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Dear Katie
May 6th, 2008 | 6:31 pm
I like coffee...and I'd like to think, as somewhat of a foodie, that fancy roasts and Clover machines and fair
trade beans are important. I'd like to be somewhat elitist and consider color and consistency and grind
crucial. But none of those things really matter to me. Just order me a good, old-fashioned cup of joe.
My tastes are embarrassingly Clintonian. I like diner coffee served up in a big ceramic mug by a lady named
Louise. I like 7-11 coffee, standing there with the proletariat and mixing a nice blend of coffee and amaretto
creamers. I like a bag of pre-ground Banana Nut Bread-flavored coffee from Marshall's. I like the coffee in the
brewing machine in my workplace cafeteria. These are your basic poor man's roasts.
My beverage choices aren't all of the lowest common denominator. I'm picky about wine and diet sodas. I like
the Italian versions of both. I also like that the Italians try to keep Starbucks off their turf. I don't care for
Starbucks coffee--it tastes burnt to me. I actually don't care for any "coffee" place... Peets, Coffee Bean and
Tea Leaf, Java City, Central Perk, and wherever else you can find complicated caffeinated drinks, mood
lighting, and douchebags on laptops.
(It's a pride of lions, a murder of crows, a pod of whales, and a flock of douchebags, yes? I'm going with
flock.)
(No offense if you actually frequent these coffee joints and just happen to have your computer with you and
oh, you probably should check your email just in case someone has messaged you in the past ten minutes.
You should also take the opportunity to spread out, use the table for nine hours and write a screenplay.
Maybe you should have a really loud blue-tooth conversation about Spielberg or Weinstein. You're sitting in a
public place with a computer that has a blinking cursor. You're smart! You're going places! We GET IT.)
(No, I'm not talking about you... you are not in the flock. You are unique and cool.)
Maybe these coffee places don't appeal to me because of the random "meeting up" happening there. Once
my tennis partner dragged me to a Starbucks for an iced frappalatty after our game, and a man with several
electronic devices attached to him looked at me and drooled, as if I were one of those slabs of pound cake
they sell for 8 dollars.
And people who actually plan "dates" over coffee? They're the people who are trying desperately to look like
they're not trying and also too cheap or nervous or both to spring for a meal or liquor. No matter how you
serve it, coffee is a "let's just be friends" drink. When did you ever frantically make out in an alley with a
stranger after downing a couple of espresso shots? Plus, eww coffee breath.
Intelligentsia, a new to Silver Lake coffee place, is the perfect convergence of all of my dislikes. It is, as I've
read, a Chicago institution. On my one visit to Chicago a few years ago, I remember a few Greek diners, but
no Intelligentsia.
Before I even planned a walk there, I disliked the presumptuous name. Intelligentsia? Really? Is there an IQ
requirement?
The long line of customers you'll find is reminiscent of a Pinkberry. (Pinkberry is that non-fat yogurt neon
nightmare of a joint very popular in SoCal among scenesters. It tastes sour to me.) I know I'm losing a lot of
you, now. (She hates Starbucks AND Pinkberry?? Does she hate Trader Joe's, too?) (Well yes, but that's an
entirely different vignette)
The Intelligentsia clientele is a normal (for Silver Lake) blend of The Edgy, The Tattoed, The Emo, The
Hollywood Last Nickel, and The "I know I'm a mom now, but I'm still cool" Ladies in Head Wraps. On my first
and only visit, there was also an androgynous person inexplicably wearing crocheted pants.
I was glad to share my visit with Little Dog and with a man who KNOWS coffee. How well does he know
coffee? He once wrote an article for www.coffeegeek.com. So yeah, he knows whereof he speaks. I saved
the table outside while he went in and stood in line to have an audience with one of the heralded baristas.
Whenever I'm waiting, I spy on people. A tiny man with thick glasses and no posture sat at the table opposite
me and wrote in a thick diary, "Dear Katie, I don't think you heard me when I told you I loved you..."
Maddeningly, that's all I could see. And why is he writing it in a book? How will Katie ever get the message?
Oh, maybe it's Katie's book! I occupied myself in this manner for thirty minutes or so, until my friend emerged
with the celebrated brew.
We drank the warm fragrant liquid with little comment and no fanfare. "It's decent," my coffee man remarked
with a shrug, as the line of people began to snake out the door past our table.
A line out the door. For "decent!" Yet there are 113 Yelp reviews written by folks who want to marry
Intelligentsia coffee. I don't get it! Is it peer pressure? People, we don't have to like things and stand in line for
them because everyone else likes them and stands in line. I'm pretty sure that's how the Nazis got started.
It's OK to say, hey, this coffee requires a lot of wait-time, it's expensive, and it's just not that great.
Weeks later, I'm not thinking about the amazing coffee because I've accepted that I just don't appreciate
coffee enough for ANY coffee to BE amazing. I am, however, still wondering about Dear Katie and the Tiny
Man. Maybe she just didn't hear him because his voice is tiny, too.
Comments
May 6th, 2008 | 6:31 pm
I like coffee...and I'd like to think, as somewhat of a foodie, that fancy roasts and Clover machines and fair
trade beans are important. I'd like to be somewhat elitist and consider color and consistency and grind
crucial. But none of those things really matter to me. Just order me a good, old-fashioned cup of joe.
My tastes are embarrassingly Clintonian. I like diner coffee served up in a big ceramic mug by a lady named
Louise. I like 7-11 coffee, standing there with the proletariat and mixing a nice blend of coffee and amaretto
creamers. I like a bag of pre-ground Banana Nut Bread-flavored coffee from Marshall's. I like the coffee in the
brewing machine in my workplace cafeteria. These are your basic poor man's roasts.
My beverage choices aren't all of the lowest common denominator. I'm picky about wine and diet sodas. I like
the Italian versions of both. I also like that the Italians try to keep Starbucks off their turf. I don't care for
Starbucks coffee--it tastes burnt to me. I actually don't care for any "coffee" place... Peets, Coffee Bean and
Tea Leaf, Java City, Central Perk, and wherever else you can find complicated caffeinated drinks, mood
lighting, and douchebags on laptops.
(It's a pride of lions, a murder of crows, a pod of whales, and a flock of douchebags, yes? I'm going with
flock.)
(No offense if you actually frequent these coffee joints and just happen to have your computer with you and
oh, you probably should check your email just in case someone has messaged you in the past ten minutes.
You should also take the opportunity to spread out, use the table for nine hours and write a screenplay.
Maybe you should have a really loud blue-tooth conversation about Spielberg or Weinstein. You're sitting in a
public place with a computer that has a blinking cursor. You're smart! You're going places! We GET IT.)
(No, I'm not talking about you... you are not in the flock. You are unique and cool.)
Maybe these coffee places don't appeal to me because of the random "meeting up" happening there. Once
my tennis partner dragged me to a Starbucks for an iced frappalatty after our game, and a man with several
electronic devices attached to him looked at me and drooled, as if I were one of those slabs of pound cake
they sell for 8 dollars.
And people who actually plan "dates" over coffee? They're the people who are trying desperately to look like
they're not trying and also too cheap or nervous or both to spring for a meal or liquor. No matter how you
serve it, coffee is a "let's just be friends" drink. When did you ever frantically make out in an alley with a
stranger after downing a couple of espresso shots? Plus, eww coffee breath.
Intelligentsia, a new to Silver Lake coffee place, is the perfect convergence of all of my dislikes. It is, as I've
read, a Chicago institution. On my one visit to Chicago a few years ago, I remember a few Greek diners, but
no Intelligentsia.
Before I even planned a walk there, I disliked the presumptuous name. Intelligentsia? Really? Is there an IQ
requirement?
The long line of customers you'll find is reminiscent of a Pinkberry. (Pinkberry is that non-fat yogurt neon
nightmare of a joint very popular in SoCal among scenesters. It tastes sour to me.) I know I'm losing a lot of
you, now. (She hates Starbucks AND Pinkberry?? Does she hate Trader Joe's, too?) (Well yes, but that's an
entirely different vignette)
The Intelligentsia clientele is a normal (for Silver Lake) blend of The Edgy, The Tattoed, The Emo, The
Hollywood Last Nickel, and The "I know I'm a mom now, but I'm still cool" Ladies in Head Wraps. On my first
and only visit, there was also an androgynous person inexplicably wearing crocheted pants.
I was glad to share my visit with Little Dog and with a man who KNOWS coffee. How well does he know
coffee? He once wrote an article for www.coffeegeek.com. So yeah, he knows whereof he speaks. I saved
the table outside while he went in and stood in line to have an audience with one of the heralded baristas.
Whenever I'm waiting, I spy on people. A tiny man with thick glasses and no posture sat at the table opposite
me and wrote in a thick diary, "Dear Katie, I don't think you heard me when I told you I loved you..."
Maddeningly, that's all I could see. And why is he writing it in a book? How will Katie ever get the message?
Oh, maybe it's Katie's book! I occupied myself in this manner for thirty minutes or so, until my friend emerged
with the celebrated brew.
We drank the warm fragrant liquid with little comment and no fanfare. "It's decent," my coffee man remarked
with a shrug, as the line of people began to snake out the door past our table.
A line out the door. For "decent!" Yet there are 113 Yelp reviews written by folks who want to marry
Intelligentsia coffee. I don't get it! Is it peer pressure? People, we don't have to like things and stand in line for
them because everyone else likes them and stands in line. I'm pretty sure that's how the Nazis got started.
It's OK to say, hey, this coffee requires a lot of wait-time, it's expensive, and it's just not that great.
Weeks later, I'm not thinking about the amazing coffee because I've accepted that I just don't appreciate
coffee enough for ANY coffee to BE amazing. I am, however, still wondering about Dear Katie and the Tiny
Man. Maybe she just didn't hear him because his voice is tiny, too.
Comments
