Recently in coffee Category

(Or, Sweet Enough for a Bear, But Made for a Human with Four Bucks to Spare)

When Starbucks first came out with its honey latte (perhaps a month ago), I hesitated to try it.

I asked a barista, "Does it have, you know, real honey in it?"

The barista gave me a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look and said, "Yes, it does, along with some honey-flavored syrup."

I thanked her lamely and hurried out. Luckily, I was at a Starbucks I don't regularly visit, so there's a good chance we will never meet again. (I probably just jinxed myself by writing that.)

A week later, at a different location, I broke down and gave the honey latte a try.

It was disgusting. The first sips were way too sweet (thanks to the real honey on top) and the last few sips were way too mild. Still, I drank it all because it had cost $3.85. (Those are some high-priced bees, I tell you.)

It's my current working theory that one can't form a fair opinion about something until one has sampled it a minimum of three times, so a week later, I tried it again.

The second latte (and the third) was better than the first, most likely because I stirred the whole concoction before drinking it. Had I known to mix it before tasting it, my first experience might not have been so bad.

As is my habit, the drink I initially found disgusting is now the only drink I order. It's like I've suddenly become Winnie-the-Pooh. I can't get enough honey.

Can you imagine if they opened a Starbucks in the Hundred Acre Wood? Poor Pooh Bear would be broke in no time. Either that or he would be devising a scheme to steal their supply of honey.

This morning, I tried my first cup of home-brewed Dunkin' Donuts coffee and it was delicious. The only thing missing was a tasty donut.

The exchange I had yesterday at Starbucks...

Barista: How may I help you?
Me: A grande cafe au lait, please?
Barista: What?
Me: Uh, a cafe au lait?
Barista: You mean a cafe misto?
Me: (slaps forehead) Oh, right. A misto, please.
Barista: That will be two-fifteen.

Normally, I remember to call the cafe au lait a cafe misto (pronounced me-stow) when I visit a Starbucks, but yesterday it slipped my mind. Every other coffee shop calls it a cafe au lait. Only Starbucks insists on calling it something different. Why they do is a mystery to me, as is the fact that they don't even list the misto on their menu. Is it just not a popular enough drink to mention? Are they hoping people will buy the more expensive cousin of the au lait: the latte? Personally, I subscribe to the theory that somebody high up in the company had a childhood dog name Cafe au Lait who was hit by a car and the mere mention of the drink by that name brings back too many painful memories. I know it's an unlikely theory, but it's nice to imagine that some decisions weren't driven by the bottom line.

A new Peet's Coffee & Tea opened in downtown San Jose today. It's located on the south side of Santa Clara Street, between Market and First.

To celebrate the opening, the cafe is offering free coffee and pastries to everyone until 3:00 PM, so if you live or work in the area, stop by for some goodies.

When I dropped in earlier, it was busy, but they had a dozen people working, so the line moved fast. I grabbed a hazelnut latte. I wasn't going to get a pastry, but after some coaxing, I succumbed to a maple scone. Darn those scones! Those wily, irresistible scones!

1. They're a chain, but one with local roots (they started in Berkeley, CA).
2. They're an alternative to that ubiquitous Seattle-based coffee chain.
3. Most importantly, they serve good coffee.

I'm glad they moved in. Now I have another place to choose from when I feel like grabbing a cup of coffee on my walk to work.

1. Guilt - The first time I wrote about them, I griped about the size of the place and the price of the coffee and I felt bad about it afterwards.
2. Convenience - When I need coffee and only have five minutes to spare, it makes sense to run across the street instead of down the street for a cup. Plus, they've streamlined the brewing so it no longer takes four minutes to make a cup.
3. Quality - The Bluebottle Coffee they serve is good stuff. It's better than any coffee I can find in a two-block radius.
4. Improved Ambience - Since my first two visits, they added sidewalk seating and a couple of tables and stools inside to make the place more hospitable. They also started playing some good music.
5. Lower Price - In the form of a frequent customer program. True, it's another card to keep in my wallet, but for every ten drinks purchased, the eleventh is free, dropping the price per cup from $2.00 to $1.80. I'm halfway to my first free cup.

Full Disclosure: The gushing you read above was unforced and uncompensated, but written under the influence of an eMocha drip coffee.

On my way to work Friday morning, I noticed a new cafe in downtown San Jose. It's called Maui Wowi Hawaiian and it's located on First Street, near San Fernando Street. It's right next to Dog House Gourmet Hot Dogs, a place I wrote about last June.

It should be noted that Maui Wowi Hawaiian is a franchise with headquarters in Greenwood Village, Colorado, on the outskirts of Denver, a place better known for its blizzards than its Aloha spirit. I wonder how the decision to base their operations there was made...

Founder #1: I just found a great place to set up our office. It's centrally located and cheap!
Founder #2: Excellent! Somewhere near the beach, right? Just in case we want to get in some surfing before work?
Founder #1: Well, not exactly, but it shouldn't be hard getting in some form of outdoor recreation if we wanted.
Founder #2: Oh, well, how about a view of the ocean at least?
Founder #1: Well, not exactly, but we have a great view of the mountains.
Founder #2: Ah, Haleakala!
Founder #1: Something like that.
Founder #2: Cool. So when can I see the new office. Later this afternoon?
Founder #1: Uh, sure, we just have to, uh, well, buy plane tickets first.
Founder #2: Why plane tickets? The island isn't that big. And I thought you said it was centrally located.
Founder #1: It is, in a manner of speaking.
Founder #2: What?
Founder #1: Look, when you said you wanted something in our price range, I had to widen the net, in a manner of speaking, which meant looking at the mainland, too.
Founder #2: Oh, you mean California? San Francisco? I'm not a fan of the fog, but...
Founder #1: Further east.
Founder #2 Nevada? Las Vegas? At least it's warmer and there's gambling and it is the ninth island, but...
Founder #1: Colorado.
Founder #2: Colorado?! But... but Colorado is like the opposite of Hawaii!
Founder #1: Ha ha. Don't be silly. So, did you want an aisle or window seat?
Founder #2: I don't think any of my sandals can handle the snow. I don't think I even own a jacket... or gloves.

Anyway, despite the odd location of its headquarters and its ridiculous rhyming name, I made a mental note to give Maui Wowi a try later in the day.

When I returned that afternoon, the first things I noticed upon entering the cafe were the high lime green walls. Then my eyes were drawn to the island-themed furniture and interior decorating. The sounds of Hawaiian slack key guitars filled the air. It was enough to momentarily transport me to a white sandy beach thousands of miles away. The employees greeted me with a chorus of exuberant (and embarrassing) alohas.

Instead of trying one of the four special mochas on the menu, like the Maui Wowi Coco Loco Mocha, I played it safe with the easier-to-say Maui Wowi Latte, which is like a regular latte except it's made with Kona espresso. The drink was good, but also expensive ($3.75 for 16 ounces).

Since the place does combine two of my favorite things - coffee and Hawaii, I'll have to give it another try. Next time, though, I'm ordering plain Kona coffee so as not to drain my wallet.

This month, two new cafes opened in downtown San Jose. I know because I have a knack for noticing these things. These things being things that are new and coffee-related. Of course, if something has been around for ages and has nothing to do with coffee, then I probably have no clue it exists and will remain clueless until some kind person politely pokes me in the ribs and points it out.

The first place I noticed was eMocha Cafe. It's located on the first floor of an apartment building at the corner of Sixth and Santa Clara Streets.

The cafe is about the size of a walk-in closet with barely enough room for a coffee bar, a small refrigerator, and two benches. Actually, they aren't really benches. They're window ledges covered with cushions. I think they're more for show than for use.

The two times I've been to the cafe, I've ordered the drip coffee. They serve Bluebottle Coffee, a rare brand in town, and every cup is individually brewed.

For two dollars, one of the baristas will grind exactly forty-five coffee beans, carefully transfer it to a filter, and slowly pour 11.25 ounces of 200-degree-Fahrenheit water evenly over the grinds. He or she will then personally supervise and inspect every drop that drips into your twelve-ounce cup, ensuring it achieves the optimal level of extraction, thereby producing the perfect cup of coffee.

At least that's what I hope they're doing for that price. I couldn't really say since the barista's back was to me during the four-minute process.

Seriously, though, the coffee is good. It's also strong. I'll probably go back just because they open early (6 AM) and they're near the office. For anyone visiting downtown, the cafe is a few blocks out of the way and probably not worth the walk. There are plenty of cafes closer to the heart of the city that offer good coffee for less money.

One of those is Cafe Stretto, the other new cafe, which is located on the first floor of the Fairmont Hotel. It faces the alley that separates the original hotel from the new annex, closer to the Market Street side. To be more precise, it's situated between The Grill on the Alley and the new South Bay offices of the Earthquakes and Oakland Athletics.

In terms of size, it's about six square feet larger than eMocha. They do wonders with that extra space. They somehow manage to fit two tables-for-two and a window bar with stool-seating for four inside without stacking any furniture. They also have outdoor seating for those brave enough to sit outside and watch their espresso develop a layer of ice.

I tried Stretto for the first time yesterday. I ordered a doppio mocha that would have cost me $13.57 if I hadn't counted the change the barista gave me.

In the two seconds between the time I pointed out the mistake and the time she began serious button-pushing negotiations with the register to open the cash drawer, the barista gave me a look that made me doubt myself. For a brief moment, I actually considered the possibility that the drink might cost that much. This was the Fairmont Hotel after all and they served Illy coffee, another hard-to-find brand (at least in downtown San Jose). Luckily, her expression quickly shifted from accusing to apologetic and my doubts faded.

The drink was very tasty and I'm pleased to report that it took much longer to develop a layer of ice than I thought it would. If you plan to venture downtown, perhaps to visit Christmas in the Park or skate at Downtown Ice in the Circle of Palms, the cafe is worth a try.

I've been collecting the special edition coffee sleeves from Starbucks. Only four are pictured here, but a few hours ago, I collected my fifth. I believe I'm missing at least one to complete the set.

Collecting coffee cup sleeves is silly, but fun. I did a little digging through my journal and thought I'd point out two previous entries on the topic. In 2002, I talked about Starbucks holiday coffee sleeves. In 2003, I mentioned how art on coffee sleeves brightened my day.

Three years later, they still do.

Yesterday was a company holiday. The official reason was to observe Columbus Day, but I used it to unofficially recognize Thanksgiving Day in Canada.

It was a simple affair. I enjoyed a maple macchiato while listening to a hockey game (the Sharks won their third in a row). I also paused to list three Canadian comedians I like (Mike Myers, Phil Hartman, Eugene Levy) and one I like less (Howie Mandel) just to be fair.

By the way, Levy and Christ Guest are set to release a new movie this fall called For Your Consideration (official site). While it features the same cast as past Guest films (Catherine O'Hara, Michael McKean and Fred Willard, to name three), it abandons Guest's trademark mockumentary style in favor of a more conventional storytelling approach. Thankfully, there still appears to be plenty of improvisation, which is the heart of his comedies.

For a good laugh and as a prelude to the premiere, I should add This is Spinal Tap, Best in Show and A Mighty Wind to the top of my queue for a Guest and Co. movie marathon.

And since I can't seem to find a decent link for the maple macchiato I mentioned above, I'll link to Starbucks Gossip, an entertaining blog I stumbled across during my search, instead.

I will eventually graduate.
I will eventually graduate.
I will eventually graduate...
- The logo on a San Jose State t-shirt hanging in one of the university cafes.

1. They make a better than average au lait (especially when they use Tully's Baseball Blend).
2. They're the only cafe within easy walking distance from the office that makes cafe au laits.

During the summer, with the exception of the lunch rush, there is rarely a line at the cafe. But now, with the university's fall semester underway, there is always a line. I conveniently forgot that little detail when I felt a cafe au lait craving coming on this afternoon.

When I arrived, there were at least ten people waiting to order. I was tempted to turn around, but the craving was too strong to deny, so I planted myself at the end of the queue.

Thankfully, the line moved with some regularity. Every twenty seconds or so, everybody would shuffle forward a few steps. I was maybe four people away from the register when I noticed a nicely dressed guy, sporting sunglasses and a canvas book bag, enter the cafe.

He stood off to one side, propped his sunglasses on his forehead and perused the menu. Two shuffles of the line later, the guy said to the girl in front of me, "Hi. Could you do me a favor and order a small hot tea for me?"

She gave him a confused look, so he asked her again, but this time, added a smile and ran his hand through his hair. Like that, she agreed. It was like watching The Fonz at work (minus the finger snap). He pulled two dollars from his wallet and handed her the money as the woman behind the counter said, "Next!"

I was tempted to ask her to order my drink, too, but it just didn't feel right. Instead, I waited my turn and ordered my cafe au lait while The Fonz let his tea steep.

I first noticed it yesterday. Butcher paper lined the windows, hiding the interior from view. The name painted in the window was missing, as were the posters that usually advertised upcoming downtown events. Somebody had removed the outdoor tables and chairs and the sandwich board mentioning Vigal coffee, Krispy Kreme donuts and the morning specials no longer stood on the sidewalk.

It made me pause in confusion. Maybe they're remodeling, I thought. Or maybe they moved. I looked at the windows again for a clue, but the sign announcing when they'd return or where they relocated was nowhere to be seen. It suddenly dawned on me - Cafe Nono's was gone.

The last time I remember seeing it open was two or three weeks ago. The last time I stopped in for an Almond Joy was back in July. At the time, nothing indicated or hinted that they would be going out of business.

Last year, the Mercury News reviewed Nono's. The article reported that the owner had "Lebanese and Palestinian roots". I wonder if the recent violence between Israel and Hezbollah caused him to close shop and travel home to take care of family and friends caught in the attacks.

My overactive imagination, a la Amelie, envisions him returning home and dramatically rescuing people from houses reduced to rubble and rushing them to safety in a battered car while explosions go off all around them. Of course, it's just as easy (and probably more plausible), that he simply retired and is enjoying a round of golf on a tropical island somewhere. In any case, I hope he is doing well.

The folks at Nono's were always friendly to me. They made excellent drinks, especially Almond Joys and mochas, and Ali, the owner whose name I didn't know until I read the article, always greeted me with a smile and asked, "So, what can I get you, boss?" I'll miss them.

There were only two baristas working behind the counter at the busy Starbucks I visited this morning. Although they were rushing around, they were smiling. Their disposition was so cheerful, it worried me. It seemed unnatural, as though I had entered The Outer Limits.

Busy baristas aren't supposed to be happy. They're supposed to be impersonal and rude. They aren't supposed to say your name with a smile and a thank you. They're supposed to shout your name, avoid eye contact and start the next drink. I've seen it enough times to know how these things work.

So when I saw the happy baristas, I immediately knew something was wrong. I tried to determine the cause of their suspicious behavior, but couldn't place my finger on it until I took a moment to listen to the music playing in the background.

It was Tony Bennett. He was singing “The Way You Look Tonight”, an old standard that never fails to lift my spirits. I love playing it on the piano, something I regrettably don’t make time for these days.

It was obvious the crooner had charmed the baristas with his velvet voice. My only hope was that his spell would last until I left the coffee shop. Luckily, it did. I barely made it out the door with my grande caramel macchiato when the song ended.

Of course, their happiness may have been due to it being Friday, but that seems like such a dull reason. I would much rather believe it was due to the music.

Some day, when I'm awfully low,
When the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you,
And the way you look tonight.

Just write. Just write. Just write.

I won't be blocked if I just write. Of course, is it really writing if I simply write the same two-word phrase over and over again?

This is the last day of March. That means a quarter of the year is history. That means if 2006 hasn't been the year that you've wanted it to be, you still have 275 days to do something about it. 275 days is plenty of time.

Of course, if 2006 has been everything you dreamed it would be, well, there's still 275 days remaining for something horrible to happen and screw it up. Hmm, let's not think about it that way. Let's be optimists and say that the great year you've been having so far has the potential to be even better.

Today is Cesar Chavez Day, a California state holiday that I'm not exactly making the most of as I sit here at home, drink coffee and write a journal entry in my pajamas.

According to the weather report, there should be wind and rain outside, but from what I can see out my front window, there is nothing but sun, white clouds and blue skies. It's extremely tempting to jump in the car, drive to the nearest park and hike around while the bad weather is at bay.

Of course, with my luck, by the time I changed out of my pajamas (which wouldn't happen until I realized I was still in them a mile or two from the house and drove back), the predicted storm would have arrived. Since I won't be made a fool of by the weather, I'll just stay inside and watch it not rain for the next few hours.

In two days, Daylight Saving Time begins. That means we will all lose an hour, which is really a shame because I planned to use that hour to invent a commuter vehicle that runs on used coffee grinds. There wouldn't be any exhaust fumes, only the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Filling up would be easy since there must be just as many Starbucks and coffee shops as there are gas stations. Plus, those that brew their own coffee would have enough grinds to get them to work after they enjoyed their morning cup of joe at home. In-vehicle coffeemakers would come standard, as would spill-proof mugs and adjustable cup holders. Automatic milk and sugar dispensers and stir sticks would be optional features. Unfortunately, none of this will ever exist because we'll be losing an hour in a couple days.

Baseball's Opening Day is just three days away. During what seems to be the longest off-season ever, I somehow managed to beat the baseball blues. I finished the tenth and final disc of Ken Burns' Baseball a little over a week ago. If I had a wish list, that documentary and his Civil War series would be on it.

To hold me over for the next few days, I should be receiving the DVD of Game 6 of the 2004 ALCS between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. It's the game where Boston tied the best-of-seven series after losing the first three. It's also the game with Schilling's bloody sock and A-Rod's blatant ball-slapping stunt.

The disc is part of The Boston Red Sox 2004 World Series Collector's Edition, a 12-DVD set that I initially derided, but gradually desired thanks to something called uncontrollable curiosity. To avoid appearing obsessed with baseball or the Red Sox, I only put two of the discs in my queue (Games 6 and 7 of the ALCS).

Okay, that's about it for now. The sky is starting to look more overcast. Time to finish the last of the coffee, change into more suitable attire and see what I can do with the day before the rain comes.

I had seen the sign on Saturday advertising it, but had casually forgotten about it. Then a coworker mentioned in passing this morning and it was all I could think about. It, by the way, was the Starbucks Coffee Break.

I don't know if every Starbucks store is participating, but the one in downtown San Jose, across from Camera 12, was offering complimentary tall coffee between ten and noon this morning as part of its Coffee Break.

A few minutes before noon, I ducked out and walked briskly over to the store. I had promised myself I would be brave and only ask for the free cup of coffee and nothing else. Whenever places have promotions like this, I have a tendency to feel guilty and end up buying something to assuage my guilt.

I told myself repeatedly, "Ask only for the coffee. Only the coffee." But by the time I reached the counter, I was starting to lose my resolve.

"May I have a complimentary cup of coffee and..." (Going)

"And..." (Going)

"A maple oat nut scone, please?" (Gone)

Fortunately, my feeling of guilt only cost me $1.85, which isn't all that bad considering how many other items were available that also weren't free. To its credit, the maple oat nut scone went very well with the coffee.

Write what you know. It's the one piece of advice every aspiring writer learns. That means if you're Raechel Ray, you write about cooking. If you're Bode Miller, you write about winning Olympic medals partying. And if you're me, you write about missing the train, which, by the way, is way cooler than cooking or partying.

If I ever write a series of novels, every adventure will begin with the main character missing some form of public transportation. Of course, this statement is based on the bold assumption that I'll write X number of novels where X is an integer greater than zero.

As I've learned from missing many trains and buses, strange things happen during those unexpected fifteen minutes of free time before the next train or bus arrives. To support this statement, I offer the following, rather lengthy episode as evidence...

Last year, I was crazy about of Starbucks' Chantico. This year, I'm all gaga over their Cinnamon Dolce Latte. It's a latte with the added flavoring of cinnamon (obviously) and dolce brown sugar.

I remember seeing the word dolce in certain classical pieces I played when I was younger. If I recall correctly, it meant sweetly, which I took to mean my fingers should tiptoe across the keys while I wore a somber, slightly pained expression on my face.

I suppose they chose the word to fancy up the name and make it sound sophisticated. That's all good and fine, but what they didn't consider was how it would sound as it stumbled and staggered across my tongue. It comes out as gracefully as a ballerina dancing aboard a trawler caught in a storm.

I've ordered the drink four times in the last week and have had two baristas correct me and one asks me to repeat myself. I'm thinking about grabbing a whole stack of sleeves, writing my order ("V CDL") and simply handing it to them at the register so there's no confusion in the matter.

Of course, my pronunciation problems won't prevent me from getting my Cinnamon Do-hrmph Latte. The drink is tasty and my newest favorite.

Picking up from where I left off, I spent a peaceful Saturday morning at Barnstormers, a cafe in Bedford that had an aviation theme. Old photographs and posters from air shows hung on the walls. The interior decorating gave one the sense of being in a tiny air hangar.

I ordered a large mint chocolate coffee. I had never had one, but I thought I'd be daring and chose the biggest size. The blend tasted wonderful for the first twelve ounces or so, just about the amount of a typical small drink. It tasted okay by the time I consumed the equivalent of a medium. By the time I finished all twenty ounces, it tasted plain nasty. I had obviously chosen poorly.

Anyway, when I left, I pulled out my camera and took a photo of the cafe's exterior. As soon as I did, one of the employees stormed out. She asked accusingly, "Did you just take a picture?"

Although I had done nothing wrong, guilt swept over me. It must have been the tone in the woman's voice. Since I was still holding the camera and couldn't very well deny it, I said, "Uh, yes?"

"Are you a reporter?" she questioned, hands on her hips.

"No, I'm a tourist," I replied.

"A tourist?" she repeated with a frown, as though I had just admitted to being a terrorist. I almost wondered if she misheard me.

She clearly thought I was up to no good, so I quickly clarified, "A tourist. A tourist from California. I'm just visiting and wanted to take a photo."

As comprehension sunk in, her demeanor suddenly changed. The frown became a smile and she let her arms relax in relief. "Oh, you like our place?"

I could have been stupid and said, "Well, I was leaning towards liking it until your coffee nearly made me sick and you came out and scared the bejeezus out of me, but now I 'm not so sure." But I decided to take the prudent route and said, "Oh, yes, I like it a lot. I just wanted a souvenir to remember it by. So, thanks and have a nice day!"

Later in the day, M & I walked along one of the neighborhood trails to The Great Road and had lunch at Whole Foods Market because it was there and we wanted something healthy to eat. As evening came around, we visited Cambridge, strolled through the Harvard campus and stopped for ice cream at Baskin Robbins. Before leaving, we browsed through the Harvard Book Store and I bought a copy of the 150th anniversary edition of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass.

On the edge of the little town of Beansville, there used to be a cafe that sold the best coffee in the entire county. People from near and far would come for a cup of joe. Some folks took such a liking to it that they named their firstborn Joe. It was that good.

To get a cup of coffee at The Old Cafe was an ordinary thing. All a person needed to do was walk in and order one. Joseph, who regulars called Old Joe to differentiate from other Joes, would pour the hot brew, give it to the customer, ring it up on the register and take payment, usually a quarter a cup. Customers who wanted to add milk or sugar (typically the ones not from around those parts) could help themselves. The process was simple and fast.

Then one day, Old Joe passed away and his brother, Aidan, took over. Now, Aidan knew nothing of the coffee business, but had an MBA and figured that those three letters would be enough to fill his brother's shoes. He had Big Ideas.

First, he moved The Old Cafe to a bigger space in the center of town. "It will revitalize Beansville by drawing in the crowds, which will bring more business," he said.

Then, he gave the place a bigger name. "It needs a name that means something. From this day forth, The Old Cafe will be known as Customer Service Cafe!"

Finally, to go with the new name, he revamped the whole ordering process. "The way people get their coffee is antiquated. I'm going to revolutionize the way folks get a cup of joe. And while I'm at it, from now on, I'm calling it a cup of aidan!"

To get a cup of aidan at Customer Service Cafe was no ordinary thing. A person had to stand in line to order one. Jacob, Aidan's son, would complete an electronic form specifying the cup size, whether or not to add milk and/or sugar and the cup number. The customer then took the printed order slip to a second line where Aidan would exchange the slip and payment (now a dollar a cup) for a receipt and an appropriately numbered cup. The person then stood in a third line to hand the receipt and cup to Madison, Aidan's wife, who would look up the cup number in the database and fill the order. It was most certainly a revolutionary process. Antiquated expediency gave way to innovative mistakes and slower service.

Word soon spread about the legendary lines at Customer Service Cafe, now referred to as Queue Cup by grumpy locals. Folks from all over the county flocked to see the spectacle. To drum up tourism, the chamber of commerce claimed the lines were "longer and livelier than the ones in Disneyland!" Of course, with the influx of onlookers, demand for services and items, namely coffee, rose.

Competing cafes and coffee carts started sprouting up like Starbucksia, a common weed found in most towns. Places like Instant Joe, Coffee Now! and The No Wait Bistro and Waffle House started drawing away customers from Aidan's lines and soon forced him to sell the shop to Emma, Old Joe's only daughter, who had recently graduated from college.

She gave Customer Service Cafe an extreme makeover, which mainly involved putting things back the way they were and taking a sledgehammer to the neon sign outside. With time and hard work, she restored the reputation of The Old Cafe for fast service and the best coffee in the county.

(Inspired by an actual "revolutionary" non-coffee-related event.)

Random and useless trivia (my favorite type): In 1880, Joseph and Emma were the sixth most popular names for babies. In 2004, Aidan and Madison were the second most popular names. Emma topped the girls' list, but Joseph had fallen to 24th for the boys.

Like a door-to-door solicitor, a craving for mocha came knocking this morning. It had the most inconvenient timing considering that I was just finishing a cup of coffee. Before boarding the train, I ordered an Islander Mocha from the depot cafe. I admit, the name hooked me. Images of palm trees and sandy beaches floated across my mind. I half hoped the drink would come in a cup carved from a coconut. Unfortunately, the only thing coconut about it was the syrup they added. The drink itself was good, but some aloha spirit in its presentation would have created the right mood to enjoy it thoroughly.

Sorry. I got distracted there. I wanted to write about last night's American Idol. It was the big showdown between Bo and Carrie. Frankly, I was disappointed in both of them. The battle of the best seemed like a bust. I don't know if it was nerves or the lackluster originals they were singing, but neither of them sounded at the top of their game.

Back near the beginning, around 1995, when there were many Idol hopefuls, I used baseball references to talk about the various contestants. I'd like to go back to that as the season ends.

To me, Bo is a control pitcher. He's Greg Maddux. He doesn't have a ton of power, but he has command of the ball (or his voice in this case) and can throw it wherever he wants with consistency. Occasionally, even control pitchers miss their mark and he had a few notes out of the strike zone last night.

On the first song, "The Long Long Road", he had a struggle reaching the lower notes, but soon regained control and finished it solidly. He was also sporting the first decent pair of shades I've seen all season. On his last song, the horrible "Inside Your Heaven", he sang the heck out of it, but there was one part where he seemed to suffer from a bad case of lyrical amnesia and gas. For once, he actually made me cringe, which isn't like Bo at all. Only "Vehicle", the song in the middle, saved him.

Carrie is a power pitcher. For her, it's about putting as much velocity on the ball (or volume into her singing) as possible. She's Randy Johnson. The problem with fastball pitchers is that if they start running into trouble, the only solution they see is to throw harder. Carrie was all over the place with her vocals last night. Consequently, she was practically yelling in parts.

During her rendition of "Inside Your Heaven", she was completely off-key and sounded like Kermit the Frog a few times. On "Independence Day", her best song, she sounded like she was always a half note above where she was supposed to be. You could hear the strain in her voice and see it in her face as she attempted to sing louder. It was a disaster. She seemed to recover somewhat on the last song, "Angels Brought Me Here", but it was only temporary. After a few lines, it seemed like somebody hijacked her voice and made her sing a completely different song while the band played on.

The judges heaped praise upon both finalists. Most of the positive remarks stemmed from memories of past performances. The most worrisome comment came when Simon told Carrie that he thought she had done enough to win the competition. I didn't get it. I began to wonder if he and I were listening to the same people singing.

I'm hopeful Bo will become the next Idol, but I have this feeling that Carrie will pull off an upset and take the title instead. It would be disappointing, but not devastating. If she won, Bo would become the next American Clay, a runner-up who ends up overshadowing the winner, which isn't a bad deal at all.

Here are five things off the top of my head on a sunny Friday morning.

First, I can't believe Constantine went home on Wednesday. I mean, I'm glad he's gone, but I just can't believe America showed him so little love. By the way, his farewell rendition of "How You Remind Me" was worse than the one that got him kicked off.

Second, let's talk about the weather. I'm only happy when it rains during the week, while I'm at my desk. If it were possible, I'd ask the rain to take an hour for lunch. Rain on the weekend should be illegal.

Third, have you seen the Starbucks cups with the little "The Way I See It" blurbs? My favorite is #33, a poem by Nikki Giovanni...

Hot allusions
Metaphors over easy
Side order of rhythm
Grit/s plain or with sauce
Message:
If you want to be a poet
You've got to eat right

Fourth, the Giants have a two-game winning streak going, which is only notable because it isn't a two-game losing streak. If you read Peanuts, you know that even Charlie Brown's baseball team can have a two-game winning streak.

Win #1:

Peppermint Patty: Bad news, Chuck. My team can't play your team today. We have too many guys who aren't feeling well. We're going to have to forfeit the game. You win, Chuck.
Charlie Brown: All right, team! I don't want any letdown now! We've got a streak going!

Win #2:

Franklin: Hello, Charlie Brown? This is Franklin. We won't be able to play your team today. Five of our guys can't make it. We'll just have to forfeit the game. You win, Charlie Brown.
Charlie Brown: I can't believe it. A two-game winning streak.

The Giants had yesterday off, so their streak lasted an extra day. In order for it to grow, they'll have to win against the Pirates in Pittsburgh. By the way, Arizona is first in the West. When did that happen? I suspect the division lead will be changing hands many times this season.

Fifth, on the light rail, the only thing more annoying (and rude) than a person talking loudly on a cell phone is a person playing drums. You think I'm kidding, but the guy had an iPod and sticks. He was drumming on his skateboard to a song only he could hear. That went on for about a minute or so before a woman asked him to stop. He had the luxury of playing the tough guy behind his reflective sunglasses. He stared at her for second before returning to his own little world, all the while never missing a beat. She asked him again and he suddenly noticed that everybody was staring at him, including a couple of large, mean-looking guys who had been exchanging jailhouse stories. He decided it was in his best interest to stop.

Of course, this got me to thinking how it might be cool to have a train band, which is like a house band, but with a consistent gig playing tracks on the tracks. Oh, how I crack only myself up. They could occupy a raised stage in the last car and provide entertainment for those who desire a little live music on their way to work. Just a thought. Go out and have a great weekend.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but the coffee at work is hideous. Despite that fact, I'm still a member of the office coffee club. It's hard to beat $3.50 a month for unlimited hazelnut and vanilla coffee creamer. In some places, refrigerated creamer might be considered a luxury, but here, it's a necessity. The liquid that claims to be coffee is quite undrinkable without disguising it with a hint (or four) of flavoring.

When I first came to this office, there was an old coffeemaker that took an hour to brew a pot of really bad coffee. Some people weren't happy about it, not about the really bad coffee, but about how long it took to brew. Then a month ago, somebody bought a brand new maker. Now we get really bad coffee six times faster, in regular or bold strength.

1. Would you like this ground?
2. What type of filter?
3. May I have your money? (Okay, it's more of a silent question accompanied by an upturned palm, but still.)

Today, the barista asked the same three things, but surprised me with a fourth question...

Barista: (accepting $10.15 in exact change) Would you like a free cup of coffee with that?
Me: (failing to disguise surprise) Really? Uh, sure.
B: What size?
Me: Well, uh, how about a grande? *
B: Not a venti?
Me: No thanks, a grande works.
B: Okay, coming right up.

It's been a while since a Starbucks barista offered me anything free. When the chain first opened here, they regularly gave customers a free cup of coffee with the purchase of beans. If somebody bought a travel mug, the first drink was typically free. Over time, those perks seemed to disappear. I doubt I'll be offered another complimentary cup of coffee anytime soon, so I wanted to remember the occasion.

*I would've asked for a venti, but felt it would've been greedy of me. A tall didn't seem like enough, so I went all Goldilocks and chose the size in between.

Before heading to Yosemite, I spotted the new Viennese Blend (Wien 2001) at Starbucks. Curiosity (and sentimentality) got the best of me, so I bought a half-pound bag. When I think of Vienna, I think of the city's coffeehouses. Coffee is so highly regarded there. They brew it strong and serve it in real cups. Coffee isn't something to rush around with and gulp down. It�s something to sit with, sip and appreciate. We tried the blend over the weekend, brewing a pot in the cabin and enjoying a cup to start each day. It had a sweet, caramel taste that made it distinct and delicious. It also went well with chocolate candy bars.

On a slight tangent, Starbucks recently added the caramel mocha to their menu. At first, the addition befuddled me. Then, this morning, after I ordered a grande caramel mocha that cost $3.65, I had an epiphany. Scanning the menu, I saw that if I had ordered a plain grande mocha, it would've cost $3.30. Adding caramel syrup would've cost thirty cents more. Doing the complicated calculation, the price difference dawned on me. By changing a mocha with caramel to a caramel mocha, Starbucks had succeeded in snatching an extra nickel from my pocket. Pretty sneaky.

Where I live, the downtown area isn't that big. It's one street, less than a half-mile long, with a police station at one end and a new community center at the other end. In between, it has a number of restaurants, a bookstore, a bike shop, a toy store, a tavern, a music shop, a music school, a barbershop, a general store, three cafes and a new tattoo parlor.

Of the three downtown cafes, I frequent the two closest to home. I'm not counting the train depot cafe since it's more closely related to a cart than a coffee shop. The third cafe resides across from the community center. It's called Jumpin' Juice & Java and offers the town's only drive-thru coffee. Today, I finally decided to stop by and try it.

While it has a drive-thru window, it also has a large indoor sitting space, which is clean and well lit. Display cases, full of coffee-related merchandise, separate the counter from the seating area. There is a ceiling-high bookcase filled with old books, a couple of couches and plenty of tables and chairs, similar to those found in the typical family restaurant. In fact, the place looks like what you would get if Starbucks and Bakers Square were to hook up and have an offspring (think Conan O'Brien's If They Mated, but for food chains).

The menu offers the usual selection of sandwiches, salads and soups. It has an assortment of espresso drinks and juices of the jamba variety. The company claims to have "the hippest drinks on earth" and while I can't vouch for that, it does have espresso concoctions named Almond Joy, Milky Way and Snickers, which is pretty sweet. Prices are comparable to the prices of the average cafe.

I ordered a sixteen-ounce Snickers, which is mocha mixed with caramel and peanut butter (syrup, I'm guessing and hoping). It's a drink that tastes funny after a sip, but grows on you. I'll have to try the Milky Way next time.

Overall, the service was decent. The guy behind the counter was as friendly and alert as any normal person would be expected to be before seven in the morning. While I only stayed for about fifteen minutes (I had a train to catch), the atmosphere was pleasant enough. The place is definitely worth a return visit.

This morning began, unofficially, with a hurried cup of coffee and the smell of mushrooms. It had the beginnings of a bad day.

I stood at the bus stop and tried to drink my hot coffee as quickly as possible. Beverages aren't allowed aboard buses and the bus was scheduled to arrive at any moment. With the lid off, I hoped the exposure would cool the liquid to a drinkable temperature.

The coffee was a dark roast, not as good as the vanilla macadamia nut kona I had the morning before, but still delicious. I found myself rather annoyed at having to rush through it.

Two minutes later, the bus appeared at the bend in the road, a quarter-mile away. I swore mildly and contemplated chugging down the coffee, but something told me I might regret that desperate act with every swallow that followed. As the bus pulled up, I took one last gulp and tossed the half-full (or half-empty) cup into the trash receptacle.

The doors opened and a grinning bus driver greeted me with, "Good morning!" I gave him a weak smile and showed him my pass. He nodded, pressed a button with one gloved hand and raised something to his lips with the other. It was a cup, a cup with a steaming coffee mug logo on it. Then, right before my eyes, the driver did something unspeakable. He took a sip.

I wanted to point and shout (or state in a stern voice), "That's not fair!" But I contained myself, found a seat near the back of the bus and silently stewed. To calm down, I gazed out the window and thought of my coffee, fondly recalling the precious seconds of joy we had shared.

Outside, it was still early morning. It was so early that the morning light looked like it was barely awake and hadn't bothered to comb its hair before showing up for work. It's amazing to see the world change from night to day in a matter of minutes. Granted, you have to wait for the right matter of minutes, but seeing the sunrise is worth the wait. For a short while, the eastern hills were silhouetted, as the black sky became a brilliant shade of blue.

The bus traveled on. Housing developments became open fields. Asphalt and concrete gave way to soil and grass, as though the landscape was slipping into something more comfortable. The smell of mushrooms, from the surrounding farms, seeped into the vehicle through hidden vents and window cracks. It was suddenly difficult to imagine anything without mushroom flavoring, including coffee, especially the driver's coffee, still a sore subject even as I stepped off the bus and boarded the light rail.

I'm now sitting at a cafe, a block away from work, drinking what I�m calling my first "official" cup of coffee. I�m taking my time with this one. Coffee was meant to be enjoyed with slow sips and without hints of mushroom.

Today is Wednesday, the second day of February, one week away from the Year of the Rooster. It also happens to be Groundhog Day, so there may be a chance we�ll all be repeating this day a few more times, which might not be such a bad thing. With respect to coffee, I could use a do over or two.

Thanks to a tip from a kind commenter, I took a short lunch yesterday to leave the office early and stop by the nearest Starbucks for the new Chantico drink. For one hour, sixty entire minutes, they were offering customers free six-ounce samples of what they call drinking chocolate. I call it a little cup of heaven. As I was trying it, I looked at the menu board for the price. I gaped in astonishment, drops of divinity nearly spilling from my mouth, as it slowly registered that the next six-ounce cup of chocolate goodness I ordered would cost $2.65. Apparently, heaven in a cup doesn't come cheap. (Yet, the temptation remains.)

I don't usually drink hot chocolate, but ever since somebody brought in a container of Nestle hot cocoa mix to make the office coffee more bearable, I've been having a cup every afternoon. It's sad how the quality of the coffee has deteriorated over the last few months. Anyway, besides avoiding bad coffee, part of my motivation to drink it drew from the fact that I recently acquired a bottle of Starbucks peppermint flavored syrup (clearance priced!). Nothing keeps the holiday spirit alive like a fresh cup of peppermint hot chocolate in January.

Today is the first Friday of 2005. It's a little hard to believe that a week of the new year is now in the history books (or electronic archives). That seems awfully quick, as though whoever is in charge of spinning the world put something extra on the first few revolutions.

This post wasn't intended to be about hot chocolate or marveling at how fast time passes. It was supposed to be about my resolutions, but I was at a loss and couldn't think of a single one, not because I couldn't find any areas for improvement, but because I found too many. For guidance and a starting point, I looked at what others resolved to do in the new year, which is my way of explaining why a few of these might look familiar to some of you.

1. eat healthier and drink more water
2. learn to cook edible dishes
3. set and keep an exercise routine
4. volunteer more
5. read and write daily
6. clean, cleanse and organize my place
7. update this journal every day (or at least 365 times this year)
8. continue to step outside of my comfort zone
9. be more patient, mature and considerate
10. save money for long-term dreams (travel, art, a cabin)

The idea was to stay creatively motivated and caffeinated at the same time. The goal was to try 30 different cafes around the Bay Area in November. Falling short was the most disappointing part of my NaNo experience. To think, had I made it to those last five cafes, I could've enjoyed five more cups of coffee. It's sad. I know.

One other disappointment was not making it to Capitola Coffee Roasters. It served as the "home away from home" for some of my characters before their big adventure in Yosemite. I hope to fit in a visit before the end of the year.

1. Lowry's Irish Coffee House, San Jose
2. Pacific Java Cafe, Pacifica
3. Y'a Bon Espresso, Morgan Hill
4. Plumes Coffee House, Monterey
5. Fog City Java, Pacifica

Lowry's is small, clean, not crowded and offers free wireless internet. It has porch seating and a homey feeling. It doesn't have a wide selection of coffee, but what they have is good and comes in a glass.

Pacific Java is an airy, two-story cafe with seating in its loft. It has a variety of drinks and pastries. It also has free coffee refills, which is a big plus. They play uninspiring music, but I like the overall feel of the cafe.

Y'a Bon Espresso is close to home, but feels miles away. The music and interior decorating fit its theme of New Orleans. It's easy to lose yourself there and the coffee is excellent.

Plumes offers delicious slow drip coffee in the middle of historic downtown Monterey and Fog City Java in Pacifica, though small and somewhat dingy, offers this view.

Honorable mentions include University Cafe (Palo Alto), Mission City (Santa Clara) and Cafe Borrone (Menlo Park). They can be noisy at times, but they have an energy about them and long hours. If you're looking for something cozy with tasty soup, I'd recommend Flower Flour in San Jose.

• Kalisa's La Ida Cafe, Monterey
• Espresso Garden & Cafe, San Jose
• Starmars Cafe, San Jose

Kalisa's was cramped like a storage closet. Espresso Garden, with its white tablecloths, felt like an uninviting restaurant. Starmars was empty and the pumpkin spice cafe au lait the owner recommended was, in a word, nasty.

A few cafes remain on my On Deck list. I hope to visit them soon. The cold month of December seems like the perfect time. Thank you to those who gave recommendations. I appreciate it.

Note: Sorry if everything is too brief. I tried to be helpful, but keep the length blog-readable. If you have questions about a particular cafe, let me know.

If one were to use this blog as a calendar, he or she would likely wonder why Thursday through Sunday were missing. I, on the other hand, would wonder why he or she was using my blog as a calendar.

Veterans' Day found me watching The Incredibles. Seeing an imaginative, intelligent and witty movie seemed like the patriotic thing to do. Pixar's latest creation is worth seeing again (and again).

(A quick aside: On Tuesday, which really doesn't fall between Thursday and Sunday, but again, this isn't a calendar, I saw The Polar Express at the IMAX theater. Two words describe the experience: too big. Nostrils and Steven Tyler were never meant to be seen on a screen that size.)

After the movie, we drove to Monterey, which was rainy and gray. We spent the afternoon in Plumes Coffee House, where I wrote and enjoyed a cup of slow drip coffee. Instead of pouring myself a cup from a carafe with coffee that could've been sitting there two days, they made my cup to order, on the spot. It was strong, superb and well worth the extra 45 cents.

Come Friday, the clouds fled and left Monterey sunny and blue. We spent most of the day relaxing around Cannery Row. We relaxed so long that we actually drained Monterey of its entire relaxation supply. With the day hardly done, we drove to Carmel and managed to reach the beach just as the sun set. Unfortunately, my camera was snoozing in the car, so I don't have a shot of the sunset, as the photo above shows.

Saturday involved working on the backyard irrigation system, spending time with the folks and having dinner with the grandparents in Santa Cruz at King Chwan Chinese Restaurant. My sister thought we should order the Bon Bon Chicken, Dan Dan Noodles and San San Seafood Noodle Soup because it would be fun to say. For some reason, nobody else found the idea very amusing (well, except me).

To retaliate, she took us to brunch at The Cheesecake Factory on Sunday. For those of you unfamiliar with the restaurant, it's where you can buy expensive cheesecake and wait thirty minutes for an order of scrambled eggs, sliced tomatoes, grilled ham and a burnt bagel. It's also where if you ask for jam, they won't bring you an assortment of flavors. They will give you one packet of strawberry jam because it's all they carry.

That wraps up my account of the missing days. By the way, I can deal with a restaurant making me wait for food, but one that doesn't carry grape jam or orange marmalade? That's simply unacceptable.

Yesterday morning, before reading blogs, I had written a blurb about coffee that I thought I posted. It turns out I never did. When I went to look for it, I couldn't find the blurb on my PDA, which disturbed me because my PDA really isn't that big. To lose something on it would require either the greatest mastermind who ever lived or, apparently, me.

I began worrying that I had only imagined writing something. To my relief, I stumbled across the snippet using the highly efficient search method of scanning through each and every memo, somehow missing the one I wanted and then scanning through everything again. Anyway, here it is:

In the town where I live, Y'a Bon Espresso recently converted the old train depot into a tiny cafe. Years ago, you could walk up to the window, hand the person some money and he or she would hand you a train ticket to, say, San Francisco. Now, you can walk up to that same window, hand the person some money and he or she will hand you a nonfat, no foam, no whip latte that costs the same as a train ticket to San Francisco. Snazzy, huh?

This morning, I got to the station late. Usually, if I didn't brew a cup at home, this means I'd miss out on my early morning coffee. Not so today. Although I was late, I was able to buy a delicious cup of Versailles blend (not Vaudoux) just two minutes before the train arrived. It's one of the perks of being less than fifteen feet from the platform.

I have a craving for a Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte, which is funny because before Monday, every time I saw an in-store promotion for the drink, I kept thinking, "Dang! Pumpkin and spice mixed into a latte? That must taste something nasty!" This paraphrased thought inevitably led to the following conversation...

Me: Have you tried the new Pumpkin Spice Latte at Starbucks?
Other Person: No.
Me: Oh.
OP: You?
Me: No.
OP: Huh.
Me: It must taste something nasty.
OP: Yeah.

Drained from the discourse, I decided to try the drink. So, on Monday, I ordered a sample sized tall Pumpkin Spice Latte. To my disappointment, it didn't taste nasty at all. It was simply a latte with a mild pumpkin pie flavor. Not as good as a peppermint mocha, but good enough to cause a craving.

Let's say your day at work has been crazy busy. You've been staring at the monitor unblinkingly, hammering away at your assignments, trying to ward off interruption after interruption and, being the good worker bee (or drone) you are, even skipping lunch. You glance at the clock and it tells you the day is far from over. What do you do to relieve the stress in fifteen minutes or less? I have a suggestion based on fresh-from-the-oven experience.

[Printing the following instructions is advisable.]

Slide your chair away from the desk. If you have a wireless phone, put it in a drawer. Any drawer. It doesn't matter. If you don't have a phone and feel left out, a banana (or any other handy fruit) makes a fine substitute.

Get up from your chair and walk out of the building. How stealthily you escape is up to you. The idea is to be nonchalant and, no, your Harry Potter invisibility cloak probably won't work. Unnoticed, you're now outside and making your way to your car.

If you don't have a car or didn't drive one today, then a bicycle or horse will do. Walking also works, but remember you only have thirteen minutes or so remaining, depending on how fast you read.

Before you start your car/bicycle/horse, I should tell you where you're going. You�re making a beeline for Starbucks or any suitable coffee equivalent. So insert the key in the ignition, raise the kickstand and give your steed a giddy up. Be sure to switch the radio to a relaxing classical station. Please don't try turning dials on the horse, you will only succeed in pissing it off.

[Stop here! Put this paper down, buckle up and pay attention to the road. When you've reached your destination and have gotten in line, please resume reading.]

Okay, you've reached your destination, politely waited in line and are ready to order with nine minutes left. Request a medium (grande to the Starbucks crowd) peppermint mocha, pay for it and while you wait, take a moment to enjoy the view. If there isn't a view, then appreciate the artwork. If there's no artwork, then admire the pretty people, but don't stare at them (or get caught staring), that's rude and a tad creepy.

Once you have your drink, thank the barista, but don't run off yet. Take your time and savor the first few sips. A peppermint mocha is like Christmas in a cup. So, focus on visions of sugarplums or other pleasant memories. Are you focusing? Good. Sit with them for a minute. Take another sip and let the stress slip away. Do you feel more relaxed? Nice. Now snap out of it! You only have four minutes to get back to work.

Don't worry. You can bring the mocha with you. After you park your trusty steed, calmly make your way back to your desk. If you want, check the messages on your banana before tackling the rest of the workday. Good luck, enjoy your mocha and be thankful that tomorrow is Friday.

This was a good morning to feel uneducated. I walked into the cafe and saw they had a blend called Vaudoux available. I never had it before, so I decided to try a cup. Everything seemed fine until the coffee girl was ready to take my order and I blanked on the word's pronunciation.

Coffee Girl: Good morning!
Me: Good morning. Hi. Let's see, may I get a large, uh, vawdoh?
CG: ?
Me: I mean, um, vohdoh? Vowduh? Vuhdoo?
CG: ???
Me: (pointing emphatically) Dahh! That one!
CG: Ohhh, you mean voodoo.
Me: (flustered) Well, yeah, sure. I kinda said that. Approximately.

Thank goodness for my rapid recovery skills. I quickly paid the $1.60 in exact change, avoided eye contact with the all-knowledgeable coffee girl and slunk over to the cream and sugar cart.

vaudoux = voodoo

I'll definitely remember how to say that word the next time I visit. In a year or two.

Bad: A gnat flying around my desk.
Worse: A gnat flying around my coffee.
Worst: A gnat swimming (and subsequently drowning) in my coffee.

When it first happened early yesterday morning, I wigged out and promptly disposed of the tainted drink with the cry, "Everybody out of the coffee!" I then sterilized the cup with boiling hot water. One can never be too careful in these situations.

I refilled the cup and this time put a sheet of scratch paper on top to prevent further gnat contamination another meaningless gnat death. Minutes later, I removed the improvised lid to take a sip and found another floater. Freak out. Dispose. Rinse.

Things were becoming serious. I had plastic cup covers at home, but that didn't solve the immediate problem. Someone is probably thinking, "What's the big deal about having a gnat in your coffee? Drink it already!" While that seems logical for lesser liquids like soda, water or possibly beer, we're talking about coffee here. I've never had a barista ask me, "Room for cream? Room for gnats?"

Doing my best Wile E. Coyote impression, I devised a plan. I poured my cup of coffee and then filled an ACME decoy cup. The gnats would obviously fall for the decoy and leave mine alone. The plan was idiotic foolproof.

Before leaving for lunch, I covered both cups, just in case the gnats caught wind of my devious ploy. I thought I was being clever until I returned and discovered the decoy was gnat-free. "Curious," I thought. Then I checked my cup. "D'oh!" Two gnats had met their untimely end... in the wrong cup! Sigh. Dispose. Rinse. Drink decoy coffee.

Today I'm using a plastic lid and it seems to be working... so far. I wouldn't be surprised if the gnats are formulating a counter-strategy right now. Darn bugs!

Coffee snobs gush over indie cafes and deride commercial chains as adamantly as music and movie snobs denounce anything mainstream and rave over indie records and films. Since I'm an aspiring coffee snob and can't seem to complete a single movie review, I'll ramble on about coffee for a bit.

On Friday night, with only a minute until the movie started, I ordered coffee at the Camera Cafe. Walking over to the dispensers, I noticed angry people holding empty cups and staring impatiently at the slow drip coffee machine. Surprisingly, it didn't drip any faster.

A huge puddle of hot coffee covered the floor behind the counter. Somebody had knocked over an open carafe. Unable to stomach the sight of spilt coffee and unwilling to miss the film, I acted out of desperation and filled my cup with Decaf Columbia Supremo. Shameful, I know.

Fortunately, there was plenty of coffee and a clean floor on Sunday, when I returned. I was able to have my favorite theater blend known as the FogBuster. Not only does it taste great, but the name is cool, too.

Just as some people choose their favorite sports teams based solely on the mascot or jersey colors (not that any of you would do that), I'll often try a coffee blend simply because of the name. At the Second Street Coffee Exchange, they serve the Big Sur blend. There's nothing special about it, but the name appeals to me. A true coffee snob wouldn't be swayed so easily. It's something I need to work on.

On the edge of town, hidden away in a strip mall anchored by very corporate chains like Target and McDonald's, is Y'a Bon Espresso. The interior is colorfully decorated and some of the walls have signs that read "N'awlins" and "Be Nice or Leave". The cafe offers blends from Torrefazione Italia. If you're curious, it's pronounced "Toray-fot-see-ohnay", according to the company. All of the tables and chairs have price tags on them and are for sale. I used to pass by it all of the time. It wasn't until this January that I finally stopped in and had an espresso. Now it's one of my favorite places.

This entry earned me a point or two towards coffee snobhood, don't you think? It certainly didn't help me finish any movie reviews.

It's one-thirty on a Saturday afternoon. I'm sitting on a tall stool at a small, circular table near the entrance of a Tully's at the intersection of Castro and 18th in San Francisco. Sounds from outside welcome themselves in through the propped open door. Every few minutes I hear the squeal of brakes as a bus stops in front of the coffee shop.

People sit by the front window, drinking espresso and reading the newspaper. Only a thin piece of glass separates them from the constant flow of pedestrian traffic. I've never been comfortable sitting so close to the sidewalk.

Behind me, two women are having a lively discussion about something. I can't tell the topic of conversation because I've succeeded in tuning out the words and hearing only their animated voices. I bet most guys have that ability.

Why am I sitting here writing in this notebook? Because I have a few minutes before a movie begins at the Castro Theatre. It's part of the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival (SFIAAFF). I'll be seeing Miss Match, a series of short films focused on the feeling of not fitting in. Sounds light and uplifting, doesn't it?

To be honest, it wasn't my first choice, but by the time I got to the city, the movie I wanted to see (The Ride) was sold out. I'll be coming back tomorrow night to hit the rush line. The festival will be in San Jose on the 19th and I'm looking forward to those screenings.

Twenty minutes until show time. Let's see. You can tell when people are crossing 18th Street. A voice at the corner suddenly yells out, "A vote for Nader is a vote for Bush!"

The woman behind me just swore and I involuntarily glanced at her. My dumb curiosity always gets the better of me. She paused a beat before continuing on with her rant. It's funny how a curse word catches my attention. Up to that point, all I had heard was a rapid string of "blah blah blah".

I love the sound of beans poured into an espresso machine. I'm guessing that was a three-pound bag. I have no idea. I should start walking back to the theater. Did I mention the weather is gorgeous today? Okay, I'll put my pen down now.

Whenever somebody says they don't drink coffee, my immediate reply is usually, "That's just wrong!" I responded to two people that way on Sunday. Then, as any good hypocrite would, I went the next three days without drinking a sip. Fortunately, I made amends by having a cup yesterday. Some might call it falling off the wagon, but I call it climbing back aboard.

It didn't rain during this year's Christmas In The Park tree lighting, which was made the long ceremony more bearable. San Jose, at events like these, feels like a small town. Local dignitaries speak and school choirs perform, but it is nothing as polished as truly big cities, like San Francisco or New York City.

This year the city installed snow machines on lampposts throughout downtown. I'm not sure what they use to simulate it, but it's not very convincing. The machines spread holiday cheer every four or five minutes since the real thing doesn't seem to want to visit us on its own. It's like the Bay Area invited snow over, but snow said it would rather hang out in New England for Christmas.

While waiting, I ordered a twenty-four-ounce cup of mocha java, gourmet coffee freshly ground and brewed right before my eyes. It cost five dollars and came without a lid. If I had known it would be so expensive, I would have gone to Starbucks for a bargain. It didn't taste like five-dollar coffee.

I wandered through the crowd, looking at exhibits and trees, pausing every now and then to see if they were close to lighting anything. At one point, I inadvertently stood beneath a snow machine, which awoke suddenly and showered my lidless drink with faux snow. I looked at my cup in horror, considered watering a tree, but finally decided I wasn't going to waste my money. It still didn't taste like five-dollar coffee.

On my way to work, I grabbed a caramel macchiato and was pleasantly surprised by the coffee sleeve I found snuggly hugging the cup. Most of the time, sports promotions and other advertisements encircle the drink, but this one had art! JavaArt, to be exact. It was a painting by Elisabetta Franchini called "Venezia" and it brightened my morning.

Good coffee: A cup of Hawaiian Hazelnut in the morning.
Bad coffee: Any blend with International Delight Kahlua creamer added.

After I got off the train, I stopped by The Second Cup & Eatery (not to be confused with Canada's Second Cup) for breakfast.

The guy behind the counter, who I will affectionately nickname SCG (Second Cup Guy), smiled and said, "Hi, may I help you?"

Craning my neck to scan the menu hanging about six feet above my head, I replied, "Hi! I'd like a bran muffin and a tall latte."

SCG asked, "You mean large?"

I scanned the menu once more. Unable to spot the word large and being clueless, I said, "No, I mean tall."

SCG grabbed two different sized cups and with a hint of work-with-me-here in his voice, he asked, "Okay, do you want a Starbucks tall or a real tall?"

The light bulb of understanding abruptly came on and I exclaimed, "Ohhh! A real tall, please. Sorry about that, I was confused."

"Don't worry, people come in here all the time ordering with Starbucks sizes. We're trying to break them of the habit."

a.k.a. "What I Did For Good Coffee"

This morning, I was walking by the usual coffee shops and nothing stood out. I reached the corner and suddenly had the urge for a particular blend... midnight royal. Just like that, out of the blue.

But there was a problem. The market that sold midnight royal was six blocks out of the way and I didn't have much time. Sure, it would be a two-minute detour if I were driving or running really fast, unconcerned about becoming roadkill. But on foot, it was a good ten-minute excursion. I could do it, but it would be cutting it close.

Go or don't go? I was about to stand on the corner and agonize when a rogue thought pushed aside my indecision and yelled, "Do it! Do it now! Get the coffee!" With a determined pace and help from some fortuitously synchronized signals, I made it to the market, bought a cup and managed to get to work on time.

And that's what I did for good coffee.

Tuesday meetings have a way of lasting all afternoon. To remain awake attentive, I usually have a light lunch and bring a cup of strong coffee. Before the end of yesterday's lunch, I made a coffee run over to Banana Crepe in J-Town.

Me: I'd like a double hazelnut latte please.
Banana Crepe Guy: A double hazelnut latte? (glancing at the espresso machine behind him)
Me: Yeah.
BCG: Oh, I'm sorry, he isn't here.
Me: Who? (looking confused)
BCG: The guy who makes the espresso. He's out to lunch.
Me: Out to lunch? (looking really confused)
BCG: Yeah, would you like to order something else?

I should have said, "No thanks." Instead, I felt somehow obligated to buy something. Would it have been rude to simply walk out? Anyway, I ended up getting a mocha smoothie with tapioca beads. It wasn't the caffeine pick-me-up I was hoping for, but I managed to survive the meeting.

It may be trivial, but if you purchase a cup of coffee, finish the entire thing. To drink only half and toss out the rest just seems wrong. Next time you order, maybe think twice before choosing the large over the medium.

Coffee is a precious resource not to be wasted. If you don't share this sentiment, at least consider those around you who may be traumatized by the sight of perfectly good coffee thrown in the trash. Drink coffee responsibly and please, drink it all.

A message brought to you by the Coffee Conservation Corps.

I walk into Cafe Nono's, about to order a latte, when my taste buds suddenly stop me. They're eager for something else. I scan the menu painted on the wall and spot an item that produces a silly question... "What is an Almond Joy?"

The young guy behind the counter gives me a strange look and replies, "It's a candy bar."

I'm suddenly feeling stupid. I know it's a candy bar, one of my undeniable favorites. It wasn't the right question and I quickly rephrase, "I mean, what does the drink taste like?" Yeah, that was so much better.

"It's a mocha drink with two espresso shots, a couple of syrups, including coconut, and whip cream. It tastes almost exactly like the candy bar."

Even with a poor question, I get the answer I was seeking. As soon as my taste buds comprehend the response, they are instructing my brain to order a double tall Almond Joy.

The first sip is the most rewarding, while it's still hot. It tastes unmistakably like the candy bar, absolutely delicious. I drink it slowly, savoring every drop, and frown a little when I finish it at the steps of the office. I have a new favorite and my morning is made.

Or "How I Saved Thirty Cents on a Sunday Afternoon".

Barista: May I help you?
Me: Yeah, I'd like a venti toffee nut latte.
B: I'm sorry. We don't have any venti cups.
Me: What?!
B: They were leaky.
Me: Umm... okay.
B: But we'll be getting a new batch really soon.
Me: Like within the next couple of minutes?
B: Uh, no.
Me: I'll take a grande.

Inspired by The Dullest Blog in the World that I read about on HawaiiStories. I'm always the last to know.

Last night was the second time I went to a great Blog Meetup Day. Unfortunately, I drank way too much caffeine and couldn't fall asleep later on. It was my own fault. Two double lattes (with various syrups added) over a couple of hours must have sent my blood/caffeine level soaring. I wasn't intentionally trying to give myself an espresso buzz, but I did.

Perhaps my tolerance level is dropping in my old age. I wonder if the guy at the bar would've cut me off if I had ordered a third one. "I'm sorry, son. I think you've had enough lattes for one night." Ok, probably not. I bet he would let me drink myself into hyperactive oblivion.

When I got home, I thought I'd use the energy to finish some reading, but my attention span was shot. I then thought about going to the twenty-four hour gym and running until I was exhausted. My imagination took hold and I pictured myself suddenly coming off the caffeine high just as I reached the gym. And really, who wants to see somebody snoring while draped over a treadmill?

Last night, I went down to the theaters to buy advanced tickets for Better Luck Tomorrow. I was told that tickets would be available thirty minutes before the first showing tonight, which didn't sound all that advanced to me.

Anyway, across from Camera One is a neat little coffee shop called Cafe Matisse. I would call it a cross between a cafe and an art gallery. One of the displays is a series of small wire-framed men who look like they are scaling the wall above the bar. There are also a number of paintings that add to the ambience. So that my trip was not completely wasted, I went in and bought a mocha. I then spent some time reading and writing while enjoying the cafe's atmosphere.

Afterwards, I was walking back to the parking garage, when I passed by Cafecito and heard the sounds of a rock band. Out of pure curiosity, I ventured in. Every Thursday, the have a house band and an open mic night. Because the cafe is only a block away from the university, many of the acts are students.

The most memorable performer was a singer/songwriter named Sonny, who sang two ballads, "How Could She" and "About Last Night". He has such a smooth voice and a light touch with the guitar. There was also a woman who read a moving poem called "Sunday Father" about a once-a-week dad. Perhaps I'm just easily amused, but I enjoy a poem that carefully and cleverly uses alliteration and syncopation.

This is a nice gift I got out of the blue. It is a Starbucks water bottle. I like it but I can't help but wonder why a coffee chain is selling such items. Is it possible that they are feeling health conscious and trying to encourage more water consumption? Is it a way to offset the dehydration that coffee causes?

I understand that for every cup of coffee I drink, I need to drink two cups of water to replenish my body. In that case, I would need to drink this entire bottle full of water after a tasty 16 ounces of coffee. Of course, 48 ounces of liquid sounds like a formula for disaster or at least many trips to the bathroom.

It has been a pretty good Friday... work-wise. Coffee-wise, it has been an awful day. Somebody managed to break the office coffee machine and tried to repair it. I was paranoid that the coffee would taste like the caulking that was applied to the water reservoir. I drank some green tea instead.

I've been told that green tea is allegedly better for you than coffee, but I'm a bit skeptical. It sounds like propaganda spread by Lipton and Celestial Seasonings. While drinking my tea, I was reminded of a Garfield strip from a couple weeks ago...

Jon: How's that herbal tea?
Garfield: It's not coffee, that's how it is!

Okay, I'm gone. Have a good weekend everybody.

I noticed lately that whenever I give directions to project sites, I usually make reference to Starbucks. Yes, Mapquest is nice and all, but sometimes one doesn't have access to the ever-so-helpful Internet. So I rely on my not-very-global Starbucks Positioning System. The conversation goes something like...

Random Architect: Where is Project Blah located?
Me: Oh, it is at the corner of Main and First. It is a big hole in the ground right now.
RA: Main and First, how do I get there?
Me: Do you know where the Random Street Starbucks is?
RA: Oh yeah, I get coffee there all the time..
Me: Ok, you drive there, get a cup of coffee, [insert typical direc