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Competitor 18 leans over, the elbow of one arm raised in the air as she pushes and evenly turns the dense metal cylinder into the basket held steadily on the table by her other hand. Three judges with clipboards lean in close, watching intently, then retreat, making notes on their sheets.

Next, Competitor 18 -- a pleasant looking young woman in a multicolored argyle sweater-vest, Kool-Aid red pants, a driving cap, and 1950s grey-framed Buddy Holly glasses – takes the basket and ratchets it into the $12,000 Nuova Simonelli Aurelia espresso machine. The judges keep careful watch.

Wait . . . . what?!

Indeed, Competitor 18 -- Sam Penix from New York City’s Everyman Espresso -- is intensely immersed in the United States Barista Competition which took place this past March in Portland, Oregon. And she as she tamps the coffee into the basket, the judges are looking for smoothness, evenness and correct amount of coffee used.

So now people compete at . . . making coffee?

Coffee’s come a long way in the United States and New York has finally joined the party. Gone are the days when the Europeans can scoff at the “jus de chausette” (sock juice) that was forever the hallmark of the American diner.

When I was a kid in northern California in the early 1980s, I remember there suddenly being talk about new types of coffee: espressos, cappuccinos, and lattes – European style! It was so very exciting, and seemed to mesh well with the staccato, jumpy excitement of the New Wave music scene. In my town, a couple punishingly hip coffee places opened up in the “bohemian” downtown neighborhoods.

At the time, the fine wine industry was booming; suburbanites held tastings in their specially made cellars, made snide comments about whatever anyone else was drinking; and even fermented their own, invariably horrible tasting, home vintages. These people were insufferable; but, because the nearby Napa Valley had only in the last decade won worldwide respect and created a booming local economy for its fine wines, they were tolerated, even respected. Perhaps they were onto something, neighbors reasoned. Perhaps they really were better than the rest of us.  

Few foresaw the wine world’s intensely competitive culture spilling over into coffee. Back then, variations of latte that I savored -- vanilla, almond or regular – would be unrecognizable to any casual latte enthusiast today. It was served in a tall, shapely, narrow glass, with barely enough espresso to keep me awake (requiring three or four), lots of steamed milk, and flavored Italian syrup — basically a refined dessert. Still, this was a far sight better than hanging out at the Pancake Parade.

A few years later, at school in the San Francisco Bay Area, those of us from out of town found the local coffeehouses amazing places. Here the lattes were bolstered with stiff, strong, potent espresso and served in pint glasses! And if you wanted it sweet, you put in your own damned sugar, and cinnamon, and honey, and . . .

But, off in the dark, intense recesses of Berkeley, San Francisco, Santa Cruz, and apparently Seattle, connoisseurs at places such as Peets Coffee & Tea were intensifying bean, roast, brew, and brewing technique. They were drinking the stuff straight — no milk, no additives. The craft-coffee artisans had been at it for a couple decades, but their product was gaining in popularity, growing, improving. This was a movement!

Then I moved to New York.

As a student of literature and history, I had grand expectations of New York, especially when it came to hip coffee houses where intellectuals hotly debated issues of the day and ideas about the universe. But this was the 1990s, and I was several decades too late. To find a café where one could pass the day over a single cappuccino, reading and writing — like any number of spots in Berkeley — was a cosmic joke. The old beatnik outposts near NYU, like Cafés Figaro and Reggio, would serve you a cappuccino, sure. But the moment your cup was empty, they hustled you out the door. And if you lingered over your beverage, a grim faced waiter hovered over you.


It was in that atmosphere that Starbucks was welcomed warmly by those of us who craved a decent mocha and a place to meet friends for a chat or a study session.
With Starbucks’ lightning-fast saturation of New York City neighborhoods (quickly moving from “Hey, another Starbucks—there’s three in the city now!” to, “Hey, another Starbucks—there’s three on this block now!”), its quality declined precipitously. The clean seating area, the adequately rich, tasty brew; the most welcome, clean, available bathroom in the city—all became scarce. Where Starbucks once required thorough barista training in coffee tasting and brewing methodology, it’s now unsurprising to find an employee who wouldn’t dream of drinking an espresso. The stylish, comfortable seating areas have become worn, kitschy, campgrounds of the crazy; the restrooms have become washrooms for the homeless.


The commoditization of Starbucks opened a hole into which a new class of coffee connoisseurship was able to crawl. Already being developed in Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Chicago and even Atlanta, craft coffee roasting and latte art finally made its way into New York City.

I got my first glimpse of craft brewing and latte art at, of all places, a dive bar. About five years ago, a bar called The Cellar opened on East 14th Street. Part of its novel business concept was to operate as a café during the morning hours. Jeff Rush, a transplanted Seattle-ite, poured beautiful cappuccinos from Viva Coffee beans delivered weekly from Seattle, and the drinks themselves had designs in them – beautiful rosettes, hearts, palms . . . Extraordinary! The coffee was delicious, requiring no sweetening, and was elegant in a simple demitasse. After fifteen years in New York, I finally found the bohemian café I’d been looking for. Here was the slowly sipped latte with the morning paper and my dog at my feet. Hallelujah!

Sadly, the experiment didn’t last. But Rush, who had worked at Williamsburg’s high end boutique espresso shop, Gimme Coffee’s, was tuned into the city’s burgeoning coffee scene, and pointed me to the recently opened Ninth Street Espresso – today considered one of the stanchions of the New York art-coffee scene. Not long after, Ninth Street opened a shop in the Classic Stage Company’s (CSC) theatre space on East 13th Street, which became Everyman Espresso a year later, maintaining Ninth Street’s dedication to craft espresso and coffee drinks. Artisan coffee shops began popping up all over Manhattan: Café Grumpy, Joe the Art of Coffee, Abraçao. And Gimme Coffee finally has a Manhattan outpost.

So where does that leave us? In a city that is in the midst of a high end espresso boom. And, like chowhounds, fine wine drinkers, and craft-beer aficionados, the coffee culture is developing an aroma of snobbery.  Condescension, infighting and bitter rivalries threaten to alienate the unenlightened public, which it so desperately wants to serve. Much of the division and infighting has been brought on by the recent arrival from Portland, Oregon, of the commercially aggressive, Starbucks-esque Stumptown Roasters. Founder Duane Sorenson has caused a rift in the community by attempting to push out other roasters and by quickly trying to establish a high profile (New York magazine declared him the “messiah” of coffee) and branded presence in the city’s finer restaurants. It’s a strategy some say mirrors Starbucks’ entrée into the restaurant world fifteen years ago. Purveyors of Stumptown’s beans bear banners that read, “We Proudly Serve Stumptown Coffee,” language that mimics an early Starbucks slogan. A recent article by a Portland resident in the independent weekly, New York Press, excoriated New York City for falling prey to Stumptown’s encroachment and suggested that the city “wise up.” The artisan-coffee world, it appears, has gone to the mattresses.

But a bigger problem is the snobbery of the boutique coffee shops: places that refuse to serve decaf, won’t provide drip coffee, and not-so-quietly scoff at customers who sweeten their cappuccinos. Jeff Rush thinks it’s all about ego. He left the business several years ago for the more lucrative, and normal, bar business. “Their insecurity feeds a need to put others down,” Rush says, speaking of the coffee people who sneer at customers who don’t conform to their refined ways. Rush even stopped going to a certain coffee shop after an employee replied, “We don’t serve that crap here,” when he politely asked the barista, on behalf of a colleague for whom he was buying coffee, if they had flavored syrup to put in the coffee. “What’s the fucking point?” of that sort of attitude, Rush asks.

Sam Penix (Competitor 18), who runs Everyman Espresso, agrees that superior attitudes and condescension is a huge problem in the industry. She’s afraid that, if not curbed, it will eventually drive off the public. “It misleads them about our love and respect for the product,” she says. Penix got into the business while still in her teens at a coffee place in Florida. When representatives of Counter Culture, one of few companies known in the industry for extremely high end coffee beans (they reward farmers for excellent quality beans by paying them as much as double what they would pay for a standard crop at the same farm) and roasting quality, came to the shop and put on a seminar for the employees. Penix was blown away by the possibilities for both fine-tuning her craft and becoming involved in a career she could really love.

At Everyman, Penix continues her relationship with Counter Culture, with whom she jointly hosts “cuppings” that are open to the public. The “cupping” is an opportunity for the casually interested to get an idea of what the fuss is about. It’s pretty much like going to a wine tasting at a vineyard, but without the inevitable tipsiness and hangover. A representative of Counter Culture hands out sheets with a matrix of grading areas. Participants are asked to smell a selection of freshly ground beans – usually about four or five per cupping – then jot down their thoughts about the aroma and texture. Next, the grounds are brewed, with another round of jotting, and, on and on, through the aroma of the grounds brewing, then taste, etc.

In an environment where one usually has a cappuccino or two, suddenly you are exposed to a variety of smells, flavors, tones of bitterness, acidity. Afterward, participants are asked to share their thoughts. Opinions often vary wildly: “I smelled raspberry;” “It reminded me of cookies at my grandmother’s house when I was 12;” “It tasted like old shoe leather.” But that all seems well and good to the expertly trained Counter Culture representatives accustomed to neophyte analysis of their product (which they, in fact, take into consideration). They are aware that all tastes vary, and can see the patterns which they can use in developing future blends and roasts. In the meantime, the casual consumer gets an inspired lesson in fine coffee gustation.

The new craft-coffee world has remarkably long tentacles. Bolstered by the Internet and social-networking sites such as Facebook, baristas are able to network in seemingly unexpected ways. Most impressive are online community websites like “Barista Exchange,” which offers everything from countrywide job postings for baristas on the move, to chat groups on a variety of topics (including “Homeless Baristas”!).

In New York there is a company called Temp Tamp. Where Wall Street has historically had organizations like Manpower Temporary Services to help provide clerical staff, typists and Excel specialists, Temp Tamp provides coffee houses with expert baristas in the event a regular employee falls ill or takes a vacation. This is an especially valuable service when you consider that smaller coffee shops employ around five full-time staffers -- one or two per shift.

More astonishing still are the competitions. Regional barista competitions take place annually, culminating in a national championship, the United States Barista Championship, run by the Specialty Coffee Association of America. A World Champion Barista competition follows, with the winner of the USBC representing the United States.

USBC competitors are required to make four espressos, four cappuccinos and four “signature drinks.” The cappuccinos and espressos are judged on taste, texture quality and a variety of other metrics that even include the amount of foam in the cappuccino; one centimeter, it turns out, is the ideal amount. Since taste is important, competitors bring to the competition the beans, the milk, and even the cups and glasses. All technical equipment, such as the grinders and the espresso machines, are the common denominator.


Judging is on a points systems, on everything from personal presentation to originality to technical skills, like tamping consistency. Yes, tamping consistency. A judge leans over in front of the competitor at the makeshift coffee station (usually in a convention hall of the host city), and watches the barista’s technique as she tamps the coffee grounds into the basket. Evenness of tamp and consistency are taken into consideration, since substandard tamping leads to channels in the grounds, leading to uneven saturation of the grounds and imperfect taste.

The New York City coffeehouses sent two competitors, including Penix, to Portland for this year’s four-day USBC event. The event was streamed live online, and friends watched in local coffeehouses or at home on their laptops. Though New York is a relative newcomer to the game, local pride was abundant. Penix came in twentieth overall — a fantastic showing, albeit perhaps not as high as she would like to have placed. “My technical scores for tamping, dosing and minimal coffee waste were almost perfect,” she said, “but I think I lost points on the balance of my signature drink, a Root Beer Bloom. It might have been a little too sweet.”

But not bittersweet.

“There’s always next year,” she says.

Written by Joe Clarke