Couple in a Coffee Shop

Couple in a Coffee Shop

She looked as if her beauty had failed her and she was looking for someone to blame.  Bleached hair, well past its last bleaching, random hairpins, crinkled eyes failing to mask hidden anger.  I’ve seen women like this.  Approach them as you would a wounded badger baring its teeth.

“What are you staring at?” She asked with a razor-like slash of subject, verb, and object.

I held up my coffee cup in a toast and smiled.  “A beautiful woman who doesn’t know she’s beautiful.” In my experience, women enjoy a good, honest lie, especially if it gives no hint of a come-on.

She gave a short huff and went back to reading her book, “A Child of the Wind,” by Lora Lane Gibbons.

“I enjoyed that book myself.”  Not that I’ve ever read it, and by the cover, never will.

She tapped her foot in time to imaginary music and went on reading.

The bell at the front door did its ding-a-ling and I felt a cool rush of air. A tall, thin man approached her table and sat down without asking. She didn’t look up, but whispered under her breath, “I thought we’d finished this conversation.”  He ran fingers through his disheveled hair and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

Apparently, this would be much more interesting than her book, at least for me.  I’m not a psychologist or psychiatrist.  In other words, I’m not crazy with my own problems.  But I do enjoy the interaction between couples.  

“Look,” the man said, “I told you I was sorry.”

“And you think a simple, insincere ‘sorry’ makes everything ok?”  Now, she did look up, but only for a second or two before going back to her book.

“Do you mind not doing that?” he said.

“Doing what?” said razor tongue.

“Reading the damn book!”

“You don’t have to use profanity.”

“But this morning, when you called me a bastard, was ok?”

He was making mistake after mistake.  Rule number one when talking to a woman, especially a harried woman: Never allow yourself to be distracted, especially when she changes the subject to lead you off topic.  But, his first mistake was changing the subject himself with a remark about the book.  Gotta keep on topic.

She knew the rules and didn’t bother to answer.  By the look on his face, he took this as a victory, which is exactly what she wanted him to think. She’s moved him far off the subject of apologies and the brouhaha they had earlier.  Her anger remains intact.  She’s winning. The score is one - nil.

The silence was deafening, broken when the waitress came to take his order and ask her if she’d like a refill.

He started to say something and I’d bet he’s itching to decline ordering anything.  Miss Disheveled gave him a gut-ripping stare.  He stuttered and ordered coffee.

“Nothing to eat?” asked the waitress.

Now he’s at a real disadvantage.  Two women, one of whom will only be satisfied with his early death and the second who’d like him to make up his mind, quit hesitating and order something simple off the menu, without asking for any substitutions.

“Toast, please” Then they did the dance of which toast, buttered or unbuttered, whether he’d like jelly, and so on.

“Wheat, no jelly, but plenty of butter,” he said, looking the waitress in the eyes and not smiling.

“Ok,” she said and trotted off.  Moments later she returned with his coffee and two tiny plastic containers of cream.

When the waitress departed, he said, “Margaret, can we just drop this whole thing?  I said I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t just any dish you broke!  It was an heirloom, David!”

I’d bet this guy will charge into her territory with a frontal assault.  Never wise, in my judgment. 

“Yeah, an heirloom we seldom used!  A dust collector!  It was an accident, for god’s sake!”

“It was my mother’s.” This is indeed sacred territory.

Doesn’t take much psychiatry to realize this goes much deeper than smashed china. More like the story of the camel and the last straw.

I’ve finished my coffee and the conversation may go around in circles for eternity.  I stood, gave a nod toward the couple and said, “Margie, you told me this might take some time, but I can’t wait any longer….” I wink. “Give me a call later.”  Then I walked to the door of the coffee shop, heard the tinkle of the bell as I opened and shut the door behind me.

Before it closed, I heard, “You told me you hate to be called Margie…and…and who was that guy?  How long has this been going on?”

I gave the guy the perfect pitch.  He should have knocked it out of the ballpark, but instead, he stepped out of the batter’s box.  And her next pitch is going is to be for the final out.

Sunshine at the HOLA! Cuban Café

One step into the Hola! café and you feel like you’re walking into a friend’s rustic kitchen.  For me, home is where the coffee is and this tiny and roughly elegant café is my home a few mornings a week. Fairly new, having opened in 2013; it’s just off Center and 4^th Ave in downtown Fernandina Beach.  Has the look and atmosphere of a place the locals have been coming for years.  

Step through the door and Anna greets you with a bright smile and a southern accent as friendly as a your next door neighbor’s.

Anna doesn’t own the place.  That honor belongs to Chris Garcia and Marisol Triana.  Both migrated from Miami and are the offspring of Cuban immigrants.  Obviously, they share a love for Cuban culture.  Photos and painting and bright Caribbean colors race up and down the walls inside and out on the veranda. 

Subdued Cuban music plays, permitting normal conversation.  Remember perhaps the most popular of all Cuban music, Guantanamera?  Know what it means?  Read on.

I go for the coffee, which includes an array from espresso to cortadito to café con leche.   The last two are espressos served in medium to large cups, with milk and often a toss or two of sugar.  All are rich and powerful, but not bitter, which is a pleasant surprise after torturing my taste buds with Seattle’s Gimme-yer-Bucks.

And as far as food goes, try one of the many versions of empanadas, or a Cuban sandwich, or a Media Noche (midnight), any of which give your mouth a joy it won’t soon forget.  If you’re here in the morning, you may want to try the breakfast empanadas.  Glutton that I am, I’ve tried them all and loved them all and want more of them all.

Not sure which to choose?  Anna can help.  She takes the order, makes the coffee, and arranges for the hunger killers, which come from a tiny kitchen behind the counter.  Ever had Cuban bread?  No need to describe it, just taste it on one of the pressed sandwiches. Gotta have one, and be sure to dose your choice with mojo sauce.  There are also sweet and savory versions of pastelitos (little pastries).  Don’t quite understand?    No prob.  Once again, Anna is ready to help.

Not sure about the bread, but everything else, from the shredded pork to the scrumptious black bean soup is house made.  

This morning I tried a cheese Pastelito.  Sounds like some thing savory, but instead, it’s a crispy, flakey pastry, filled with something close to cheesecake.  Taste one and you’ll want another.

Many times I’ve heard from other patrons, “My gosh, I’ve never had anything like this!”  Delicious is one way to describe the food, but better words are:  habit forming. 

My companion and I usually each order a cortadito and split an empanada.  Ok, I confess:  My name is Bill and I am a Cuba-holic.

Yes, I promised.  Guantánamera means a cute and pretty woman from Cuba’s Guantánamo Province.

Berry Bros & Rudd - London's oldest wine merchants

Berry Brothers & Rudd, London’s oldest wine shop (1698) holds a special place in my heart.  You’ll soon find out why.  Nope, not because of wine.

This wine shop caters to the world and has for about 315 years.  That alone is remarkable, but consider this:  It’s been at No. 3 James Street the whole time, selling first coffee and wine, then wine and spirits, as it does today.  Not that St James is the only location.  There’s one south of London, as well as Japan, Hong Kong, and Singapore.

The store is so understated, you could walk right by without noticing.  Dark exterior, with window displays and foot high lettering across the front.  You may notice the famous (but smallish) sign of the coffee mill hanging out front.  Coffee mill?  For a wine shop?

Yes, the widow Bourne (first name lost in the mists) started out selling coffee and supplying various coffee shops up and down the street.  Coffee business lasted into the 19^th Century. Besides the coffee shops that gradually disappeared, St James’s Palace, built by Henry VIII on the site of a leper hospital, is only 223 feet away.  It was the official royal residence until Queen Victoria’s time.

Step in the door at Berrys and look down.  The wide planks, fastened with hobnails have been there awhile.  So, I asked a clerk, “When was the last time these floors were polished?”

“I think the janitorial staff took care of that in the 19^th Century.”

You’ll also note a lack of bottles, or at least not very many bottles.  You’ll have to go into some of the side rooms for that.  One small room dedicated to wine and another to spirits.  So, it’s a small operation in a small shop?  Not exactly.  In the cellars sit millions of dollars of potables.  Although, oddly enough, although Berrys is the oldest wine shop, it does not have the oldest cellar.  That honor belongs to the cellars of The Stafford London Kempinski Hotel, one of London’s premier hotels, about a stone’s throw away.  Cost runs to $400 a night for a cheap room.

As you would imagine, Berrys’ cellars also have a colorful history.  Exiled to London, Napoleon III and future Emperor of France (not to be confused with Napoleon Bonaparte) lived in one of Berrys cellars, now called the Napoleon Cellar, of course.

At Berrys, traditions die hard.  It was not until 2001 the shop displayed any bottles.  Now they’ve got about 2000 bottles on long shelves in a couple of rooms. How can a retailer get away with that?  Simple.  Only about 5% of Berrys business is retail.  Hard to explain to the average tourist who thinks long and hard about proudly buying a single bottle. 

Lots of fabulous cellars around the world get their wine from Berrys.  Restaurants, hotels, the Royal Family, collectors, old families who have made Berrys their go-to wine shop for decades, or even generations.  Don’t know for sure, but I suspect you’d quickly recognize the names of many of their customers.

Quick, who was the first British Monarch to buy wine from Berrys?  George III, of American Revolution fame.  1760.  Now Berrys holds two Royal Warrants, which mean they provide beverages to the Royal Family and are allowed to advertise that fact.

A little known secret about Berrys.  You and I step through the front door, have a scan or two, maybe inquire about this wine or that, have a look in the spirits room, and head back out on the street.  But, the serious oenophile will be invited into a back parlor and parked in a deep leather chair to discuss wine needs over a glass or two, of wine, sherry, or whiskey.  Lunch may be served.

Don’t have any idea of the most expensive bottle of wine here, but I’d guess the 1942 Chateau d’Yquem comes close at $2385 per.  Yquem is pronounced ee-keme.   Berrys is a wine merchant, meaning they buy and sell.  Sometimes the buying comes from estates, or recently uncovered one-of-a-kind items.  They also sell wine under their own label.

Not every wine is beyond your means and mine. Berrys also sells wines priced for the multitudes, some under $15.  If you want to check out all the offers, here’s the site:  http://www.bbr.com

Ever wonder why the Brits call red wine, claret?  In my case, only for about fifty years!  Back a few centuries, when part of what is now France belonged to England (12^th Century), the main wine sources were inland vineyards, mostly sporting Malbec grapes, sometimes known as “Black Wine.”  But, English tastes went for lighter fare.  Bordeaux came into its own and since the wine was lighter, in both color and flavor, it was called claret.  Oenophiles and historians will shout and scream at the incompleteness of my all-too-brief description, bypassing hundreds of years and the bloody tug of war that led to final separation of the two countries.  Take it outside, ladies and gentlemen.  I’ve got wine to drink.

The Bordeaux Region is the red area in the lower left.

Perhaps you want to set up a corporate wine affair for a hundred fellow toilers.  Berrys can do that easily.  Big room downstairs.  Long oak tables.  Wine glasses the size of paint buckets.

But, why does Berrys tantalize and fascinate, and hold that special place in my heart?  Right beside Berry Brothers & Rudd, there’s a little alleyway called Pickering Place and named for William Pickering.  You see, the Widow Bourne’s daughter married William Pickering and they continued to run the business.  But before the Pickerings, the little alley and the area behind it was called Stroud’s Court.

Go ahead and step down the alley and checkout the courtyard.  This once was a din of inequity for gambling, bear baiting, and duels. Can’t believe a place like that carried my name! It was also home to the Legation of the Republic of Texas until Texas joined the Union in 1845.  Look for the plaque:

    TEXAS LEGATION

In this building was

the legation for the

ministers from the

Republic of Texas

to the

Court of St. James

1842-1845

You should know by now, there’s always more to London than the pedestrian view.  Only an old wine Merchant?  Think again. Find Berry Brothers & Rudd and you’ve found another historic paragraph in London’s fascinating story.  This Stroud will drink to that!

Coffee You'll Dream About: Reismühle Kaffemanufaktur

In the United States at least, we’ve come to expect coffee shops on every corner.  Mundane at best.  Nothing different but the prices.  Then one day, if you’re lucky, you stumble on the rarest of all cafés:  a place that does more than just  sling some whatever in your mug and take your  money.   Read on and you too will uncover a hidden coffee nirvana:  Reismühle Kaffemanufaktur.

Yeah.  Lots of places attach especially foreign monikers to their brews and the zizes of their cups, all a conspiracy to trap you into believing their coffee is something special.  You know what I mean:  I’ll have a Congolese Mountain Grown, dwarf picked, French-style, hand pressed, dark slope grown latté, with soft-shouldered virgin goat milk.

Will that be a Congolese Hungus?

No, I’ll just have the Very Roomy Pigmy.

In the U.S. you wait patiently for the recent high school graduate to finish loading the industrial grinder with beans that are only slightly younger than she is.  Your eyes wander to the posters on the wall of simple people in colorful, hand-woven cloaks, riding burros, smiling at the thought of making people happy the world over, with the finest brew extant. 

Just the word extant should give you the final clue.  This is only a dream. You’re going to get the same rough-edged, stomach churning, black tar you’ve always gotten, but this time you’re paying five bucks for the privilege.  However, now you’ll be able to brag to your over-achieving friends that you sampled a rare brew from the Congo.  PhD?  I’ll trump that with a little nonsensical name-dropping!

Then suddenly, in a world of wonder, one day you find yourself in the picturesque German countryside. You drop the top on the Bimmer, grab your wife or significant lover and browse the green hills and dales of springtime in Deutschland.  Suddenly you’ve found it!  In a very unlikely spot, begging for trail walks and rustic picnics, you spot an older, stone walled home, expanded to offer a covered patio, teak tables, flowers galore, wait-staff in black and white, thirty some very special coffees on the menu, and cakes and tarts that will make your tongue wag like a hound who’s just lapped a full bowl of water.

Reismühle Kaffemanufaktur is the name.   And so as not to be confused with other rice mills you’ve visited that serve their own special, house roasted coffees, here’s the web site:  http://www.reismuehle.info

The story of the Reismühle is all on the site, but permit me to summarize.

The Reismühle’s java is selected and roasted in very special ways, by very special people. 

Nadine and Wolfgang Lutz share a passion:  Coffee.  Took them seven years to restore the building and many years of training in traditional coffee roasting and preparation before they opened their own café and coffee factory.  Both are coffee sommeliers, trained in the Black Forest, Vienna, and Berlin.  Just like the baristas at Gimme-yer-Bucks, right?

One thing I’ve noticed about the Germans, often sadly lacking in our own country, is their dedication to passions, professions, and hobbies.

It’s not just with restaurants, and in this case the tradition of artisanal coffee, but in almost everything.  When it comes to even straightforward professions, they believe in a depth of education and training that is beyond anything you normally find in America.  Want to work as a waitress in a bakery?  Three to four months of training before you’re serving customers and ringing up sales on your own.  And it’s not just serving.  Waitresses know how the breads are made, which restaurants the bakery supplies, and how to get the flour delivered. Apprenticeship is alive and well in this country.

But, back to the Riesmühle.  The Lutzs place great emphasis on every step of the process, from searching the world for the best coffees, to the handling of the beans, the roasting and grinding, and finally the brewing and serving of a very luxurious beverage.

It all begins with attention to detail.

Big coffee makers roast tons of beans at a time, in a matter of five minutes or less.  Very cost efficient, but as we all know, when you increase the volume and decrease the time, a lot gets lost along the way.

At the Reismühle, they roast comparatively small batches, at lower temperatures, in traditional drum roasters.  What’s the difference?  Coffee is coffee, right? Oh yeah?  Stop reading right now and shuffle off to “Slow Jim’s Truck Stop and Pancake House!”

Quality beans are the first step.  Ripe and ready for picking.  At the Reismühle, you have a choice of some thirty varieties from around the globe.

They roast in small batches, for twenty minutes, at a temperature of 190ºC.  So what?  A lot!  Unpleasant acids, especially the chlorogenic acid (which is responsible for stomach pains and heartburn ), are largely eliminated . Since the temperature of 190 ° C is not exceeded, there is also no acrylamide, which is suspected to be a carcinogenic.

Bottom line:  No stomach problems and no bitter after-bite. 

My wife and I shared a small pot of Mexican coffee.  Absolutely smooth and delicious.

Then came another surprise.  Wonderful, freshly made cakes.  I opt for poppy seed, while my wife ordered a fruit custard tart.

It was one of those pleasant afternoons you dream of.  Outdoors in the full bloom of spring, a quaint, yet opulent setting, and a pot of delicious coffee and some nibbles.  How about prices?  Very understated.

Once was not enough.  We’re going back.  Seems the Reismühle has breakfast on the first Sunday of every month and on Saturdays, there’s a special breakfast, followed by a show-and-tell coffee roasting.  We’re signed up and you can too, but plan ahead.  I asked for a breakfast/roasting reservation and the next available opening was three weeks down the road.

Until then, I may not drink coffee again.  Ah, that soft, lingering memory of beans at their best!