Cowboys Drank Better Coffee Than Most Hipsters Do Now

Yeah. And I can prove it, too.

Ever since my favorite nephew gifted me with a copy of Modernist Cuisine, I’ve been making considerable use of it. This book, in case I haven’t told you, and I believe I actually have, is a graduate level course in food science, and discusses deeply, intelligently, and luminously, the physics, chemistry, and biology of food. While it gets a just a bit deeper in what some have called ‘molecular gastronomy’, and what I call ‘inorganic gastronomy’, than I at present particularly like, I don’t plan on kicking it out of my library any time soon. In fact, I can not recall when I ever in my life received a better gift. Thank you, John.

But I digress somewhat. Included in Volume 4 of its five volumes is a chapter devoted to the subject of coffee. The author’s opinion is that most restaurants and coffee shops have little idea as how to prepare coffee correctly, which is a pity, because the science is simple, and the steps necessary are few, in order to make really good coffee.

Dinner for Sixty

 

Menu:

-Boeuf Bourgignon (bacon free, gluten free) for 20;

-Coq au Vin (ditto) for 16;

-4 Quiches (9″, mushroom, onion, shallots, and bacon and shallots) for 16;

-Uzbeki lamb pilaf for 8;

-Basmati rice side dish for 60;

-Hand roasted, freshly ground Colombian coffee for 60.

It’s a long story.

For the past two years since my wife Beth died, my one live entertainment has been to listen to these guys, Simon and James, when they play the local pub at Pedro, about twice a year, in the summer and the winter.  It’s about a mile from where I live, so I usually get a reservation at the bar, tip the bartender a ten at the beginning of the affair, with the promise of another if the service is any good. It always is, for some reason.

So, between the food, which is okay, the beer, which is better but more expensive, the cover charge, and the tips to the musicians, it comes to quite a bit. As I am rather impecunious, I doubt that I could afford such more than twice a year. But Simon and James play a variety of trad music that I seldom hear in LaLa Land, so I find it to be worth it.

I’ve gotten to know Simon somewhat these last two years, and I wanted to buy some of his CDs before he performed the next time. So, I messaged him on Facebook to ask how I could do that. He told me that he would be in LA in early August, and we could meet at a mutual friend’s house to do the deal.

“Why can’t we do it when you’re at the local pub?” sez I.

“Because the pub hasn’t picked up my gig for this summer,” sez he.

Food Porn: Fried Chicken

Well, it’s been two months since I’ve written in this silly weblog. Sorry about that. Something to do with having to face the loss of my mother, who is succumbing to Alzheimer’s and old age. I will, perhaps, talk about that later. There have also been some changes as regards my process of remedial education. Certain intensifications. I will also perhaps write more about that, later.

But as I am not quite ready to talk about either subject, I will instead talk about fried chicken.

Food porn: Coffee

I have seldom had a good cup of coffee. The first time that I had a great cup of coffee was when I was 24 years of age, and had traveled with some friends down to Medellin, Colombia. We went to a coffee shop, and the cup that I had there was much akin to a religious experience. Few things since that time compared.

Then, a few months ago, a dear friend of me invited me to dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant. The food was marvelous, albeit a bit hot. And my friend suggested that we have a pot of coffee to finish things up. I agreed, and am very glad that I did so. The servers, who were Ethiopian, brought out a smoking cast iron pot with a long handle, which contained the coffee beans which they had freshly roasted. The resulting pot was marvelous, and a close second to what I had experienced back in Colombia so many years ago.