Blends
Coffee is made usually by grinding whole coffee beans and running hot water through the ground remnants, past a filter. Serve hot or cold. Some add milk, or cream, or sugar. Non-fat milk. Half and half. No carb sugar. Anything you want. There are lattes, cappuccinos, macchiatos, americanos. No foam, extra hot, add syrup. It can be as bitter or as sweet as you want it to be, as strong or as weak. Coming from all over the world, coffee differs in taste due to its country of origin; there are people who specialize in coffee diversity—taste, that is.
People mostly worry about the aesthetic (the color, density, or kind) of their coffee before they even give it a try. I know I do. Though the taste is ultimately the important part, the appearance of the liquid (black or brown or tan) is the first factor to be perceived.
Standing in line at a crowded Starbucks is neither pleasurable nor entertaining so I decided to take a quick survey of the room. Any other day, it wouldn’t have been as obvious but it was Christmas, I was high off holiday gaiety, and the world was more beautiful. What I found looking around was that for almost every kind of coffee design, there was a respective person present.
The San Francisco Bay Area is known for its unique diversity. It may be safe to say this block of cities is one of the most diverse areas in the world. Berkeley lends itself to diversity of mind, Oakland to diversity of color, San Francisco to diversity of lifestyle—and the list continues. It’s always been beautiful to me: constantly moving and constantly colorful, issues constantly changing. Try to find one person who looks, thinks, and lives exactly like you do and you’ll fail horribly. The experience of standing in a room with only people looking like you is rare; it’s normal to be in the presence of people who are obviously different (but potentially the same). People who, by their appearance, are perceived by the world in a different way than you are, receive different treatment, and drink different coffee.
The 25th of December and there I waited, in line at Starbucks. The woman at the counter waiting to receive my order stood behind the register with a pleasant look on her face; she didn’t seem annoyed to be working on Christmas Day or overwhelmed by the immense number of people forming a coiling line around the entire shop before her. In her face, her eyes and lips stood out the most. Huge round eyes and thin lips made for the only color on her body and around these features, set on ivory-like skin: a bald head and gauged ears. Recognizing her caused me to look around with more purpose. A tall, large black man stood behind me. Round paperboy hat, in his sixties. Peppery hair and peppery beard. He stood with his legs wide and his hands clasped in front of him below his rounded belly. A strong stance. He held a rolled-up newspaper. I smiled at him more than once.
A white woman in a wheelchair sat by the door, about forty yet never able to help herself, waiting well for her holiday cup.
An Asian man stood with patience for his coffee and for his little boy, pulling on his pant leg, to let off.
Dark Middle Eastern man. Pairs of friends. Man and woman holding hands. Man and man holding hands. Woman and woman holding hands. Children. An obese gentleman waddled through the door. Things I couldn’t see yet knew were present and differed a great deal: belief, religion, wants, needs, incomes.
We all stood in line together, for the sole purpose of coffee.
I couldn’t stop looking around. It was like each person was a bit of my drug and the combination of them promoted the best high possible: humanity. This was so beautiful that I was almost jealous of myself for getting the chance to experience it. How had it been arranged that it was Christmas day and every single type of person, flavor of coffee, was present at the Lakeshore Starbucks branch in Oakland? Did anyone else notice what was at play here?
Had we been chosen by ourselves, our love, or some higher power to take part in The Nativity Scene 2007? Starbucks was the barn and coffee was the child. And every kind of representation of human form was there, gathered around and huddled up from the cold, for the same exact reason. Happy Birthday, Jesus.
And as I moved up in line, only to wait more (this was good: more time to look around), I wondered how anyone could ever be opposed to the collection of lives—of stories—standing in that room. I thought about how Hitler might react, a sheltered white shop owner from Arkansas in the thirties, George W. Bush. How was this ugly? Or revolting? Or dangerous? What compelled thoughts of making the world so homogenous, and how could we possibly benefit from denying the world of color? I got my coffee black. The man behind me ordered a white mocha.
According to their website, Starbucks has “up to 87,000 different drink combinations—all customized for your own individual needs.” Isn’t this why they’re so popular? The fact that Starbucks gives their customers so many different options and so many different blends from all over the world is what makes them so successful. Where else can you order a triple non-fat caramel macchiato with sugar-free syrup? We love our coffee diversity, our blends and our extra milk. We love it that we won’t be judged for how dark we want our coffee.
Consider that Oakland, The Bay Area, where I’m from is like a Starbucks. You have it (or live it) exactly the way you want, no questions asked. And when your drink is ready, you’re defined by your name—not by the density, color, or kind of the caffeine in the cup. I’m proud of where I’m from. I’m proud that I can stand in a room like that and look around and not see mirror reflections of myself. Most of all, I’m proud that I learn from experiences like that and am able to appreciate the beauty in them. Gender, race, color, size, age, disability, gay, straight, wants, needs, families, incomes… all getting their coffee in one, absolute, specific way. But it was coffee nonetheless which makes me think: if coffee is referred to as a “blend,” are people so different?
People mostly worry about the aesthetic (the color, density, or kind) of their coffee before they even give it a try. I know I do. Though the taste is ultimately the important part, the appearance of the liquid (black or brown or tan) is the first factor to be perceived.
Standing in line at a crowded Starbucks is neither pleasurable nor entertaining so I decided to take a quick survey of the room. Any other day, it wouldn’t have been as obvious but it was Christmas, I was high off holiday gaiety, and the world was more beautiful. What I found looking around was that for almost every kind of coffee design, there was a respective person present.
The San Francisco Bay Area is known for its unique diversity. It may be safe to say this block of cities is one of the most diverse areas in the world. Berkeley lends itself to diversity of mind, Oakland to diversity of color, San Francisco to diversity of lifestyle—and the list continues. It’s always been beautiful to me: constantly moving and constantly colorful, issues constantly changing. Try to find one person who looks, thinks, and lives exactly like you do and you’ll fail horribly. The experience of standing in a room with only people looking like you is rare; it’s normal to be in the presence of people who are obviously different (but potentially the same). People who, by their appearance, are perceived by the world in a different way than you are, receive different treatment, and drink different coffee.
The 25th of December and there I waited, in line at Starbucks. The woman at the counter waiting to receive my order stood behind the register with a pleasant look on her face; she didn’t seem annoyed to be working on Christmas Day or overwhelmed by the immense number of people forming a coiling line around the entire shop before her. In her face, her eyes and lips stood out the most. Huge round eyes and thin lips made for the only color on her body and around these features, set on ivory-like skin: a bald head and gauged ears. Recognizing her caused me to look around with more purpose. A tall, large black man stood behind me. Round paperboy hat, in his sixties. Peppery hair and peppery beard. He stood with his legs wide and his hands clasped in front of him below his rounded belly. A strong stance. He held a rolled-up newspaper. I smiled at him more than once.
A white woman in a wheelchair sat by the door, about forty yet never able to help herself, waiting well for her holiday cup.
An Asian man stood with patience for his coffee and for his little boy, pulling on his pant leg, to let off.
Dark Middle Eastern man. Pairs of friends. Man and woman holding hands. Man and man holding hands. Woman and woman holding hands. Children. An obese gentleman waddled through the door. Things I couldn’t see yet knew were present and differed a great deal: belief, religion, wants, needs, incomes.
We all stood in line together, for the sole purpose of coffee.
I couldn’t stop looking around. It was like each person was a bit of my drug and the combination of them promoted the best high possible: humanity. This was so beautiful that I was almost jealous of myself for getting the chance to experience it. How had it been arranged that it was Christmas day and every single type of person, flavor of coffee, was present at the Lakeshore Starbucks branch in Oakland? Did anyone else notice what was at play here?
Had we been chosen by ourselves, our love, or some higher power to take part in The Nativity Scene 2007? Starbucks was the barn and coffee was the child. And every kind of representation of human form was there, gathered around and huddled up from the cold, for the same exact reason. Happy Birthday, Jesus.
And as I moved up in line, only to wait more (this was good: more time to look around), I wondered how anyone could ever be opposed to the collection of lives—of stories—standing in that room. I thought about how Hitler might react, a sheltered white shop owner from Arkansas in the thirties, George W. Bush. How was this ugly? Or revolting? Or dangerous? What compelled thoughts of making the world so homogenous, and how could we possibly benefit from denying the world of color? I got my coffee black. The man behind me ordered a white mocha.
According to their website, Starbucks has “up to 87,000 different drink combinations—all customized for your own individual needs.” Isn’t this why they’re so popular? The fact that Starbucks gives their customers so many different options and so many different blends from all over the world is what makes them so successful. Where else can you order a triple non-fat caramel macchiato with sugar-free syrup? We love our coffee diversity, our blends and our extra milk. We love it that we won’t be judged for how dark we want our coffee.
Consider that Oakland, The Bay Area, where I’m from is like a Starbucks. You have it (or live it) exactly the way you want, no questions asked. And when your drink is ready, you’re defined by your name—not by the density, color, or kind of the caffeine in the cup. I’m proud of where I’m from. I’m proud that I can stand in a room like that and look around and not see mirror reflections of myself. Most of all, I’m proud that I learn from experiences like that and am able to appreciate the beauty in them. Gender, race, color, size, age, disability, gay, straight, wants, needs, families, incomes… all getting their coffee in one, absolute, specific way. But it was coffee nonetheless which makes me think: if coffee is referred to as a “blend,” are people so different?
posted by Kelsi Jensen | 12:20 AM
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