April 8 – April 14, 2012
The beginning. It’s important. Each morning I wake up, shuffle down the hallway, usually with one sock on, hair untamed, sleepy eyes. My aim: the coffee pot. The first sip resonating, brushing the cobwebs aside, but do not be fooled. What sounds like a simple morning routine, has in fact, been carefully tweaked and tailored over time. Each night, before bed, I grind fresh beans and accurately measure filtered water. This labor of love would be fruitless if it weren’t for the perfectly roasted beans. Because it’s all about the beans. Good beans + careful preparation = delicious coffee. In theory, of course. Some would argue that store-bought, freeze-dried grounds make the perfect cup, or that the machine doesn’t matter. Some believe that all coffee tastes the same, so why bother? Me, I’d like to slap these folks. I will take on any coffee philistine and dare them to say a beautifully barista-d cup of coffee is equivalent to a “Folgers fresh in your cup” kind of swill. That’s just nonsense.
The warehouse is unassuming. The Intelligentsia logo adorning the corner, the only clue indicating what’s inside. The side door opens and a man with a clipboard checks my name off a list. I enter the one room warehouse and the scent of freshly brewed coffee fills my nostrils. I feel like I’m in a dream. A good one. Not just because I am surrounded by pounds of my favorite coffee, but also because I haven’t actually had any coffee yet. My voyage here a bit of a blur. I didn’t want to spoil the spoils of unlimited brew. Coffee that is.
For years, I have bought, ground, brewed and drank, dark, steaming cups of Intelligentsia each morning. You can imagine my excitement to be in the room where these beans are transformed into the brew I speak of. Unfortunately it is sullied. I am finding it difficult to look past the trendy mustaches, emo jeans, and the ‘I’m too cool to assist you’ attitude that I’m receiving. I stand in front of a table, watching three chemex brewers in action, with two hipster douche bags behind the table. “Hello” I say. They peer up from their thick-rimmed, fake, vintage glasses and stare blankly at me. “Hello,” I say, loudly this time, maybe they are hearing impaired. I follow with a “may I taste one of the coffees please?” They reply, “whatever one you want.” Ooooookay, “should I just help myself? Can you tell me a little bit about the coffees?” Blank stares, again. Don’t mind me, I’m just the patron here. Sorry to pull you away from your one-speed fixie and trite novel to do your job and sell the coffee you claim to love so much. Irritating.
I try to relax and wait for the tour to begin, sipping on a spicy Columbian blend. The tour guide is nice, a long-timer at Intelligentsia and clearly knowledgable. The tour lasts forever. Two hours in fact. Information worth knowing and lots not worth knowing. Most interesting? The roasting. Go figure. An ancient German machine that slowing toasts and roasts the beans, turning them over and over again in a barrel heated evenly by a burner. Clearly this is a science and the Roaster must pay attention. Green beans slowly turn brown, the Roaster pulling and testing, smelling and adjusting, careful not to burn. Then, the timing is right, and perfectly roasted beans empty into the container before me to cool. The smell, incredible. Most exciting, I get to take a bag of these babies home with me. Hellooo Rwanda.
After over two hours, I feel I have a sufficient understanding of Intelligentsia and despite the lanky tools who run the day-to-day operation, they roast a pretty decent bean. Leaving the warehouse I glance up. The logo gripping tightly to the corner of bricks. A cup of coffee with wings, taking flight. Genius. For those of you who think it doesn’t make a difference, I challenge you. Frankly, I beg you to reconsider your stance. The morning is where it all begins. Your day. This is your moment to determine goodness, greatness, perfection even. When do you have this much control in your day? Begin it thoughtfully, and remember, you don’t have to be a hipster to do so. Frankly, it’s preferred.
Stay tuned for the next 52LC when I linger in a garden, have a failed attempt, and attend the best gala in town.
You are so right on the morning cup of coffee and it’s importance. I like fresh ground ily made with small French press each morning. I am going to try this brand now that you raj my interest. I hoe to visit Chicago again in Setember and I am adding this to my list of something new and different to do when we visit. Love your blog hope it goes past 52! Thank you
I love illy coffee too! That’s a yummy one. There are couple of intelligentsia storefronts in the city (downtown on randolph and on broadway in lincoln park). I highly recommend a cup of coffee, but they make (in my opinion) one of the best cappuccino’s. Not a frothy, milky, bland one, but a perfect, like European cup of java. It is perfection. Hope you are all doing well and thanks for reading!
Hi Dianne! If you’re in Chicago in September, and promise to make your Oyster Stew, then I’m coming to Chicago in September too!
Meanwhile, back to that coffee stuff …
[1] Individuals’ coffee preferences and prejudices are legion. Which is wonderful. One size definitely does NOT fit all. Which makes me wonder how on earth it could have happened that, from time to time, entire cultures somehow slipped into forgetfulness and accepted, en masse, pale imitations of the real thing. Examples abound. London (England, of course!) was a coffee-lover’s heaven by the 17th century; with one popular coffeehouse, Lloyds, gradually transforming itself into a global insurance and reinsurance market; yet, by the mid-20th century, there wasn’t a decent pot of coffee to be had anywhere in Britain; for reasons unknown, the art of brewing the bean had to be relearned, from Italy, via the advent of the expresso machine. A similar story in America: when I arrived, there seemed to be nothing available except Folgers and Maxwell House; but Americans still swallowed billions of gallons of the slop; then, along came Starbucks et cetera; and the great re-awakening. Why did we ever forget?
[2] I love your Intelligentsia brew, 52LC! Thanks for popping that baggie in my bag to aroma-therapize my first few days back on the Isle. Or did you do it to distract the airport sniffer dogs from singling out my luggage? Either way, thanks!
[3] Finally, a tiny trivia trove of the type that turns me on: – The original homeland of the coffee plant was Ethiopia. The name for the coffee plant in Ethiopia is “bunn”. Now, here’s the charming coincidence. In the 1950’s, in Springfield, Illinois, a Mr George Bunn started inventing useful things to do with brewing coffee (like fluted filters, and all those “pour-over” coffee machines that every Diner in America uses) and founded the Bunn-O-Matic company to manufacture his products. So, by the most unlikely of coincidences, George Bunn quite literally made coffee synonomous with its original roots.
Just thought you’d like to know that!
Keep up the great work, 52LC!