Cafés to dig - Chicago and KC

Just back from recent trips to Chicago and KC for business and pleasure. I'm a coffee fan by trade and taste. Here's a quick list of cafés to hit while in either town.

Chicago:
Intelligentsia - the South Loop (on Jackson) location is my favorite. Great coffee and aesthetic
Lovely- a great little bakery near Wicker Park. Great barista and patio, too!

Metropolis - on the far north side. Great coffee and the coolest café in town if you've got time.

KC:
Latte land - don't worry about the name - this place is actually rad. The west plaza location was my favorite

Hi-hat Coffee - awesome menu and the nicest baristas in town.

PT's - the best spro in the midwest.

USBC 2008 - Coffee or Die

Just got back from a week-long trip to Minneapolis for the 2008 World Barista Championship. As many know, I make/sell/deliver/educate-others-about coffee for a living. This was my first USBC and I didn't know what to expect in terms of success or atmosphere going in. Luckily, I got to drive the 600 miles with my coffee-pal and occasional co-worker, Alex McCracken, who has been through such ordeals in the past.

We arrived in Minneapolis last Thursday morning and after briefly saying hello to a few coffee friends from regional competitions and barista jams, we set upon the terrible task of securing last minute dishware and coffee items (think porcelain cups, saucers, shot glasses, windex wipes, lint rollers, table linens, pants, tweezers, basil plants) we forgot.

Thursday quickly grew into Friday and Saturday with occasional bits of Summit beer in-between. Alex and I both went through the stresses and tensions of presenting 12 coffee drinks to seven picky drinkers in 15 minutes - fifteen minutes which turn into days of polishing, practicing, memorizing, and bad-dreaming.

Nevertheless, Alex and I both had success and advanced to the second round of competion. I was thrilled to do so well in my first year of competing, though jostled by the additional round of dishes, worrying, and bad-dreaming that entailed.

The competition was great, but what was better was the community of baristas that get so excited about such events. For the first year, the USBC was streamed live on the interweb, and the commentary coming in from all over the world was great. Immediate feedback and validations for such silly coffee service. I'd like to thank Jon Lewis for his dedication to the coffee community and all he inspires within us budding baristas. If you like coffee, and you like life, read his blog. If it wasn't for Jon, and people like him, I don't think I'd still be able to justify brewing coffee while growing up. Let it flow.


Check out my semi-finals presentation.


And Alex's.

Musical Language (by Radio Lab)

I'm not sure if anyone in the Midwest is listening yet, but WNYC (New York Public Radio) has been airing a show called Radio Lab for the last couple of years. It's a marriage of science and journalism for the aspiring-hipster geek. The young liberal's best friend, Ira Glass, aired a one of their stories on This American Life about a month back. Since, I've become a frequent listener to the podcast. On my drive to Little Rock last weekend I listened to this amazing episode about music and its affects on the brain, speech, and culture. Here's the mp3 if you'd like to hear it:

http://audio.wnyc.org/radiolab/radiolab042106.mp3

or subscribe to the podcast here:

http://feeds.wnyc.org/radiolab

“You think I’m over the hill.
You think I’m past my prime
Let’s see what you got.
We can have a whoppin’ good time.”

He was over the hill - close to the bottom of the far side - but I still couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Bob Dylan stared me down, standing squarely behind his keyboard ready to pull a pistol from a holster that would have matched his costume.

I went to the Fox last night expecting something else. In the last year I’ve played No Direction Home over and over and sat through it as many times on PBS. I went to the Fox last night looking for the Bob Dylan who turns to the band and yells, “Play it fucking loud!” before blasting into the epic Royal Albert Hall version of “Like a Rolling Stone.”

That Dylan is dead - down with the count after a motorcycle crash - forgotten about through the seventies and eighties. Last night Bob Dylan was a cowboy on the prowl. He stood ready for a gunfight behind his keyboard. Except, I don’t think he could have won. Without the keyboard I’m not sure he would have been able to stand all night. Maybe that prowl was more of a lean. Dylan was old. He was a character I hadn’t seen yet. I knew all along that the1966 Dylan was gone for good, but I did expect the Dylan from the interviews of No Direction Home. That was still too optimistic. Dylan was so old - his eyes drooped, face sagged like a long-loved leather couch, hair fuzzy like an old dog. His lyrics were jarble for the first 3 songs.

He does this every time, though. Bob Dylan is fiction. He is not real. He may be the best actor stage has ever supported. Think about it. When was the last time Dylan backed up anything on stage with action in real life? Everything from his narrating voice to his stage presence is an act, and rightly so. How else could he be so successful through all the years and please so many people? Dylan has always capitalized on pleasing his audience. Before folk dyed, he turned to rock and intrigued all those who hated this change by leading them on with a new character. He disappeared in the late sixties and then emerged to appearances with former Beatles, The Band, and The Grateful Dead. And he’s been back strong since 1996 as a dying, gun-toting, born-again cowboy who scowls out every line like it is more ironic than the last.

Dylan keeps us all gaping and grasping for more by refusing to give us what we want (the old Dylan) and leading us on with a new Dylan. By the time we’re ready for the new Dylan, he’s on to the next character.

Next time you see him, take a look on top of his Leslie organ speaker and notice a small bronze statue. If you look closer, you’ll notice who it is. It’s Oscar - the only testament to anything real about Bob Dylan.