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Tag Archives: coffee

1.

pizza-wood

My not-quite-so indifference toward one-touch brewing syndrome. Or what one may call the vending machine theory. Instant results may provide instant gratification, but the quality or lasting effects of such gratification is not warranted nor guaranteed.

Drinking coffee goes beyond the mere end-result. It encompasses the grinding, the tamping, the pre-heating, the crema, the noise. It encompasses the conscience of the experience as an entire matter.

The all-encompassing world may not be much different. One-touch anything provides gratification in an on-demand world, where efficiencies are bolstered at the cost of the conscience of the experience. Results. Results. Now.

We are not a vending machine society.

2.

backyard

One day you wake up and realize that the mundane itself is the daily norm. Norms, you find, are composed of the mundane, the repetitive, the on-going.

I often see the perils of scripting a culture based on occasional spectaculars. Fireworks for the people that bewilder the eyes but minds that shudder at the thought of returning to the every-day.

Sensationalism, as a way of selling a food culture, has become, dare I say, sensational. This is done at the cost of accurately portraying the real people and their mundanes. Show the mundanes, because they are the people. Fireworks glitter once, twice a year, but they die down and are forgotten. The kitchen stove that births daily dinners and to-go lunches are daily grinds, are non-spectacles, but they’re there. And they’re the people.

Don’t mind the every-day. Or the mundane.

3.

lemon-tree

Stepping into the unknown is an exciting exchange of thought and process. But when lives are at stake – living things, like breathing, growing plants – the weight of that first step is multiplied.

Who would have thought that the very soil beneath one’s feet could feel so foreign. It was there, all along, but it wasn’t there. I wasn’t there. To know.

I don’t know what makes the ground “soil”. I don’t know its needs, its wants. Don’t know if it has its needs or its wants. Who am I to determine its wants, or to ask, anyway.

Who would have known that the earth is so compact, united, in strength and density, against all downward forces put upon by punishing steel and wood. The earth we stand on exudes its strength towards us unknown inhabitants, habitually lost, continuously divided.

To know, I tilled the soil to, supposedly, allow it to breathe. This, I suppose, was because I assumed that it was not breathing all along, long before my time, before my mind, to know, was put to action. I opened two bags of top soil and spread its contents over the tilled land. The soil contains compost, so it says.

Rotten things for sale.

tree-and-clouds

After a hiatus, the Coffee People series is back. In previous installments (here, here and here), we discussed coffee + design, coffee + culture, and coffee + ultra running/mountaineering.

Today, enter the realm of coffee + music, with the one and only Joe Kwon.

Joe: resident cellist of the band The Avett Brothers, Haiku drafter, photographer, cook, eater. Coffee drinker. One cool, kind person.

Here’s one of my favorite from the band – February Seven.

 

In the midst of non-stop touring, Joe took the time to jot down his thoughts on brewing while on tour, music, photography, and his passion for carpentry. I highly recommend that you also check out Joe’s website, full of beautiful photographs, showcasing the ins and outs of the band on the road, at  http://tasteontour.com

Many thanks to Joe for taking the time to do this. Enjoy.

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“I actually drink my coffee at home in complete silence. It’s my way of truly engaging with my coffee.”

INL: The world famous Avett Brothers are habitually on tour, baptizing crowds with memorable sets. You are asked endlessly about your music, but I want to know how coffee fuels those sets – “coffee on tour.” What are some coffee habits of your fellow band members? Any notable coffee routines?

Joe: I proudly introduced these guys to Counter Culture coffee a few years back after I struck up a great relationship with them. They actually gave me 3 days of training to brew pour over coffee and even set us up with a bus pour over set. So, since then, we have been making pour over coffee on the bus from the moment the first person wakes up till about 5pm. I drink significantly more coffee on the road than I do at home.

INL: Among the dozens of cities you’ve toured through, do any good coffee shops come to mind?

Joe: So many, but it’s funny I don’t recall the names of them. I just know how to walk to them from the venues that we play. Sometimes I’ll make a special trip, but most of the time I drink my coffee on the bus. What were some of the better coffee cities? I’d say every city at this point has a great coffee shop. It just takes some research to find the ones that fit your mood and aesthetic.

INL: What are your favorite brewing methods and coffees?

Joe: I’m a 100% pour over guy. I own several methods, but my favorite, tried and true method is the bonmac pro-cone with white paper filters.

“I’d say every city at this point has a great coffee shop. It just takes some research to find the ones that fit your mood and aesthetic.”

INL: In early 2014, the Avett Brothers collaborated with Counter Culture Coffee to benefit St. Jude’s Children’s Research Center? How did that collaboration come to fruition?

Joe: Ethan Fogleman from Counter Culture Coffee actually reached out to me via social media to invite me to come tour their facility. I was living in Durham at the time, and little did I know they were roasting some of the worlds greatest coffee just 5 minutes away.

INL: You were not always the energizing cellist of the Avett Brothers – you started young, but as a classical musician. What prompted the switch to folk rock? What was challenging about that musical transition?

Joe: Before I joined the Avett Brothers I was actually working for IBM and I felt the pull from that life to come back to music. I always wanted to be a cellist ever since my first cello lesson, but never did I imagine it would be in this capacity. I’d say one of the most challenging things was that I had very little popular music knowledge. I’d never listened to anyone outside the classical greats. I could name symphony orchestras with great brass sections before I could name a member of Nirvana. Needless to say there was a lot of room for music education.

“I always wanted to be a cellist ever since my first cello lesson, but never did I imagine it would be in this capacity.”

INL: Before joining the band, you graduated from UNC with a degree in computer something and worked for IBM. What nudged you to shift back to music? What were your fears when you u-turned away from Corporate America and onto the stage? What were your joys?

Joe: My fears were that I was going to lose my house and everything else, but it honestly didn’t feel too daunting. I had come to terms with it. I guess that’s what it took, to not care about the money or stardom, but just to truly love performing and being on stage.

INL: What does music add to your coffee experience? Flipping that around, what does coffee add to your music?

Joe: I actually drink my coffee at home in complete silence. It’s my way of truly engaging with my coffee. It becomes a ritual. Coffee fuels my life on the road as a way to stay awake at times. In other words, home life and tour life mean different things to my coffee habit.

“Coffee is the thing I look forward to you when I go to sleep at night.”

INL: Your website, tasteontour.com, is a pictorial memoir of the day-to-days of the tour. Two things come to mind: why film, and why black-and-white?

Joe: Film because I love the delayed gratification, and film seems for finite. It does get a bit difficult to grab shots though, but that’s the beauty of it too.

INL: Master cellist, knowing photographer, and more-than-amateur cook. You do it all, but now you are also chipping away at wood. What inspired you to begin woodworking? Any proud pieces yet?

Joe: I’m actually working on my biggest piece yet, it’s a dining table for my house. I got into wood working after I had discovered a significant amount of water damage in my house and I helped a buddy of mine reconstruct it. I had amassed a bunch of tools and felt it would be a waste to just sell them, so I started making things. It started with cutting boards, then benches, then coffee tables, etc.

INL: Final question: what is coffee to you?

Joe: As I mentioned above coffee is the thing I look forward to you when I go to sleep at night. I love the moments that I have and share over a cup of coffee. I love sharing a great cup of coffee and the experience behind it.

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1/27

Delayed start to the day, thanks to Jonas. The snow on the sidewalk has resided, but in its place another crunchiness, the salt, which is not as inviting. There are few places where I feel comfortable ordering the “coffee-of-the-day”, but Swing’s is one of them. Listened, from start to finish, the Bach Renovation album by Yoonseung Cho. Read that Mark Zuckerberg’s personal project this year is to write an AI program for his home. Some write code, some write literature, some write music; shame that one form is lucrative than others, when that form is artificial at best, while others are genuine. Zuck says AI is good at recognizing patterns but bad at common sense. Books and music are all bundles of common sense, art forms in which our common sense is jumbled, rearranged, and reestablished in a variety of ways.

Read More

The “Profiles” features in The New Yorker are some of the most inspirational, thought-provoking pieces of writing one could read on otherwise unproductive, stifling commutes on the subway. In a recent feature, Jony Ive, senior vice-president of design at Apple, alludes to the German designer Dieter Rams as a source of inspiration. To quote the article:

“In Rams’s formulation, a new object should be innovative, useful, aesthetic, understandable, unobtrusive, honest, long-lasting, thorough, and environmentally friendly, and feature ‘as little design as possible.'”

While this is certainly applicable to Apple and its immensely profitable products, that last bit is profoundly gospel-like – as little design as possible. Now, more than ever, when coffee roasters and cafes are investing more time, energy, and money into designing and operating coffee shops of varying appearances, “cafe design” has become a cornerstone topic. (As a footnote, you can read my interview with Brian Jones of Dear Coffee I Love you, here.)

Less is more. Design is most effective when it whispers. Shouting, while eye-grabbing for fleeting moments, is distracting to the ultimate experience of enjoying a tasty cup of coffee.

Peregrine Espresso, in the Eastern Market neighborhood in DC, embodies this ideal. I have heard of Peregrine’s impressive selection of impeccably (in-house) roasted beans, and the masterful orchestration of its baristas. All true. The natural sun-dried Yirgacheffe I tried that day, from the Idido farm, was immaculate. With hints of Concord grape and strawberry jam, the cup was balanced with just enough acidity.

Compared to the flashy flavors of its coffees, the cafe itself is very understated. No Scandinavian furniture, no fancy lighting, no multi-colored chalk drawings sprawled about. Space is a premium. Yet the cafe is profound. Peregrine’s logo, re-created on one wall, is symbolized with a shade of the color green; that green theme is subconsciously reminded throughout the cafe, to the point where it goes unnoticed until the second or third glance. The place does not shout “hipster.” It is clean-cut, minimal, where you have just the essentials – bar, brewing gear, pastry/coffee display, tables, chairs. Not much else.

On a rather unassuming Wednesday afternoon, the cafe was bustling. Patrons order, chat, drink, chat some more. Some stay, some leave. A cafe carrying out its essential functions is a beautiful thing. Serve great coffee, provide an inviting space, highlight your brand quietly in design, but powerfully in taste.

Specialty coffee, in recent years, has attracted (unwillingly, and unintentionally, maybe) a pretentious side. While in line at Peregrine, I overheard an interesting exchange between a patron and a barista.

“Could you grind this bag for an AeroPress, and this bag for a Bialetti?”

Perfectly legitimate request, until you think it through. The AeroPress and Bialetti are both excellence brewing contraptions. But getting freshly roasted specialty coffee pre-grinded – by the bag – defeats the purpose of buying specialty coffee or brewing with varying devices. Brewing devices exist to highlight different angles and flavor profiles in a batch of coffee. The lone fact that you are brewing using an AeroPress or Bialetti has little value in itself. It almost seems as if saying “I brew with an AeroPress” automatically places one in the class of coffee connoisseur. It does not.

It does not take a major stretch in imagination to think that coffee – although perfectly sourced, processed, and roasted – that was ground three, five, seven days prior, is not the same coffee. It loses aroma and essential oils that are so vital to highlighting the coffee’s flavors. The AeroPress and Bialetti are not flavor injectors; they are mere tools to enhance what the beans already possess.

There is no room for pretentiousness in coffee. While the science behind cultivating, picking, processing, roasting, and brewing coffee is undeniable, enjoying coffee is simple, as simple as things get. In this regard, coffee’s magnetic attraction to design is irreversible. Contraptions, cafes, brands – they are there but not there. Getting out of the way for the coffee in the cup to shine is hard to execute but essential to sustainable success.

Peregrine would have Rams’ approval. Aesthetic beauty is best exemplified through unobtrusive, honest design. And design is best exemplified when there is as little design as possible.

Design is not foreign or alien. It is most effective when it is the opposite: intimate. But one could argue good design is roving or migratory, in that it is never the overwhelming statue in the middle of the room. Rather, it is a steady, constant current, drifting through the core. According to Peregrine, its name is defined, fittingly, as follows:

Peregrine (per’e-grin,-gren)
1. Foreign; alien.
2. Roving/wandering; migratory

[Middle English, from Old French, from Medieval Latin peregrïnus, wandering, pilgrim, from Latin, foreigner, from pereger, being abroad]

A feeling of loss? Theft, maybe. Relinquishment?

It’s the feeling when a best kept secret is no longer a best kept secret, when the world knows what you thought was secretly yours. I guess it was never a best kept secret in the first place – it was never ours, never mine. It was the world’s to begin with.

I’m talking about Baked & Wired in Georgetown.

Weekday mornings, weekend evenings, it seems nearly impossible now to find a decently serene time of day to fully enjoy this beautiful coffee shop. The coffee bar is on full throttle – milk steaming, espresso flowing, coffee grinding. Tourists, passers-by, serious folk, casual folk, they’re all lined up in a squiggly formation in front of the pastry and cupcake shrine. And macaroons, too.

Coffee is great here, partly because they usually offer a variety of single-origin beans from a few roasters. Intelligentsia, Stumptown, and so on. I don’t usually drink lattes, but when I do, it is here at B&W. If you do have a sugary urge, do grab a cupcake. Yes, you read that correctly. Cupcake. There is a particularly famous joint in Georgetown, one that has its own TV series, where tourists stand in lines that go for blocks, in rain and snow. You might of heard of it, yeah, Georgetown Cupcake, or whatever. Totally overrated compared to the stuff at B&W. Better frosting, better flavor, better and better. I don’t usually buy cupcakes, but when I do, you get the gist.

Great coffee, great baked goods. But I like this place because of its somewhat odd, unbalanced interior. The coffee bar is understated, the La Marzocco machine is prominently featured, while random trinkets hang from the ceiling in harmony with hand-written menus. Minimal, essential. The baked goods bar is contrasted by giant moon-like lighting fixtures, illuminating the assortment of carbohydrates enveloped under glass lids. More like an art showcase than a pastry display. Glamorous, even.

The back of the coffee shop is starkly different, highlighted by a “Napkin Wall.” Dozens of paper napkins are taped to the wall, all of them with some form of writing or drawing (or both) on them. I don’t know what the wall is supposed to represent. As a collective, it seems to be a “I was here” sort of thing, individual doodles making a broader collage with no particular meaning. Meaning, however, is no prerequisite to general aesthetic beauty. And the wall, in an eery way, is beautiful.

The coffee shop that was never mine, never ours, is no longer mine, no longer ours. But it’s still there, serving good stuff, and the wall is growing. Each stroll through Georgetown will always feel incomplete without a visit to Baked & Wired.

And as the great Maya Angelou would say

“Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.”

A sudden thirty-degree drop in morning temperatures in the the DC area is a not-so-surprising surprise, if the National Weather Service is correct in predicting record snowfall and temperatures this coming winter. As a survivor of the infamous “Snowmageddon” a few years ago (one slab of memory includes trekking through knee-deep snow to get to the nearest Starbucks for WiFi), I am both looking forward to these predictions and not looking forward to them. While I am curious to see whether this winter will match Snowmageddon, I am not sure how I feel about being trapped indoors for seven days. Make pots and pots of stew, I guess.

In any event, cold mornings have me thinking about two things. Boiling hot bowl of pho and strong coffee.

There are not many establishments where one can get both good savory food and good coffee. Plenty restaurants have good coffee service (I remember the now defunct Adour in the St. Regis hotel in DC serving excellent La Colombe after an exceptional lunch offering), some exceptional, but it is not easy to name a place that I could confidently say that I would dine there for the coffee.

Of course, one hunts down coffee shops for good coffee, where good food is also often discovered, but predictably of the sweet variety.

Pho shops hit you twice. First with that meaty, oily, minty, cilantro-lime-pepper-Sriracha broth. Next with a shot of slow-dripped black magic with near 50% condensed milk content. Meat-savory closely followed by sweet caffeine, a lethal combination for any cold night.

For a good bowl of pho, I usually find myself driving around the outskirts of Vienna, VA, Fairfax, or the more immigrant-dense areas of Falls Church. My experience tells me these places (often run-down joints in hidden streets and alleys) have the best authentic foods, including pho. That partially explains why I have yet to try a decent bowl of pho in the District.

So when I walked into Caphe Banh Mi in Old Town Alexandria, in a more “hip” neighborhood near King Street, I had no expectations. Surprisingly, I was impressed by both pho and coffee.

Here’s what Tom Sietsema (a renowned food critic in his own right) of the Washington Post had to say about their pho. “Pho comes with a minimal amount of the shaved beef we request, and its demure broth requires every accompanying enhancer – lime, jalapeno, Thai basil – to inject more spirit into the bowl.” While he is partially correct, I have to disagree with his overall impression of the place.

First, in a bowl of pho, the “shaved beef,” called “tai,” is the last thing I look forward to. Rather, the more tasty bites come from the tripe, fatty brisket, meatballs, and tendons. Sietsema, of all people, you should know that. (Oh sorry, maybe I’m mistaking you for Robert Sietsema from Eater NY, a respectable offal and ethnic cuisine master) But he’s right in that the bowl could have used more from the animal.

Second, I would not use the word “demure” to describe the broth. I was rather surprised by the depth of the broth; while it was not as deep or flavor-packed as Pho 75 in Falls Church or Viet House in Fairfax, it was rich and clean. And to bash on Sietsema again, part of the pho “spirit” inherently lies in the “accompanying enhancers,” the lime, jalapeno, and Thai basil. You first enjoy the broth as is, and as the meal progresses with each slurp, you drop in the jalapeno and the basil, and of course the bean sprouts, to experience complex layers of texture and flavor. The lime squeeze and Sriracha give you that extra kick on colder days.

On this particular day – drizzling, with random gusts blowing premature leaves into street corners – strong Vietnamese coffee was a welcome closer. And Caphe Banh Mi does it right. While the restaurant owner made a small fortune selling frozen yogurt before opening up the noodle and banh mi shop, strong-sweet coffee is the proper way to wash down the “demure” broth. These things are also potent in iced form during the sweltering summer months, as documented by my friend and co-founder of Roads & Kingdoms, when he wrote, “On that first afternoon in Saigon, I drank three before the old woman with the gentle face put her hand on my shoulder and told me no more. I don’t remember if she spoke English or not, but the message was clear. My hands were trembling and my heart was beating in my throat; Vietnam was suddenly wide open.”

As I transferred the last few spoonfuls from bowl to mouth, I eyed the stainless steel brewing contraption, as the midnight dark coffee (yes, probably way over roasted by my usual standards) slowly dripped down into the waiting pool of condensed milk. A light swirl with the teaspoon across the bottom of the cup transform the black liquid into a murky brown hue, and in three long sips, I am a happier man.

To be fair to Sietsema, the pho at Caphe Banh Mi is not the best I’ve had (not by any means), and I haven’t tried the banh mi. But it’s the closest thing to greatness I’ve come across in Old Town, and there is nothing remotely close in DC. (And I cannot believe the Post would rank Cafe Asia in front of Caphe Banh Mi. Inexcusable.)

So as I dig through my closet in search of running tights on this frigid morning, my thoughts are swimming across seas of beef broth and sweet coffee. Long live the season.

photo

My interview with Tony Krupicka is quickly becoming one of the most-viewed pieces on this site. While most of the reviews and comments have been positive, there were several that raised a legitimate question: why is Tony an “influential coffee person?” Fair enough. This is a good opportunity to elaborate on what I consider to be key factors in determining who the “coffee people” are.

Coffee is like gourmet cupcake stores or Korean BBQ food trucks – it’s everywhere. It exists in various forms, is sold and consumed in various environments, and by various people. Whether one realizes it or not, coffee is a steeped staple in modern life; one does not necessarily have to even be a coffee drinker to be a part of the “coffee value chain.”

Given this vast omnipresence of coffee and the faces behind it, not one stereotype defines a “coffee person.” The range of individuals included in the Coffee People Q&A series (and those that will be featured in upcoming installments) are as diverse as the types of coffee flavorings some choose to wreck their mugs with. Some are professional roasters and baristas, others are coffee bloggers, some are musicians, others are artists. This range is what inspires one to write about coffee.

As Tony pointed out in his first sentence of the interview, he is not “a very educated/informed/nuanced coffee consumer.” Indeed, coffee seems to be only tangentially related to mountain running. The correlation between the two would be a stretch for some, an ambiguity for others.

But consider this. One sunny afternoon in Boulder, CO, Tony posts a photo on his social media page, a photo of a Bialetti sitting on a portable burner on the tailgate of his pickup. A pair of running shoes in the background. That single photo sparked a string of responses, almost all of which revolved around brewing coffee with a Bialetti, or portable coffee brewing in the mountains.

That is coffee influence.

The essence of the Coffee People series is to capture the role of coffee in people’s lives, how coffee has shaped them, and how they have shaped the realm of the coffee world. Another objective is to paint how coffee influences different cultural sectors, be it design, fashion, music, food, or mountain running.

Being a professional coffee person is no prerequisite for coffee talk. To go even further, being a so-called “knowledgeable” coffee drinker is no prerequisite for coffee talk. Whether one drinks only the finest hand-poured brews, or any old steaming black cup of joe, coffee talk is coffee talk. The breadth of folks involved in this daily ritual is what makes the series.

So who brews daily morning shots at 11,000 feet above sea level, in a truck? A coffee person.

The Coffee People series (interviews with influential coffee people) is back, with a force. In previous installments (here and here), we discussed coffee + design and coffee + culture. Today, we push the limits a bit further on what it means to be an “influential” coffee person, and explore the intersection of coffee and running, coffee and the mountains.

Anton “Tony” Krupicka is a Boulder, Colorado-based mountain runner who has taken the trail running circuit by storm since winning the legendary Leadville 100 in 2006, and again in 2007. He is a two-time USATF 50 mile Trail National Champion and course record holder (2009, 2010), and in 2010, Tony was the runner-up in the prestigious Western States 100, a race captured in the film Unbreakable: The Western States 100. He has been a New Balance Outdoor Ambassador since 2008 and is also sponsored by Buff Headwear, Ultimate Direction, Petzl, and Zeal Optics.

But perhaps, more than the wins and endorsement deals, Tony is better known as an embodiment of “minimal running,” summitting the peaks of “14ers” (mountains in the Sawatch Range of Colorado that have an elevation of over 14,000 feet) in just running shorts and a water bottle tucked into those shorts. For half the year, Tony is on the road, running and racing abroad or living in the back of his Chevy S-10 pickup truck “The Roost,” haunting the mountain ranges of the American West, exploring every square foot of terrain in the most sustainable fashion.

Along with minimalism, Tony exemplifies a new style of running, in which he “started pursuing remote summits, long traverses, and ambitious link-ups in a single-push style that requires a unique combination of mountain running fitness and technical climbing competence.”

Tony is also a prolific writer and photographer, regularly contributing columns to Running Times and the Ultimate Direction Blog, and jotting down his musings and grandiose photos on his beautiful website, http://www.antonkrupicka.com/.

While there are many interviews with Tony, this is no race report or thought piece on better running per se. Instead, I caught up with him shortly after the Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) in Chamonix to talk coffee, pain au chocolat, and of course, the mountains.

Many thanks to Tony for taking the time to do this. Enjoy.

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“The mountains give me hints and tips on how to live with intensity and attention.”

A typical summer post-run scene for Tony, on the "porch" of the Roost. Photo: Anna Frost

A typical summer post-run scene for Tony, on the “porch” of the Roost.
Photo: Anna Frost

INL: Your typical pre-run morning routine consists of: get up, brew two shots of espresso, drink said two shots, and run. Brewing coffee in the high country can be tricky. How do you manage your morning espresso when you camp out in “The Roost,” your affectionately named white pickup?

AK: First, let me clarify that I’m really not a very educated/informed/nuanced coffee consumer. And that your readership probably cares/knows a whole lot more about all of this than I do. So, I’m a Bialetti man. Sometimes I’ll do the mini, 2oz version and just add roughly equal amounts of hot water to make an Americano. If I’m looking for a little extra kick, or I’m having a particularly difficult time waking up, or I’m really into procrastinating and reading my book before running, then I’ll brew up the more standard 6oz version, and usually don’t add quite as much water then, either. This is all via a JetBoil camp stove, on the tailgate of my truck.

Morning brew via Bialetti, on "the Roost." Photo: Anton Krupicka

Morning brew via Bialetti, on “the Roost”
Photo: Anton Krupicka

INL: Regarding coffee beans, do you have a preferred roaster? How do you usually brew your coffee? (espresso all the way, French press at times, drip sometimes?)

AK: As outlined above, I’ve only brewed via the Bialetti. I’ve yet to venture into French presses or pour-overs or drip or whatever else. I have a couple of roasters here in Colorado that I’ve found myself returning to. First, my buddy Geoff Roes was home-roasting a bunch last winter and I would always get a 12oz bag from him every week or two. Since he’s moved back to Alaska I’ve gone back to the larger, local roasters (well, larger than Geoff’s garage, at least). In Boulder, my default seems to be Boxcar and occasionally Ozo. One of my favorite café’s in town, though—Spruce Confections—uses Kaladi. And I love their coffee. Never bought the beans myself, however.

I actually worked as a barista at a great coffee shop in Leadville, CO, for two summers. It was called Provin’ Grounds when I worked there but has since changed ownership and its name (City On A Hill), and they now roast their own coffee, so whenever I’m up there (which is a lot), I buy their stuff. Usually their Mount Massive Medium Roast. Finally, simply because I’m a big fan of the town and this particular coffee shop, I gotta give a shout out to the Buena Vista Roastery in Buena Vista, CO. I’ve bought a few bags of beans there, too, and they were great. Not sure I have the most discerning palate, though.

Tony, just another day in the Sawatch Range, this time on Mt. Elbert, the highest peak in Colorado (14,440 ft). Photo: Anton Krupicka

Tony, just another day in the Sawatch Range, this time on Mt. Elbert, the highest peak in Colorado (14,440 ft).
Photo: Anton Krupicka

INL: Since becoming a “full time” runner, you have had the luxury of going on (more or less) two long runs per day. In between those runs, you’re known to hang out in local coffee shops to read, rest, and catch up on the Internet of things. Do you have any favorite cafes in Boulder? If so, what makes it (them) attractive? How is the café scene?

AK: I definitely have my favorite spots in Boulder. I’ve had an apartment on the west side of downtown now for a little over a year, so my routine has generally settled into Trident Bookstore and Café and Spruce Confections. Both are a five-minute walk from my front door and on Boulder’s iconic Pearl Street. If I’m looking for a change of scene, I’ll go to Ozo, basically just across the street from Trident, but it’s rarely my first choice.
Spruce is attractive because it’s the classic sidewalk café. There is barely any indoor seating and the outdoor seating is excellent, with a little shaded, garden area. Even Boulder’s winter weather is typically pretty excellent (sunny), so it somehow works year-round. There is also no wifi. So, this is my default first-thing-in-the-morning-cuppa-jav spot with a friend or a book if I’m not brewing it myself on my kitchen range. They’re primarily a bakery, and their fresh scones are probably my favorite in town. They supply a lot of other cafes around town with their scones, too, but, of course, they’re never as fresh at those places. The clientele runs the gamut, but I would say is generally pretty upscale/wealthy (as is much of Boulder, generally speaking). This is not your gritty hipster joint. (Not much of anything about Boulder is very gritty, though.) And the lack of wifi mercifully keeps Boulder’s plentiful tech crowd away, too. They have live music on Sunday mornings (usually very strings- and winds-heavy and Parisian feeling). It’s a great spot.

“Two double-shots of espresso, two pain au chocolat and I’m ready to go run in the Alps all day.”

Trident is my workhorse hang-out. It’s a Boulder institution. Ample seating, wooden floors, brick walls with art hanging, connected bookstore next door, it’s probably the closest thing to an intellectual, hipster hang-out in Boulder, but definitely across all ages. Some of that at The Laughing Goat, too, down on East Pearl. Cell phones are frowned upon (you’ll be asked to step outside), conversations are generally kept fairly muted. People are totally welcome to chat and converse, and do, but the general vibe is very mellow, not boisterous and high-energy at all. Lots of books, lots of Macbooks, lots of horn rims. They serve up Boxcar coffee, and tie with Spruce for my favorite Americano in town. I do a lot of reading here, some interneting. Generally an afternoon spot for me. They don’t do any baking in-house, and their pastries are pretty limited, but they carry a couple of bars/cookies that I really like and that I don’t find any place else in that part of town.

Ozo is kind of the big successful joint in Boulder. They have another location out on the east part of town. Their West Pearl location is only a couple of years old, and it has apparently stressed Trident’s business some, which is too bad. Ozo is kind of the opposite of Trident. Trident baristas serve up tough love—the default seems to be scorn and you have to earn their warmth, which is fine with me—whereas Ozo is all about customer service. Baristas are young, hip, bouncy, high-energy, and never stodgy or put-out to serve up your jav. The music is loud (and far too often tends to reggae, which grates on my nerves something fierce), encouraging loud conversations and hustle and bustle. I will read a book here now and then, but it seems to be primarily a computer hang-out, along with business meetings. Lots going on in here. They don’t do any in-house baking, so they bring in others’ pastries (including Spruce’s scones), but I think they’re pretty obviously crushing it as a roaster.
There’s a lot more going on in the Boulder coffee scene. The Cup, The Laughing Goat, Jet’s Espressoria, Innis Free, Café Sole on the south side, Amante Coffee, The Brewing Markets, etc., etc., but I just don’t make it to these places nearly as often. There seems to be a fair bit of turn-over in the scene, too. I’ve lived in Boulder for five years, and in that time three different coffee shops on Pearl St (Saxy’s, Boulder Bookstore Café, Atlas Purveyors) all went out of business, and I really enjoyed all three.

I think, in general, especially given its relatively small population (100,000), Boulder is considered to have a pretty hoppin’ café scene. Obviously, it’s no San Fran or Portland or even Denver, but I enjoy it.

Becoming overwhelmed by the majestic sense of place of the mountains is reason enough to climb a mountain a day. Indian Peaks. Photo: Joe Grant

Becoming overwhelmed by the majestic sense of place of the mountains is reason enough to climb a mountain a day. Indian Peaks.
Photo: Joe Grant

View of lightly-powdered Longs Peak from Chasm Lake (Rocky Mountain National Park) Photo: Joe Grant

Trekking across a frozen Chasm Lake, at the doorstep of lightly-powdered Longs Peak (Rocky Mountain National Park)
Photo: Joe Grant

INL: In terms of food, I know that you do not follow a rigid diet of any sort, besides your fair share of fruits and vegetables. I do know, however, that you are no nay-sayer when it comes to simple carbohydrates. Which café best satisfies your renowned sweet tooth? Do you have a favorite dessert?

AK: Improbably, in Bouder, Jet’s Espressoria down on East Pearl does some killer baked goods. Cookies, sweet breads, etc. City On A Hill in Leadville probably has the highest number of sweet-things-I-want-to-eat. Best scones I’ve ever had. Lemon bars, cookies. Their sweet breads—particularly the vegan Pumpkin Bread—are great. Pannikin in Encinitas, CA, is probably my favorite all-around café anywhere, though. Their baked goods are out of this world. All of them. And they’re located in an old train depot. It’s an exceptional spot.

If we’re talking about the single best sweet treat anywhere in the world, though, the muffins at Wooglin’s Deli in Colorado Springs are truly enigmatic. Each one is reliably incredible—especially the Cherry/White Chocolate—and despite extensive research around the world, I’ve never found anything else that compares. Most muffins are crap—spongy, cake-y blah. Wooglins’ are a transcendent experience.

Finally, I spend a lot of time running and racing in Europe, and the espresso and chocolate croissants at Aux Petit Gourmands in Chamonix—pain au chocolat—are pretty much the best I’ve had anywhere in the world. Two double-shots of espresso, two pain au chocolat and I’m ready to go run in the Alps all day!

INL: You are oft-described as a “minimalist” runner – minimal gear, minimal clothes, just you and the mountain. I find that my approach to coffee is similar; minimalist coffee, no frills, no hippity hipster hipe, just quality beans roasted and brewed in a technically sound way. How is “minimalism” reflected in other aspects of your life?

AK: Oh boy. Hmmm. I hate talking/writing about this kind of stuff because it’s too easy to come off as preachy. I guess I just try to prioritize the things in my life that I know will make me a happy, healthy, functioning human. I don’t have it completely figured out, and there are lots of things that I would like to improve about my current approach to the world, but if I can get up a mountain and read a good book—often with some good coffee in hand—then it’s been a good day and a lot of other things tend to fall into place more easily.

Tony on his way to a first-place finish (12:42:31) at the Lavaredo 199K in Italy. Photo: The North Face Europe

Tony on his way to a first-place finish (12:42:31) this June at the Lavaredo Ultra Trail 199K in the Dolomites of Italy.
Photo: The North Face Europe

INL: You teamed with filmmaker Joel Wolpert – “The Wolpertinger” – again to write, shoot, and produce “In the High Country,” a thirty-minute impressionistic mirage of mountain and man, cliff and man, land and man. Towards the end of the film, you wrote: “When integration of self and place seem seamless . . . that is when the mountains truly become home.” Regarding coffee, I once wrote, “Coffee epitomizes the imprinting power of place.” What does trail running have to do with the sense of “place”?

AK: For me, a huge part of running in the mountains is focusedly experiencing my surroundings with a higher degree of attention. Integrating myself into my surroundings in a way that requires me to tune in, be aware, be present—not tune out. If that doesn’t imbue one with a more rich, nuanced sense of place, I’m not sure what will. The thing about moving quickly in the mountains is that this kind of focus and attention almost becomes a requirement.

“Outside of running, writing is my most apt form of creative expression . . . I suppose running and writing intersect in that they’re both forms of challenge and creativity.”

INL: What was your thought process when you were writing the narration for “In the High Country”? What does writing mean to you? When and how does “running” intersect with “writing”?

AK: The narration for ITHC was co-wrote by Joel and myself. I tend to be long-winded. I re-read a bunch of my old stuff and then wrote a typical, wordy, too-long new essay around the topics of “home” and “place”. This was pretty horrific. Joel and I put off recording the narration until the very last day of filming in Colorado because we were both pretty frustrated with where it was. Finally, in a late-night, by-headlamp session at Halfmoon Creek near Leadville, Joel took my essay and brilliantly distilled it down to a series of much more focused, terse statements. This was essentially the narration that made it into the film. The next morning, Joel and I went over each sentence word by word, together, until we were happy with it, and recorded it.

In general, I’m not sure how to answer the second two parts to your question. I guess, most essentially, outside of running, writing is my most apt form of creative expression. I typically find it more frustrating than anything, but like anything worthwhile, I also feel a sense of satisfaction after I’ve put a bunch of time and effort into writing something. I suppose running and writing intersect in that, like I said before, they’re both forms of challenge and creativity for me. Like anyone who has run, I constantly experience the frustration of being out on a run and thinking of the perfect way to word something, but then when it comes to sitting down and actually writing it later, that inspiration and ability has seemingly evaporated.

INL: You have now run across numerous mountain ranges on different continents, your hair flowingly fluttering through atmospheres to and fro, your battered feet scrambling and sliding in the midst of rocks here and there. What has your trail runner career taught you about travel thus far? How are they related?

AK: Travel is all about being open-minded and adaptable. If you have a strict, rigid agenda, not only will you miss out on the whole point of travel—to experience new things and meet new people—but you will inevitably be frustrated because there are too many variables involved in travel to stay in complete control. Accept your lack of control in a foreign environment and be open to arising opportunities and situations.

A shot from near Flegere, the top of the last climb on the UTMB course Photo: Jordi Saragossa

A shot from near Flegere, the top of the last climb on the UTMB course
Photo: Jordi Saragossa

INL: To me, bustling open air markets – stench and all – have stories to tell. Hole-in-the-wall restaurants in some basement serving one thing for three decades have stories to tell. To you, I’m sure each mountain pass has its own story. Which trail or peak tells the best tales for you? What do the mountains tell you?

AK: I think my home mountains—the in-town peaks and crags of Boulder and Longs Peak in Rocky Mountain National Park—probably tell me the best tales. Or the most meaningful ones, at least. Because these are the hills I visit the most, I know them best, and my lifetime experience-base in the mountains is most obviously shaped by them. Basically, the mountains give me hints and tips on how to live with intensity and attention.

INL: Last but not least, please summarize your life in the mountains – and your trail running – in ten words or less.

AK: Curiosity, challenge, discomfort, serenity, and personal growth.

*          *          *

Walking out of the screening of “Chef” the movie, a prominent thought in one’s mind has to be, “I’ve got to get me a Cubano. Now.” After the pork fantasy subsides, the next prominent thought is the “pretentiousness” of the food and coffee world. When does one cross the line between “connoisseur” and “snob”? How does one define “good” food or coffee? Or is there even such a definition? Can good food be just “good,” and can good coffee be just “good,” without the superlatives, adjectives, and the beards and flannel?

While spending some time away from this site, I was asking myself some of these questions. As a read various coffee reviews and food columns – and as I tried to wrap my head around those honey-blood orange-cactus-butterfly-cumquat cupping notes – I realized that coffee and food is not some hipster fad. Rather, they are fundamentals of life that have been part of people’s lives since the dawn of civilization (yes, coffee came a bit later). Gatherers gathered, hunters hunted, farmers farmed, fishermen fished. And at the end of the day, folks built a fire and gathered around a table to break bread. Good food, good people. No nonsense, just communion.

When I first planned to write about Northside Social in Arlington (alas, already several months ago), I remember being somewhat disappointed that the cafe did not offer pour over coffee. I thought to myself, you’re serving great Counterculture Coffee, and all you have is that pre-dripped Bunn trash that I can get at the diner down the street? And yes, I was planning to write a harsh review on Northside’s lack of coffee sophistication, that while serving as a cool local hangout, the cafe did not offer anything worth noting.

Snob. Douche. Unappreciative of what coffee, and food, is all about.

Northside Social is the perfect cafe for a late night shot of whatever (and wine upstairs) with terrific pastries (biscotti and chocolate cake are worth every bite) and sandwiches. When most other cafes are closed by nightfall, Northside runs strong into the night, buzzing until midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. Besides having more than enough tables outside for a cold one on a summer night, live music in the cafe is not a stranger, as musicians from all roads come and go with their tales.

Good coffee is so much more than cupping notes. The countless minutes I wasted swirling my Chemexed brew around my tongue to get a glimpse of that preserved blackberry note. While quality beans roasted perfectly will undoubtedly have pronounced flavors, there is no need to make coffee more than what it is. Some of the best food I’ve had came from the fish-gut riddled streets of an outdoor market in rural Korea, and I was applying a different standard to coffee. A lack of pour over service is not a death sentence. Maybe I don’t need to know the exact soil content of the micro lot the coffee came from. Maybe I just won’t drop a Benjamin to buy that state-of-the-art coffee scale, maybe I just won’t nervously eye the stopwatch to time my brew to the exact second.

Maybe I’ll just brew coffee and drink coffee.

Excellence should be awarded. Perfection should be pursued, and perfected. Yes, please don’t stop developing those personal relationships with micro lot farmers, and please don’t stop working the soil to harvest the best coffee there is. Please keep the science moving.

But at the end of the day, it’s meat over an open pit, fresh bread from the oven, and coffee. It’s that steaming Cubano from the truck. It’s a good meal with good people, and coffee. A good Cubano is not birthed by chance; marinating the pork, roasting it, slicing it, buttering the bread, pressing it down on the grill, all requires precise science, innovation, technique. But that Einstein Cubano is not meant to be eaten with forks and knives. It’s best when eaten curbside, hot mustard and grease running down your thumb, the Autumn heat pounding on the back of your neck.

Coffee tastes of the atmosphere. It’s a communal beverage, soaking in the notes of the music and people that surround it during consumption. In that realm, Northside has great coffee. Folks chatting over a glass of wine, folks chomping on paninis with their eyes glued to their Macbook monitors, folks splitting a thick slab of triple-chocolate cake over late night coffee. Lively, boisterous, unpretentious. Coffee where coffee belongs, in the midst of conversation, work, tears, joy. Amongst the people.

Give coffee back to the people.

Admittedly, it is not normal for one to enjoy a cup of hot, drip coffee at nine p.m. But a life of sole individual norms does not add to much, and for no particular reason, I have a personal tradition of ordering black coffee before late night movies. It is as addictive, and comforting, as extra-buttered popcorn or warm kettlecorn. As others munch through their bags of corn, I sip incessantly, sometimes consciously, but mostly at a pace of utter ignorance and lack of thought. I just drink.

Coffee at the movies does not usually generate much conversation. Not only is it less popular than the standard popcorn, nachos, and soda, but the quality is (understandably) below what I would consider drinkable. Somewhere between law school coffee and the three p.m. leftover pot at work. For coffee, that is kin to the eighth ring of hell, in Dante’s terms. Soda and popcorn, that is the staple. Soda and nachos, soda and hotdogs. I find incredible, heartfelt joy when I find another being sipping coffee at the movies, as if I’d found a long lost kin.

Angelika Film Center and Cafe is like none other. When it first opened its theater in the Mosaic District in Northern Virginia, people flocked to it for the balanced showings of independent and blockbuster films, the occasional foreign features, and believe it or not, the kimchi hotdog – which I’ve tried, and to my disappointment, is nothing special. Bollywood or no Bollywood, kimchi-dog or no kimchi-dog, what drew my attention was the shiny La Marzocco espresso machine on the first floor. I could not believe my eyes. Where was the Denny’s coffee pot, and Bunn brewing thing?

Along with beer on tap and an impressive assortment of baked goods, the tiny cafe in the corner brews Intelligentsia coffee, even at the utmost late hours, for addicts like me shaking to take that fresh cup into the showing. The baristas knew what they were doing, and let’s just say that sipping quality coffee at the movies was something I did not expect to see in this decade.

After opening its flagship theater in New York’s Soho district in 1989, Angelika has expanded into Dallas and Plano, Texas, and Northern Virginia. This is not the AMC you’re accustomed to. The interior design, the layout, and the lighting is more like an exhibition, patrons lounging and chatting with a glass of wine, pint of beer, and yes, coffee. Gourmet snacks, gourmet-level independent films, and a gourmet atmosphere is very fitting for gourmet coffee.

Angelika’s iconic logo, resembling the likes of a mixed breed between a Greek god, Roman soldier, and rugby stud, hangs prominently on one wall, as if to watch over the patrons as they ascend or descend the glass stairs to and from the theaters. I wish, however, that Angelika would make more use of the logo. Simple prints or stamps of it on the coffee cups or sleeves would be a nice touch, and would enhance its branding.

Tapping the Fandango app on my phone, finding a new movie I’ve barely heard of, realizing that it starts in thirteen minutes, rushing to the theater, barely making it to my seat to catch the final seconds of previews – with a cup of Intelligentsia coffee in hand. Fewer things in life could be more satisfying.

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