I Hate Seattle

I moved to this frozen rainforest about a year ago.

The friends I left behind consoled me, saying "Well, at least you'll have lots of good coffee!"

Well, it's been a year, and I'm still looking. I've visited dozens of coffee shops and coffee kiosks (many of then operated by bikini-clad fudge addicts), but the best I can say is that the coffee is about as appetizing as a mug of burned rubber. Seriously, the stuff tastes like a tire fire that was put out with skim milk.

At a "Coffee Roaster" coffee house (where you'd think they'd know a little bit about coffee) I asked if they served the "Cold Brew" style of coffee that was all the rage in other parts of the country. (This is coffee that is prepared, from start to finish, with cold water. It takes much longer to prepare, but if you know what you are doing, the flavor is rich, very smooth, a bit nutty, possesses a complexity almost like red wine, and has absolutely no bitterness.)

"Well, we can give you some French or Spanish Roast and put some ice in it for you."

At another coffee "boutique" I asked if they had any Medium Roast -- maybe a Mocha Java.
(Even Dunkin Donuts can do a decent Mocha Java)

"Medium Roast? No, we don't have any of that. But we can give you a French Roast and add some water to it."

Yeah -- and while you're at it, why don't you add water to some red wine to make your own white wine?

Gack!

After all this, all I can say is, if you are going to Mexico, don't drink the water.
And if you are going to Seattle, don't drink the coffee (same reason).

I used to love coffee until I moved here.

Of course, I don't mean Starbucks. Nothing against the original place, but the chains that cropped up all over America became (get this, Seattle) another personification of corporate America and the eradication of local culture via gentrification.

Sound familiar?

Right, see, the rest of the United States isn't this monolithic chain of strip malls and condos, with the only vestiges of authenticity left in the country being the underbelly of Fremont.

We can all appreciate irony: a city that laments its own gentrification and loss of identity contributing in its own way to the same phenomenon happening in suburbs, exurbs, small towns, and urban neighborhoods all over the country.

Every small town wants to protect its historic district after all, it's only natural to wax nostalgic.

For the record, I don't really hate coffee. One of the good things about this place is the roadside espresso stands.