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Discussion in 'The Mainboard' started by High Cotton, Jun 15, 2009.
Really really love the Fellow Atmos canisters for storage, highly recommend
Which Bonavita? Need a new machine at the office.
Did you get glass or stainless? Those look really nice. I think one of mine is going bad so I might be in the market for a couple new ones.
The black stainless, though glass looks sexy sitting out I’m sure
BV1500TS, and added the glass carafe so I switch between that and the stainless
That one isn’t SCAA certified, is it? Think you have to go up to the 1800TS for that
That may be, I’m not sure. Either way, it makes a damn fine pot for a cheap office (I.e. in my personal office, not for the general office’s use) unit
Any of the high caffeine cofees worth a damn? Or is the way to go to just drink more
Imo taste trumps all. Just drink an extra cup or extra shots if you need more caffeine.
I’ve never liked the acidity that comes with higher caffeine content. Another cup for me, thanks.
Are the high caffeine coffees robusta beans and not arabica or some combo of both?
Robusta coffees are less superior in taste.
They're either a blend of mostly robusta (like 70-80%) + some arabica beans or straight up robusta. I've had deathwish coffee and it tasted like like Dunkin coffee but stronger caffeine wise.
Been back on the cold brew wagon, as of late. Love my Toddy
Y’all should definitely go by your local Costco and grab some of the Charleston Roasters stuff. It’s tasty.
I'm not a fan
Favorite to cold brew?
Beans don't matter as much for cold brew, so whatever is on sale... currently a Caribou medium roast
I'm much more particular with my pour-over & Aeropress. Locally, I get all my beans from Bold Bean, Pura Bean or Vagabond. It's not local, but I love Counter Culture, when fresh
Drinking some right now
The new Ratio 6 looks pretty solid .. Not as pretty as the 8 but 210$ pre-order price. It does look tempting.. Releases on December 3, 2019
Spoiler: The Tom Petty Coffee Story
Which brings me to the story I want to tell. Not mine — Petty’s. There was an important conversation that didn’t make the book, that came too late in the process. But it told me something about that kid, that kid crazy for rock & roll, and what that kid still meant to Tom Petty. I think Petty did what he could to go back and see him, back to Dreamville, whenever and wherever and however he could. It’s a story about coffee.
But let me first say this about coffee: When it’s time to conduct an interview, I always show up with a large cup. Because the last thing you want when you’re asking questions about a person’s life and work is to sit across from that person struggling to stay awake. Do that, and you’ve lost them. At the same time, you don’t want too much coffee. Starbucks sells some overly large cups of coffee. I bought one of those the day I interviewed Dhani Harrison for Martin Scorsese’s documentary about Dhani’s father, George. I drank the whole thing. Dhani had long hair at the time, a lot like George’s in the All Things Must Passera. Forty-five minutes into the interview and all the way through that coffee, I found myself in a semihallucinatory state, thinking I might be talking to George Harrison. That’s too much coffee. What you want is the next size down from that.
When I’d drive to Tom Petty’s house for interviews, I’d always stop about half a mile away from his place to get my cup of coffee, after which I’d make my way down the last stretch of the Pacific Coast Highway that brought me to his driveway. There I’d call up to the main house, the gates would open, and I’d drive up the hill toward Tom Petty’s world.
After parking, I’d go into the recording studio lounge, no one there but me, where I’d see a tray with two overturned ceramic mugs, sugar, spoons, milk, and a large thermos of, yes, coffee. It was always there. I never saw anyone deliver it or remove it, but it was always hot and fresh. Of course, I wasn’t going to take the chance and show up without my own coffee, only to find out that that one time there was no tray with two overturned mugs, a thermos, etc.
The interviews for Petty: The Biographytook place over a period of years. During one of the final sessions, knowing this was near the end, I mentioned to Tom that he always provided a great cup of coffee, better than what I brought myself. Now, please understand, not every thought I shared with Petty got a response. He wasn’t big on small talk. But in this case, I saw that what I’d said registered with him. Petty had those pale-blue eyes, and when he fixed them on you the effect was arresting. My comment about the coffee had gotten his attention. “You know, Warren,” he said, holding my gaze, “you’re not the first person to say that.”
What Petty went on to say certainly felt like book-worthy material. It didn’t make the final manuscript only because I was too far along in the process and couldn’t find an honest place for it. No matter, it was in my version of the book, the one I kept in my head. And, yes, it was about coffee. And it wasn’t. Petty went for 20 minutes, maybe more, talking about what a good cup of coffee should be, how to recognize one, where to find one. It was the level of engagement he reserved for subjects like Fender Telecasters or the Beatles.
The story he told me went something like this: He’d been out driving with his wife, Dana, north of their Malibu home, when they’d stopped at a diner. The coffee there, he told me, was close to perfect. Generally reserved, even shy, he felt compelled to ask the waitress what kind it was. She didn’t know. She told him she’d ask the manager. The manager, possibly surprised that a rock & roll legend wanted information about the diner’s coffee, gave him the secret, which probably wasn’t a secret at all. It was Maxwell House.
“Good to the last drop.” That was, and is, the Maxwell House slogan. Originally claimed to be the words of Teddy Roosevelt, who supposedly had a cup of the stuff at Andrew Jackson’s Hermitage in Nashville, the phrase was later attributed to General Foods Corporation president Clifford Spiller. Clifford Spiller? Good to the last drop? You can’t make this shit up.
When Petty heard the words “Maxwell House,” he didn’t turn back. He wasn’t going to deny the truth of his experience. In his view, it was a great cup of coffee. He didn’t bow to any hipster sensibility that went against his own tastes. His response? “Can I see how you make it?” The manager took Petty into the kitchen, where a Bunn Automatic coffeemaker was doing its thing. If you look in most any diner across America, the Bunn Automatic is a pretty standard fixture. For the places that do high-volume work, their units are professional-grade, tied into the plumbing rather than just sitting on the countertop. So, not long after the diner visit, that’s what Petty installed at his home. Two of them, in fact. He didn’t want to find himself waiting for a cup of coffee.
But the story didn’t stop there. The following Christmas, Petty explained, when hosting a family gathering that extended over a week, a private chef providing each day’s centerpiece of a sit-down family meal, Petty was again struck by a cup of coffee. The chef was using the Maxwell House, the Bunn Automatic … yet the coffee tasted even better. Again Petty went to the source, asking the chef what he’d done. As the man explained, before he put the Maxwell House into the machine, he used a knife to level off every cup he measured out. It was exact. Not close,exact. From there on out, that’s how it would be done at the Petty home. That, Petty told me, is what I’d been drinking.
He was still looking directly at me, as if to make sure I was getting all of this. I felt as though he didn’t just want to tell me something, he wanted to leave a mark. The Tom Petty who had watched thousands of cowboys move across the TV screen, well, just then he looked like one of them. I couldn’t think of a whole lot else to do but take a sip of that coffee and say, “It’s good. This really is good coffee.” To which Petty said, “You got that right.”
Of course, if his account ends there, that doesn’t mean the story ends there. It’s mine to tell. And I kept thinking about it. Had I ever seen Tom Petty without a cup of coffee? I wasn’t sure I had. When he walked onto his bus after a show, the crowd still thinking they might get one more song, there was a cup of coffee waiting for him. On the plane? A cup of coffee. At the Heartbreaker clubhouse? Coffee.
American coffee culture has changed over the past few decades. A game of catch-up took place, one in which American taste and style attempted to move closer to the standards of European taste and style. This is an old American reflex, of course: Catch up with the Europeans. And, despite all this, we’re still behind. What you get at a truck stop in Italy often beats our best. But, yes, a revolution did take place. I had to ask Petty, did he like what had happened? How did he feel about a quality espresso? He looked at me like I had missed the whole point of his story.
Yes, he told me, he’d tried some espresso, made backstage by one of the Heartbreakers. I’m guessing Benmont Tench or Steve Ferrone, but Petty didn’t say. He just said he didn’t get it. Should a cup of coffee be over that quickly? Is what’s good for tequila good for coffee? He didn’t answer the question, just looked at me in a way that said, No, it isn’t, Warren. What he was after in a cup of coffee, he explained, was something he found in a Gainesville diner, where he could sit for hours, getting refills, wrapping his fingers around a cup that kept being replenished. This, I came to believe, is what this coffee story was all about. It wasn’t about coffee. Not exactly.
It was that place. That Gainesville diner. It was the time. It was being high on dirt weed and drinking seven cups of coffee, talking about Wilson Pickett, the Beach Boys, Cream. It was no one throwing you out when you couldn’t scrape together the money for a piece of pie. It was a workshop where you could build scale models of your dreams.
In that perfect cup of coffee Tom Petty served me on Malibu afternoons — every cup of Maxwell House exactly level — he could almost experience, almost feel, something he couldn’t completely get back to. That coffee, I came to believe, was his Rosebud. We were not talking about a hot drink any more than Charles Foster Kane was talking about a sled. It was really about a moment in Petty’s life when the world was in front of him, when he could feel the closeness of that kid crazy for rock & roll, before the disappointments that come even to the star’s life. We were talking about a cup of coffee, but a cup of coffee into which a world could be poured.