Archives for August 2006
How to make really good coffee
A question posed in the Guardian’s Notes and Queries page a couple of months back — notably, never answered — asked why coffee shops fiddled about with the steam wand to heat the milk. “Why not just have a separate pipe that foams the milk whilst the steam heats it?”
And that’s the problem with coffee in Britain. It’s rubbish.
I first encountered Starbucks in Vancouver back in the late nineties, and was taken by their comfortable cafes and seemingly good coffee. Compared with the black oil dispensed in most places it was a revelation. When the first branches opened in the UK a couple of years later it remained a treat, because it was different. (Although once the men and women of North Kent started serving it at Bluewater soon after, it began to lose its allure.)
There are some things that I continue to admire about the Starbucks approach: they offer a smoke-free, alcohol-free public space in which people can meet without the pressure or discomfort of a table-service cafe. But even I am now concerned at their ability to squeeze independents out of business and increase margins at the expense of suppliers.
More importantly, though, I now realise their coffee is bilious.
A year in New Zealand exposed me to a new standard of coffee and cafe, and I even spent a few months attempting to be a barista with an infamous lack of success. So here’s the secret to the perfect flat white: good milk, no foam.
Cafe L’Affare, driving force behind the coffee revolution in New Zealand, recently published its handbook for How to Make Good Coffee. It’s a concise guide, and proves that a fine drink is quite simple to make — provided you know what you’re doing.
We could talk about the importance of the espresso shot, the fineness of the grind, the quality of the beans or the smoothness of the crema, and there’s no doubt that a bad shot is foul. However, where British baristas (perhaps we should call them ‘operators’) muck up is on the milk. Generally it’s udderly hopeless.
The signs of a well-prepared milky coffee, whether a latte or a cappuccino, are (i) no bubbles, (ii) a glossy sheen and (iii) lightness. It shouldn’t be fluffy, it should’t be foamy, and it shouldn’t look like a Mr Whippy. Think about the top of a really good pint of Guinness: that’s what we’re aiming for.
I’m not a scientist (obviously) but have been told that the purpose of steaming the milk is both to heat it, and to stretch the protein chains. This ’stretch’ gives some of the milk a different ‘texture’ or density. The denser milk makes up the base of the drink whilst the more heavily textured milk forms the cap on a latte or the lighter part of a cappuccino. If you’ve ordered a latte and are given a milky coffee with no top — it’s wrong, wrong, wrong. A cappuccino covered in bath foam — wrong, wrong, wrong again.
L’Affare describe three stages of creating perfect milk. The milk itself really should be the proper stuff, not semi-skimmed and certainly not soy. Eugh. Half fill a metal jug with milk, and place the tip of the wand just under the top of the milk. Turn on the steam and immediately tilt the jug at an angle: this will maximise the swirling vortex and fold in more air.
Once the milk has grown sufficiently, perhaps to near the top of the jug, place the wand deeper in and continue to heat the milk until the jug is too hot to hold the hand to for more than a second. This second stage is purely for heating, not creating more textured milk.
When the target temperature is reached turn off the steam and swirl this jug. This will stop the milk separating. At the same time, if there are any bubbles on the top then tap the jug on the workbench until they come out. Remember, foam is the last thing we want, followed by the pain of separation.
Unless you’re particularly efficient (some of the busiest baristas will create upwards of a thousand coffees a day) then now — and only now — should you pour the espresso shot. Whilst that’s coming through, in no more than 25 seconds please, continue to swirl the jug to keep the milk in peak condition.
Transfer the shots to the cup and complete the final, sometimes most difficult stage of making a good coffee — the pour. On a cappuccino you might be looking for the perfect ring, on a latte a milk cap that is neither too big or too small. As anyone who’s seen my coffee making will tell you, it’s not easy. For me at least.
I think that a café where there’s the sound of jug against bench is probably a reasonably good one, and certainly better than most in the UK. It shows they care about the milk. But who can blame them when no-one trains them? Once again, the British lack of knowledge about good food and drink lowers our expectations and encourages us to go for the largest cup rather than the best sized milk-espresso combination.
The irony is, there’s often nothing I like more than a nice cup of Nescafe instant…
The last action heroes
England have won their first home series against Pakistan in since the early ’80s and are gambolling towards the Ashes tests. This swagger is all new to me since, whilst you were idling in front of Channel 4 last summer, I had to survive on the internet commentary at four in the morning in sub-zero Queenstown.
Despite missing the drunken celebrations of 2005 it’s becoming clear that cricket is home to the last heroes of English sport. Look at the sports I’ve followed over the years: they’ve all gone to pot.
F1. Not coming from a sporty family, this was the one thing we watched religiously. Golden memories of Senna, Prost and Mansell fighting close races around the dusty tracks of Europe. Ah, those were the days. Now, it’s thirty seconds of drama at the start, followed by half an hour of motorway driving, then a stop at the services followed by a trip to junction 4 of the M25. The race is decided by who can find a parking space quickest and fill up on unleaded. There’s more excitement in the unpredictability of hairballs in a Moto breakfast. I’ve officially Given Up on motor racing and cancelled my subscription to F1 Racing magazine. Heroes: zero.
Cycling. Any professional cyclist is an ultimate athlete, whether fighting it out at the front of the Tour de France or ferrying water bottles at the back of the Tour of Majorca. To cycle hundreds of kilometres day after day takes unbelievable stamina: and, it turns out, a lot of doping. For gawdsake, if a Mennonite is getting loaded before a race then the game’s over. Sole hero: Bradley Wiggins, for the name alone.
Football. It’s never had a big place in my life although I am equipped for a five minute conversation with most taxi drivers. Insert your standard observations about overpaid primadonnas here. It’s not as if they know what to do with the money judging by their fashion faux pas. What was Lee Bowyer thinking, wearing shoes without socks? Heroes: John Terry in a fight, perhaps.
Golf. Don’t get it, don’t follow it but it was thrilling to read that several golfers are failing drugs tests. Not for performance enhancing products – extract of carrot to enhance vision, for example – but proper dope with a side order of ecstasy. Heroes: none, but a grudging respect for any fat bloke who can call himself a sportsman, plus Tiger Woods for being willing to cry in public.
Cricket. At last, proper sportsmen in a proper sport. They play as a team, they pick themselves up when they’re down, they actually win things. Plus they have the mental stamina to remain engaged in a game that lasts five days. Alcohol is the drug of choice for both players and spectators, and the nearest thing to doping was Phil Tufnell’s nicotine patch. This week’s heroes: Panesar for turning into a competent fielder, Mahmood for tolerating unfair barracking and achieving figures of 4-17.
Question: since Monty is a left-handed spin bowler, is he able to bowl a chinaman? Bonus question: is the term chinaman offensive these days? Not that cricket is a particularly politically correct sport, of course.
