A Fine Grind

This is the first of what is probably going to be a series of adventures in adjusting to our new life just outside Seattle. The first major cultural shift we’ve encountered is at the local grocery stores. As fully-conditioned former denizens of the People’s Republic of Seattle, we dutifully throw our reusable shopping bags on the checkout conveyor, and the hapless checkers stare at us like we’re two-headed circus animals. The first time we were asked if we wanted “paper or plastic” we nearly fell down. The first time we allowed ourselves to have something put in a plastic bag we skulked furtively back to our car, wary that the King County Bag Police would somehow find us out and declare us apostate. Even worse was trying to sort our food court debris at the Alderwood Mall. We pre-sorted everything and walked over to the trash area, only to encounter a single bin. One bin? What savage devilry is this? True Seattleites can’t even speak or function unless there’s at least three (and preferable five) bins. Mind you, no one’s ever proved out the economics of recycling or shown the true environmental efficacy of citywide composting (especially when all that compost is stored in large bins made of petroleum products and hauled away by large, fossil fuel burning vehicles), but in the Emerald City a nod to a vague civic morality repeatedly passes for regulatory justification.

All this we can live with, but on the other hand the coffee shop thing has me fundamentally vexed. Those who know me know I love my afternoon coffee. Truth be told, I actually love my breakfast, midmorning, and afternoon coffee. For me and many like me, coffee is life in the Pacific Northwest, but I’m now learning that there appears to be a wild geographic inconsistency in how one may obtain and enjoy this caffeinated nectar. With my last job transition, my local coffee shops became critical venues for team gatherings, meeting clients and often just escaping the confines of the home office, and I had a multitude of options within a short distance of my house — Diva, Herkimer, Caffe Fiore, Holy Grounds, Ballard Coffee Works, Firehouse, Caffe Ladro, Grumpy D’s, Zoka, Bauhaus (until it folded), and, of course, the ubiquitous Starbucks. There were also all the bakeries and confectioners that offered decent coffee — Larsen’s, Chocolati, Honore, and the rest. What I appear to have missed is that the locally-owned sit-down coffee shop that has good coffee, knowledgeable baristas and quality baked goods appears to be a city neighborhood thing, not a suburban neighborhood thing.

When we were in the middle of purchasing our new home, I made it a point to locate and try the nearest coffee establishment (“Hot Shots” on 164th at East Shore Drive). It’s been run by a very nice Korean woman for the last 15 years, and we had a lovely conversation. Even with its location right on the southern shore of Martha Lake (offering an apparent summer monopoly on gelato for those enjoying Martha Lake Park), I was put off by the run-down state and lack of tables. You can get all manner of novelty coffee drinks (e.g. a “Snickers Latte”), but unfortunately when it comes to straight up espresso it’s just not very good coffee.

According to one website, of the 25 businesses that serve coffee near our new home, 12 are Starbucks and 6 are 7-Elevens. The remainder, with one exception, are drive-through coffee stands. Hot Shots, with its one plastic table, is classified as a drive-through. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m a shareholder and general fan of Starbucks, but I don’t always find their stores conducive to work (tables are too small, music is too loud, and lights are too low), and what they’ve done to La Boulange Bakery in the course of turning their products into bland, overpriced crap is a treatise for another time. I am also a fan of supporting local businesses and most times I just want something other than corporate coffee.

Given this questionable array of choices, I made a beeline for the lone sit-down, the Vienna Coffee Company. My first warning sign was when I asked for my usual afternoon doppio, and the young woman behind the counter had no idea what I was asking for. Actually, my first warning sign was that they too had a drive-through, which their own website calls a “vulgar & ghastly burdensome drive-thru”. That aside, I realize that many coffee counter servers are just retail employees and aren’t necessarily steeped (pun intended) in the coffee culture, and so I clarified that I just wanted a double espresso. She continued to stare at me as if I had asked her to perform brain surgery. Finally she managed to communicate that they only serve traditional Viennese coffees, which involve taking coffee and adding varying combinations of steamed/frothed milk, liqueurs, chocolates and whipped cream. When I asked if I could just get two shots of espresso in a cup, unadorned, the somewhat surprising answer was “no”. At this point I left. Not without a certain amount of respect for having a traditional view reflected in the menu, but I left nonetheless. Later research showed they actually harbor no small disdain for the larger northwest coffee vibe. Again their website: “We share no solidarity associations with “Third Wave Coffee” movements or trendy artisanal coffee preparation methods. We do not and will not prepare coffeeshop styled drinks such as Americanos, Lattes, Mochas, Drip Coffee, Cold Brew, Pour-Overs, Smoothies, Frappuccinos and absolutely no Latte Art! These considerations are contrarily subordinate to Traditional Viennese Kaffeehaus Culture and 900 years of Chatillonesque histoire.” All well and good, and I was heretofore unaware of the term “Third Wave Coffee” (apparently a movement to consider coffee as an artisanal foodstuff, like wine, rather than a commodity), but count me out.

At this point I really tried to understand what was happening here. Were Lynnwood and Mill Creek simply bedroom communities, and consequently the drive-through phenomenon was fueled by people needing to get their coffee quickly and on the way to somewhere else? Was the University of Washington Bothell Campus just far enough away that no students needed a place to hang, study and caffeinate? Was Snohomish County so insular and unfriendly that no one ever wanted to meet and sit and chat over coffee? Was it really just an urban vs. suburban thing? How is it possible that the experiential environment is so very different just a few short miles north of the coffee capital of North America? I doubled down on my research, and discovered the Spotted Cow Coffee Company in Mill Creek Town Center. Temporally forgetting it was essentially in the middle of a conventional if upscale strip mall, I gave it a go. When I asked for a doppio, not only did the barista not bat an eyelash, she asked if I wanted it served in the traditional Italian way with seltzer. I nearly cried. Scattered about the boho-sheik interior were friends deep in conversation, students bent over books, and professionals discussing business. It was good coffee served in an atmosphere in which I could see myself meeting clients, hunkering down to work on a proposal, or just catching an afternoon pick-me-up. I have found at least one oasis in a sea of mediocre, on-the-go coffee. I can see myself spending serious time there, and I will conscientiously return to Hot Shots (for the community if not the coffee), but mostly I remain mystified as to why this establishment seems the exception and the apparent lone outpost of its kind in my immediate vicinity. Any insight from my Lynnwood and Mill Creek neighbors?