wheelhousecoffee.com

​The only class I ever failed was in Trigonometry. Sure, there were plenty of tests I bombed in my academic career. But the only entire class ever failed (I mean, really, truly, properly and miserably failed) was Trigonometry. To this day, if you ask me about it (not an advisable action), I will tell you it was the teacher's fault. Because it was; he was a phenomenally poor teacher with impressively low motivation to explain materials in an understandable manner and inexplicably high motivation to offer students continual false hopes for passing the class so that they would never drop out.

Math in general is a challenge, in my opinion. But geometry, trigonometry, and all such like are especially mind-bending. You begin with a shape, which then possesses numbers. Then numbers replace the shape, and letters replace the numbers. Equations are done with the letters, which magically transform back into numbers, and then all of a sudden, you have a shape again... Which is what you started with, so why all the extra steps? I mean, seriously. Why couldn't you be satisfied with the first triangle? It was exactly the same. ...This is precisely why I studied choral music.

But all frustration aside, there are moments when I genuinely wish that my knowledge of geometric shapes was more holistically intact than it is. Take today, for example, when visiting Wheelhouse Coffee on Westlake Avenue.

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NWRBC finalist Laila Ghambari's serving cart waits patiently backstage.

​One would think that if the 2012 Northwest Regional Barista Competition were going to have a defining word, it might be something like dedication. Commitment. Artistry. Excellence. Detailed. Perhaps, even, obsession.

This year, seated at the Sensory Judge's table, after hours of classes and calibration with the other judges, I was afforded a whole new perspective on the challenges facing each competitor as they approach the competition. The level of detail a barista must attend to, both in preparing to compete and in competition itself, is nearly beyond belief.

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​I've spent the past ten minutes knee-deep in articles about flavor wheels and the science of taste, attempting to decipher and pronounce words like, "alliasceous" and "cineolic." This happens periodically. Periodically, I think it will make sense, so I run another search and read another article and sit, staring blankly, at another spiral-oriented rendering of Taste.

Today's venture into the world of technical terminology was inspired by a trip to the Van Gogh Coffeehouse in Wedgwood. At which, the "specials" board advertised, among other things, a Salted Caramel Latte. This prospective intrigued me enough that I purchased one (double shot, 8 oz., rice milk) to sample. Question my judgment as you will; occasionally, everyone gets curious.

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​Some days, I confess that I feel very Northwestern. Most days, I suppose. But some days, more so than others. Take yesterday, for example. It snowed. While everyone else was panicking about it, I was hopping in my Subaru and heading off to find any coffee shop situated on a decent hill. Snow is great. Snow is fun. And driving down snowy hills in an all-wheel-drive vehicle produces an obnoxious feeling of superiority.

Of course, when looking for hills in Seattle, one doesn't necessarily need to look far. But for hills and coffee at the same time, the Phinney Ridge neighborhood is an excellent bet. I ended up at Cafe Bambino, most of the way down 65th, ordering an Americano and trying to determine whose coffee they were serving.

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flickr.com/photos/aaronaiken

​Every so often, you hear a sports reference to a person, team, or animal that beat incredible odds by performing on a recipe of "all heart." That team triumphed playing all heart. That horse ran on all heart. That athlete was all heart. It is always a statement of utmost admiration.

Today, I experienced an espresso against which all the odds were decidedly set. It was at a Barnes and Noble cafe, to begin with. And it was definitely existing on "all heart." But such a state, let it be noted, is not even remotely an admirable quality in an espresso.

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​I love New Year's resolutions. Not the act of making them myself, mind you, but watching everybody else make them is a lot of fun. For example: I am at coffee today with my roommate, whose New Year's resolution was to give up caffeine. We are (both) drinking (regular, caffeinated) mochas, and watching the plethora of people out jogging, all of whom are undoubtedly experiencing more success with the concept of initial resolve than is my friend.

This year, my first cup of coffee is from Herkimer, courtesy of Revolutions Espresso in the Green Lake neighborhood. Since I made no resolutions whatsoever (least of all any having to do with weight loss or the renouncing of vices), I've ordered a 12 oz, rice-milk mocha instead of my usual, leaner 8 oz Americano.

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http://dorisdoumaborn.wordpress.com

​'Tis the Season for writing lists. Every single year, Santa's "Naughty or Nice" list pops up in a December song or two, and seemingly incites mass panic. The end-of-year Lists switch gets flipped. Next things you know, everybody has lists. Gift lists. Card lists. Party lists. New Year Resolution lists. Final, last ditch "must accomplish!" lists. List and lists and lists.

I don't really understand the list-writing obsession... but I hate to feel left out. So today, I am writing a list, detailing five highlights from the year in coffee - From best new Seattle coffee shop, to most inspiring company, here we go: 2011 in Coffee.

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Facebook: Cafe Weekend

​In the grand scheme of things, I feel there are few ways to annoy a person more quickly or thoroughly than by introducing them to something you know they will love, and then promptly making that thing categorically impossible to obtain. Take, for example, your favorite pair of jeans. Of which, I hope you purchased more than one pair. Because by the time you wear them out and have to go back to the store for round two, the style (and/or entire brand of denim) will have been discontinued. Start over!

Café Weekend, in the North Rainier Valley, is a little space I am quite taken with. A unique collection of handcrafted knickknacks, photo books, and locally-made candies stand in cheery ranks along the wood shelving. Giant windows let light flood into the tiny cafe and settle on an espresso machine, ready and waiting for your order... the only problem? It's never open.

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www.chantalandrea.com

​At 10:00 on a Saturday night, I cannot believe I've found parking on Capitol Hill. Let alone, parking directly in front of the Caffe Vita, which is my destination. It has been a long day, and I have things to write. I'm sleepy. There is no way I'll get through writing anything without coffee.

Finding the correct coffee shop for any given moment of a day, or day of a week, is an art form. It requires lining up your mood, your preferred list of baristas, your route of travel, the type of coffee you want, etc. etc. etc., adding them together, and then somehow computing the average. Finding the correct coffee shop for late night coffee excusions is a lot more simple: You find the cafe that is still open, and you go there.

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Beautiful espresso at Cesura, from Coffee Extraordinaire Katherine Hartline.

​In the arts, there is a word we use which does not seem to have much practical use to the rest of the world. Caesura. -- Stop. Pause. Break. Cease. Time does not exist here.

As a choral conductor, I invariably experience the caesura as an intense contest of will. First, because I have to stop. (I hate stopping. On an average day, I don't even much like to sit down unless I'm driving somewhere.) But lest I think that forcing myself to observe a musical cease-fire is difficult, I can always hold my reaction up in comparison to my choirs' reactions... it does not matter how much I do or do not want the music to break. Choirs abhor musical breaks. Particularly ones that require them all to break at the same time, for the same amount of time. I sometimes feel that, instead of "railroad tracks," the symbol should have been a railroad crossing instead, complete with flashing lights and barricades. The caesura interrupts one of our foundational laws... the one about an object in motion remaining in motion. It states, quite clearly, that for no reason other than compositional whim, all motion must temporarily cease.

I thought, perhaps, that Bellevue's Cafe Cesura must have been arbitrarily named. But after visiting it for a quick, ten-minute cup of coffee this weekend and leaving roughly two hours later... I suppose I see their point. Time, somehow, suddenly quit on me.

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