Outside the Espresso Zone

Remember the days when there wasn’t a Starbucks on every corner? What follows is a true story I wrote in early 1991 for Seattle’s Café Olé magazine, when the Pacific Northwest was one of the few places in the country where you could get a real espresso drink. I hope you will enjoy this little slice of history and realize how coffee culture has changed in the last three decades.

I’m convinced Seattle’s espresso lovers take their coffee for granted. It’s natural in a place where there is an espresso cart on almost every corner. But woe to the espresso addict who travels outside of the latte-glutted Northwest.

I really should have known what might happen when I flew down to Texas for a visit. After all, I grew up there. The culinary priorities are different in the Lone Star State, although they do certain foods and drinks quite well. Texans cook excellent barbecue, black-eyed peas and fried okra. Texas natives make the best chili in the world; they are purists, never dreaming of polluting their prized delicacy with beans. And if you want a great glass of iced tea, Texas is the place to get it. No kidding.

But Texans don’t do espresso.

When the Dallas restaurant I patronized didn’t have it on the menu, I was only mildly disappointed. “That’s okay,” I thought. "I’ll just get some later.” But my disappointment turned to concern when the waitress at a downtown cafe not only told me they didn’t serve it, but that no one had even asked for it before.

I decided to ask strangers on the street if there might be an espresso bar nearby. With puzzled looks, they slowly shook their heads. One man, obviously baffled, asked me, “Why would anyone want that?”

Being a man with a habit, I was in trouble.

My search became more frantic. I drove to yuppie-looking shopping centers, but no espresso. To French bakeries, Italian delis…nothing. One woman behind the counter tried to be helpful. “How about a nice big glass of iced tea?” she offered.

“I live in Seattle,” I told her, “where you can get espresso drinks everywhere, even at supermarkets. There are drive-in espresso stands, too. Really.” She obviously didn’t believe me, and her crooked smile belied her suspicion that I was possibly not from this planet.

In desperation, I got out the Yellow Pages and began looking up gourmet coffee stores. There were listings for two. The first turned out to be a sort of mom-and-pop grocery/small appliance shop. When I called, the owner was very sweet. “No, we don’t fix it here, honey. But I can sell you a little ex-presso maker.”

I considered it for a moment. “Do you sell coffee beans?” I asked

“Well, no…we have Folgers in a can. You can use that.” I held back the urge to tell her that in the religion of espresso, that was heresy.

“Thank you, I’ll keep looking,” I said hopefully, but knowing I was running out of options. I whispered a silent prayer, and dialed the next store.

“Yes, we serve espresso,” came the soothing voice on the other end.

“Really?” I was excited, but skeptical. “Like cappuccinos and mochas and lattes?”

“Well, we call it café au lait.”

“That’s good enough. Where are you?”

I got directions and jumped in the car. I was feeling better. Civilization was out there if you just looked hard enough! As I thought about the treat my taste buds were about to experience, my senses began to stand on end. I could almost smell the savory aroma of my beloved coffee concoction. I could almost feel the foamed milk tingling my upper lip. I drove faster.

Finding the store, I ran in and breathlessly ordered. “A double tall vanilla latte please, with skim.”

The woman behind the counter was taken aback. “Well, we don’t really do special orders,” she said.

That was okay, I could settle for two percent or even whole milk. No problem.

She turned around, bent down and pulled a Tupperware container from a small refrigerator. In it was a suspicious-looking liquid, sort of a beige color. “I’ll just heat this up for you,” she said.

“What’s that?” I asked with minor apprehension.

“It’s our latte mix.”

“Visions of a dark frothy brew steaming into my cup began to fade. “Your what?”

“Our latte mix. We mix up the espresso and milk in advance.”

In advance. I had heard that right.

“When did you make that batch?” I asked, my voice quavering slightly.

“Yesterday.”

I looked at my watch. It was 3 p.m.

“Could you make a fresh one for me?”

She looked at me impatiently. “I’ll have to ask the manager,” she said, and walked through a swinging door to the back.

After a minute or so, the manager came out. Her look told me I had just been pegged as a “problem customer.”

“May I help you?” she smiled patronizingly.

“Could I have a latte, a fresh one?” I timidly asked.

She held up the container with the fluid in question. “There’s nothing wrong with this,” she said curtly. “It’s perfectly safe to drink.”

So is flat root beer, but I resisted telling her. “It’s a day old,” I reasoned, trying to appeal to any sense of coffee-drinking decency she might possess. “Espresso is supposed to be made fresh.” I might as well have accused her of trying to poison me.

She almost yelled. “No one has ever complained before!”

I had no trouble believing that.

As she stood glaring at me, I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell her how we did espresso in Seattle. I wanted to tell her about the cute carts downtown, about the espresso machine in the cafeteria at work, about the long lines for mochas at sports events, about the triple hazelnut lattes I made at home.

But I didn’t. I realized that it would have been like trying to describe a Mozart sonata to someone who was tone deaf. I left the store feeling out of place, hearing the manager muttering something about “coffee snobs.”

That experience changed me a little. Now I appreciate the little things about the Northwest coffee capital. I’ve started giving a hearty “hello” to every espresso barista I encounter. I sip my lattes a little more slowly. I wash off my home espresso maker with renewed tenderness. I walk past the coffee section at Safeway and smile at the packages marked “Whole Bean Espresso.”

They’re right across the aisle from the cans of chili with beans.

© Nick Walker 2020 

What about you? Do you remember when you discovered espresso? What has been your experience with coffee over the years? Please feel free to scroll down and leave a comment below.