If you’re reading this, could you let the guys in Sumatra know? It’s just not working out.

Cheers,
T.

There’s been quite a lot of activity on Twitter today, pertaining to Oliver Strand‘s piece on Stumptown Coffee opening a new coffeebar in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Most notably, for me, is the fact that a lot of people have drawn direct comparison to our Penny University project, given that Stumptown’s coffeebar will not be offering espresso drinks.

“Great to see the template Penny University started is being continued over here in the states! Good luck Stumptown Red Hook!” – (Twitter)

“Sounds like Stumptown flew to Europe for a popup and picked up Penny University on the way back.” – (Twitter)

While the ‘no espresso’ element of Penny University was one of its major defining characteristics, there were many more that made the project so different. Only 3 coffees on the menu at once, seating limited to six (8 at a push), no condiments at all, meticulous and focused dialling-in protocols, and coffees matched to particular brewers. It was the sum of all these things, plus a fastidious attention to service that made Penny University what it was.

This is in no way to suggest that Stumptown won’t be taking up some of these ideas, but I think it’s more likely that they’ll take their years of experience, enthusiasm, and awareness of their own neighbourhood and build a coffeebar that achieves their own goals.

While somewhat flattered, I feel that the Penny University comparison is a bit easy and a touch ill-fitting. To me, it seems to be a different concept, in a different country, with one fairly minor similar characteristic.

Overall, I’m simply looking forward to the retail innovations and new experiences that Stumptown are likely to bring.

“Coming up next: Want some foam on your coffee? It’s called a ‘capp-yu-keeno‘, and you won’t believe what it costs.”

On Saturday we opened Penny University, and set about bringing a more methodical, considered and exploratory approach to brewed coffee to the people of London.

The response so far has been really great, and the coffee has been tasting wonderful. We’re working very hard on presenting coffee to newcomers and the uninitiated in an approachable, stripped back and open way. We’re trying to show people just how easy brewing an amazing cup of coffee at home can be, and trying also to raise public awareness of the myriad of factors that affect a coffee, alongside the efforts and toils of producers worldwide.

It’s personally very rewarding, and so far the response has been tremendously encouraging. But it’s been yet another extremely difficult, demanding, taxing and exhausting exercise. And this time I’ll admit that I’m feeling pretty wiped.

A strange idea, right? Surely an abundance of choice is indicative of a considerate approach to the people who frequent our cafes and coffeebars, surely having a ‘good range’ is an indicator that we’re receptive and attentive to the needs and desires of a great many people. Wrong.

Let’s consider the primary basis of everything that we construct, and use it as a starting point for this idea — the espresso.

I’m a very firm believer in Kyle Glanville‘s ethos that states: “There is only one correct response to a customer ordering an espresso – ‘Absolutely.’” More and more, in what I can only assume is a misguided attempt to show flexibility, dexterity, and awareness, when ordering espresso I’m greeted with the choice of a range of options — Single or double? Ristretto? For here or to go? The same applies for nearly any milk drink ordered — Skinny or whole milk? 8 or 12oz, Single or double… again?

Perhaps I ought to rephrase my ordering, to what it is that I actually mean when communicating with a cafe staff member. When I order an espresso, what I’m actually doing is putting my trust in that person, that they’ve taken the time and care to get to know their coffee, and are pulling shots of it to the best standard they can. If that’s a split-double at 25s, then fantastic! If it’s a slightly slower, naked shot of 1.5oz, great! As long as they know their coffee, and have put some thought into the best possible way to serve it, then I’m more than happy to be taken along for the ride.

That being said, should their understanding of the process entail a super-heated shot glass, with a micro-espresso of Vegemite-like texture and bitterness, updosed to buggery and pulled from a dirty machine, then fine. Serve it. I’ll drink it. But I’m unlikely to be coming back.

So, let’s bring all this back to the everyday customer, and their interactions with coffeebar staff. I should preface this section by saying that in my mind, it is of absolutely utmost importance that the person who takes your order, is intimately involved with producing your drink. That person ought to be informed, educated, passionate, and most importantly brimming with confidence to take stewardship of the customer’s order, drink and overall experience. Till operators and cashiers are all good and well, but I can’t help but attest that if we continue to further remove the link between customer, barista and drink, then we have little chance of professionally and effectively guiding the customer through the retail transaction. But why should that matter?

The customer should not be in control.

In the same way that it’s abhorrent to think of customers pulling their own shots, or steaming their own milk, the onus for controlling a plethora of elements of the drink’s construction should be taken away from the customer, and given back to the barista.

If a customer orders a cappuccino, great! For Here or To Go matters, obviously, but beyond that a set of defaults — your best operating practice, if you will — should be employed immediately. I’m not here to dictate what a cappuccino should be in each and every coffeebar (I have my opinons on this, but that’s not really the point here), but what I will contend is that each shop should know and truly believe in what they consider to be the absolute best representation of a cappuccino, and serve that.

I could continue ad infinitum on why I believe that the majority of choice ought to be wrested from the hands of customers, but let me conclude with some questions:

How can we expect Tom from Accounting, or Helen from I.T. to have anywhere near the required or desired understanding of the drinks being created in our coffeebars? How can we conscientiously employ, train, and trust baristas, but then turn over such a wealth of influence to uneducated and uninformed consumers? How can we scoff at or bemoan customers with terrible orders, when we actively present them with the palette from which to create them?

Of course some people will prefer soy, or extra-hot, or weak, or whatever… But let them request it. Force them to actively seek out whether or not you can accommodate their particular preferences. And for the majority of customers, simply remain confident, in control and encouraging. And serve to them that which you believe to be your best.

After all, your barista is supposed to be a professional, and should live up to the expectations of one.

Today they installed and fired up their very own La Marzocco GS/3 Titanium – a loaner from Stephen Morrissey. I was fortunate enough to be asked to be on-hand to give them a bit of an initial run-through on espresso, cleaning, etc.

I gave the guys a brief overview on what they should be looking for, essentially replicating the basis of the training I received at Intelligentsia’s Los Angeles Roast Works. We pulled some shots of too-fresh Square Mile Winter Espresso, which were nice enough, but still a little bitey and needing rest.

Everyone in the studio had a go at pulling espresso, and they were keen and attentive trainees. We ran out of Winter, and switched to Square Mile’s Progresso Single Origin Espresso from Huila. And funnily enough, on his first attempt, John pulled me easily one of the best shots of espresso I’ve had since living in Los Angeles.

Impeccably clean, caramelly-sweet, deep and round. We were brewing slightly cooler than Square Mile advise, around 91.5c, but the result was spectacular. Slightly updosed, cut off at 28s and approximately 1.25oz, it was lovely.

Every workplace should have their setup.

(N.B. — Chris Morrissey drank so much freakin’ espresso in the 2-hours I was there, I’m sure he ran laps of the office all afternoon.)

I’ve been served bad coffee before, and I’m sure I will again. We, as Londoners, are surrounded by the stuff. Cheap greasy spoons with industrial-sized tins of instant, Costa Coffee and Caffe Nero mimicking the rituals and techniques of espresso production, but handing over poorly and carelessly constructed abominations — this I understand, and as you also should, discount completely.

Their coffee is not relevant. They’re not in it for the same reasons we are, right? Right.

So with this in mind, I’m left to wonder, what kind of steps ought roasters and retailers be taking to ensure that public perception of them is separated from the dross? Obviously, combined function roaster/retailers are in the driving seat. They import their greens, roast them to their own specs, then serve the resulting drinks in the manner that they deem best. What an ideal position to be in as a retailer — totally in control of as many post-harvest elements as possible, and serving to customers their best possible offerings.

So how then, does one end up with as disappointing a cup of coffee as I was served today? On the staff’s recommendation, I ordered a particular coffee, and was truly surprised by the cup I received. I need not get into too finer a description of things, but suffice to say that the cup was beyond flat and lifeless, to flannel dryness (imagine sucking on the corner of a flannel shirt or sweater), and prolific notes of bagginess and dusty age.

Despite potentially papery dryness being resultant of an unrinsed filter, this was not a defect of brewing. There were no scathing, searing notes of either sourness or bitterness, the results of poor temperature control. I have no doubt that this coffee was simply too old.

Somewhere along the line, this coffee had been roasted, tasted and OK’ed for shop, sale and service, and I’m baffled as to how? Overstocked on last year’s crop, perhaps? Dedicated to keeping a Costa Rica on at all times? I’m not sure.

Then one other possibility occurred to me. Perhaps the people of London like it? Could it be that this coffee that I found nothing short of objectionable, and a very poor representation of what I understand to be clarity, sweetness and character, is in fact a representation of the desires of our consumer’s palate?

Quite possible, but I hope not. If so, we have a long road ahead of us, educating consumers on the simplest concepts of flavour, and revealing to them the potential that carefully handled, respectfully roasted, and duly considered coffee actually holds.

Worst case scenario, however, is that as coffee professionals in London, a very great many of us are as in-the-dark as the consumers theorised about above. The very real possibility exists that, the representatives of our industry, the everyday baristas and servers behind countless bars across London have only a marginally-better understanding of their product than those they are advising.

And that, I fear, is an even longer road for us to walk.

————————–
POSTSCRIPT: Doug Zell has posted a challenge to roasters on this topic here.

But now there’s a new layout, a new city, and a lot of spare time. So for better or for worse, expect some content.