling the intrepid tales of dealing with milk thieves, and a wondrous conclusion. Please read part one here and part two here!


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One of my favorite drinks is the Italian soda. I remember being a little kid in the West and our little movie theater expanded to fit a cute little café with ice cream and other little treats. I remember LOVING the Italian soda, a drink I tried on a whim one day. LOVE LVOE LOVE. Mmm… I can still taste it now… so sweet and creamy – what a lovely surprise!

For those who don’t know, Italian sodas are sparkling water and flavor syrup. That’s it. Pure simple goodness. Yes.

I really love Italian sodas. I love most flavors, and I love mixing them, too. The desserty flavors are best with cream I think – vanilla, Irish cream, hazelnut, caramel, almond… But I also love the berry flavors. Sweet, lovely, crisp. Strawberry, raspberry, or even lime with a dash of citrus (orange or another berry. SO GOOD.) Growing up some places would carry huckleberry Italian sodas. HEAVEN. (I also hear pomegranate Italian sodas are good, but I haven’t had one yet.)

In college my roomie and I would improvise drinks. One of our favorites was a strange recipe of coconut rum, sugar free vanilla syrup, sparkling water, skim milk, and fat free Kool-Whip. Weird! (but they were a great treat for many-a hot summer afternoon after riding ten miles to and from class up hill both ways…)

But a regular old fashioned vanilla Italian cream soda is still my favorite.

Like most coffee shops, our place serves up Italian and Italian cream sodas. They’re a great treat for non-coffee people who don’t want hot chocolate or chai. They’re also uber easy to make and really tasty, too. One of my favorite drinks to sup AND serve.

So, a few months ago a big group of people came into the coffee shop and of course they all ordered the most annoying drinks, but what ever, it’s my job. So I make the drinks and I try to be cheery because they seemed to be in a good mood and that makes it easier for me to be in a good mood, and even though there was a group of them, there wasn’t a line or a rush or anything, so no big deal. After making a crap load of espresso drinks one girl orders a large hazelnut Italian soda.

Now, I lied. The one annoying thing about Italian sodas is that people 1 – want a list of syrups and make you repeat the list a few times but really they already have a syrup in mind, usually the first syrup you say (vanilla) but they make you say the whole list and wasting your and their time. 2 – Have a specific syrup in mind that no one carries except for Starbucks or because it sucks and they get mad at you for not carrying it.

The conversation goes “what type of syrups do you have?” and I say “are you looking for something specific?” and they say no, so I say “vanillacaramelhazenutalmondmintraspberrycherrylimeorangewhitechoclateandregularchocolate.” And they ALWAYS say vanilla. Always. (sometimes they say hazelnut)

So, aside from the girl making me repeat a list of ten thousand different syrups for her Italian soda, it was no big deal. So I make her her drink, she’s nice about it, I thank her for her business, she thanks me for the service, and I move on to her friend.

So, She’s standing with a group of people over at the condiment counter and they’re loud and talking, and I’m busy, but I notice her acting weird. I don’t know what it is. Just a weird vibe or something, I don’t know. So when I’m done making the tenth iced mocha or what ever I look over, and I see she’s pouring half and half into her Italian soda, but she’s not just pouring it in there, she’s dumping it in there, and she keeps on looking over her shoulder like she’s hiding it. From me.

So I don’t think she noticed I saw her, but she positions her body so I can’t see her doing it, and then the group leaves and she walks away with this gigantic smile on her face like she tricked me and that’s oh-so-cool and I see her gesturing with her drink to her friend and laughing excitedly like “omg, do you see how clever I was? I totally made myself an Italian cream soda rather than paying the extra 50 cents to have one made for me. I’m totally so clever and smart and totally saved myself 50 cents by using this free half and half on the countertop for coffee rather than just ordering a hazelnut Italian cream soda like I really wanted. I totally made my own! I’m so clever and smart!”

Like I didn’t know! I saw her do it! I saw her hide it! I saw her walk by, and I overheard her talking to her friend about it!

Bah!

I realize that the price difference of 50 cents isn’t really a big deal. I mean, it’s not going to break the company, and yes, the half and half is just right there, so sure, go ahead and use it.

But it’s still insulting. Like when people order a cup of coffee and ask for a cup of ice and then dump their coffee into their cup of ice. First, ew, but also, come on! It doesn’t really hurt anything, but it’s sneaky. And that’s weird.

When customers think they’re sneaking things it makes me feel uncomfortable. People, I know what you’re doing. And sure, you’re saving yourself 50 cents, but it makes you look stingy, and it’s also makes you look so money grubbing that you can’t support your local business and pay the extra 50 cents for the real drink rather than an improvised drink.

Also, people who do shit like this don’t tip, either. So that automatically makes me hate you.

And next time, the conclusion of our epic four part series! Meanwhile, check out part one here and part two here!

I Dream Espresso

Every few weeks I have a “work dream”. It’s usually after I’ve covered an extra shift or two or had a particularly hard day. (Usually Friday, because Fridays blow… BLOW.) Anyway, so these dreams usually manifest themselves with my anxiety. I’m a mean, impatient, bitchy, easily annoyed barista, and my “work dreams” bundle up all of these negative emotions into one blurred bundle.

Sometimes I’m working with a former boss, a man who, while his heart was in the right place (I think) was messy, lazy, and sexist. Sometimes I’m annoyed at customers, and I’ll have dozens and dozens of orders I’m trying to make. Most often I’m working on ONE drink OVER AND OVER because for some dream reason I can’t get it right. My milk won’t steam, I’ve forgotten the mocha sauce, the shot won’t pull right, etc.

So a few weeks ago I had a “Work Dream”. In this dream I was going to help a friend close up shop. Ever notice how old malls and old middle schools kind of look the same? I was in the basement of one of those. So we’re about to close the store when dozens of people come in.

This is the worst thing ever. It’s so annoying when the store is super quiet and you get everything cleaned and then people come in last minute and want a blended mocha or a French press or a five shot large latte. So, in my dream, dozens of people come in just as we’re about to close the story and I get so annoyed.

So I’m making this girl’s drink and she interrupts me in the middle of me pouring the milk in her iced latte and says “oh my gawd, is that skim milk?”

Now, you know the type. She’s wearing sweat pants that say “sexy” or “cutie” and her hair is a weird mix between blonde and brunette and she’s wearing a college hoodie and giant fuzzy boots and while her clothes are trashy her make-up is way over done, I’m talking going on a date with a rich boy too much make-up.

So, this dream girl interrupts me making her dream iced latte, freaking out about whole milk verses skim milk (which, by the way, is only a difference of about 30-50 calories, depending on the brand of milk and the size of the latte.) So, dream Bad Barista starts freaking out.

“You know what, get the fuck out of my store,” I say. And so dream sorority girl starts yelling at me and I start yelling back, and as I kick her out she and her dozens of annoying, chatting, 17-year-old friends leave, too. As a final coup de grace I finish making the iced latte and throw the drink at the girl. It hits against the wall with a satisfying splash.

My dream co-worker is annoyed with me because I just was very unreasonable and bitchy and just lost the store a lot of money, plus there was a mess to clean up.

I don’t care about this, so I help her finish cleaning the store and closing up, and then we go to a store meeting.

So, at the meeting, the owner of the company says he wants to break into the local diner market. There’s a chain of diners all around the state of Louisiana (fake, dream Louisiana) owned by an old man, but his daughter is in charge now and she doesn’t want to carry our coffee. The store owner recruits his five best barista to try and get the diner owner’s daughter to carry out coffee.

So, the rest of the dream, we all wear goofy disguises as we go from diner to diner, dressed in ridiculous disguises (thing goofy accents, wigs and facial hair), trying to find out information about the diner owner’s daughter and how we can convince her to carry our coffee in her cafés.

Of course I have no idea whether or not dream Bad Barista was able to convince the woman to carry our coffee, or whether or not dream Bad Barista ever got into trouble for throwing drinks at paying customers.

I suppose there’s always the next work anxiety induced dream.

Please don’t steal our milk, please! (II)

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Part two of a four part series, telling the intrepid tales of dealing with milk thieves, and a wondrous conclusion. Please read part one here!

The Ice Cup

I’m really bad at faces. I know that’s no excuse, but I just am. I think it’s something to do with my Attention Deficit Disorder. I don’t think my mind takes the time out to remember things.

Or maybe I’m just a bad barista.

Either way, even if I see you every single day of my life, chances are I won’t remember you. I’m sorry. I don’t mean anything by it. If it’s any consolation, I forgot the face of the guy I was going to marry and had to re-meet him. (It’s true.)

So, I probably won’t remember who you are unless you 1 – address me by name (but I won’t remember your name) 2 – chat with me about something spectacular 3 – come in more than once a day 4 – make me angry (in that case, I’ll probably never forget you, and I’ll probably feature our interaction in a Bad Barista blog entry) 5 – order a really unique drink (it will take me a few times to remember you, but I’ll remember you eventually.)

(On a side note, I’m really bad at names, too. I don’t remember customer names. I remember drinks – small skim latte, large coffee with extra room, small red eye, double short Americano, blended caramel mocha, etc. These are all of my friends and favorite customers. I have no idea what their names are.)

A little while ago a girl came in one afternoon. I didn’t remember her at all, but she got a notable drink – two shots of decaf espresso in a 16 ounce cup over ice.

There are a few things wrong with this request. First I said, “like an iced Americano?” and she said no. (Even though this is a yes.) “So you want your espresso directly over the ice?” she said yes. (Even though this is really horrible. Don’t be a bad barista and pour your espresso directly over ice! It ‘shocks’ the espresso and makes it bitter and thin. Pour espresso over cool water and pour that over ice. I know it sounds annoying but I promise it makes a difference in flavor. Unless you like the taste of crap.)

So I fill an iced cup with ice, pull my shots, top her off with ice and hand it to her. She goes over to the condiment counter and starts doing her business. I then busy myself with other things, filling other orders or cleaning or something.

This girl comes up to me and asks for some skim milk. Now, we keep half and half on the counter top because we go through it fast, but we keep the other milks behind the counter because we’d never use them and they’d go to waste. So I see her cup and it’s filled with a splash of half and half, and I give her the skim and see her top herself off.

Her drink is now ice, melted ice, two shots of decaf, watered down decaf, room temperature half and half that’s been sitting out all day, and skim milk. I’m too shocked to say anything, but I accept the milk pitcher back and watch in shock as she happily pours in a cup of sugar, stabs in her straw and sips away.

Seriously. This bitch just made herself an iced latte.

Now, I forgot all about her (not really) until she came back a few weeks later and did the same thing. Totally! She orders espresso and makes a latte, as if I don’t know. So, I decided I’d be sneaky and rather than charge her for an espresso I started charging her for an iced Americano, under the pretence that cold cups cost more than hot cups (which they do.)

But in the end, she still made her own wayward iced lattes. YUM.

Coming soon, French sodas and the ice cup resolution. (Also, please read part one here!)

Sart - summer art

I had a work performance review last spring and one of the things I was told to work on was my latte art. I'm okay at latte art. I can make like, butts and sometimes hearts, or really wonky looking rosettas. But mostly butts.



One of the lead baristas also does some drink training. To help me to stop making butt-a-ccinos (his words, not mine. Though I stole them.) he showed me a new way to hold the pitcher. Rather than gripping it like a baseball bat, caress the pitcher like it's a delicate woman. Two fingers. Not a fist.



He told me that baristas should start with little foam caps first (like the cappuccino monk's cap with the creme rim around the edge.) Well, that sounded like nonsense so I skipped that part. (Actually, I went from not being able to pour foam to pouring butts. It's hard to revert back from a butt to a circle.)



After the foam cap, move up to hearts. After you've mastered the heart, he said, then work on rosettas. After that, the sky's the limit. (I have a friend who does like, three rosettas at a time. I still make buttaccinos.)



The new way of holding the pitcher really did work for me. Grip with your pointer finger and your middle finger. This gives the rest of your hand and wrist more room to move and be flexible. (because, if you're a control freak like me, there is no such thing as flexibility. Ever.)

So, this summer I worked a lot on my hearts. They aren't perfect every time, but I can do them most of the time. (Unless I'm in a hurry. Then you're getting a butt or no latte at all.)



Recently I've been working on my rosettas. With only minimal luck. But my goal is the whole friggen solar system.



(anyone know who did this? AMAZING!)

(Oh yes. I uploaded ALL of the photos I have of the ONE heart I did that ONE time. Rather than showing you the best of this mediocre heart, I'm showing you all of it. Drown in my mediocrity!)