Saturday, December 21, 2002


tale of two illys

today i had the unusual situation of two illy coffees at two separate brooklyn coffee shops: one way down the street at paula's, and the other way down the hill at the dumbo general store.

long-time readers know that i'm not a big illy fan, but it's usually better than say, starbucks, or having your legs cut off with a hacksaw. the people in my office just love it, however.

so. i'm wandering down to dumbo today to see fellow yoga student sheila g.'s open studio, where she was exhibiting prints, ceramics, jewelry. it's a tad windy -- ok, big chill wind -- and ambling down hicks i stop in at sleepy nabe corner place paula's.

now that spot has oh about US$2,000 of antique coffee pots in the window, beautiful stuff, like a lovely pre-war copper napoletana with a double wooden handle. just lovely. and so i decide today to hop in for an espresso macchiato.

paula's is a grungy nabe dive, and the proprietress herself appears to be none too concerned with her store or alas her coffee. she is an illy shop, with the requisite unic phoenix. the illy standard small shop machine. i looked around -- i couldn't see a grinder. maybe it was behind the machine? i ordered the macchiato.

the owner languidly reached next to the diva and extracted a square packet from a jar. just the same size and shape as a condom packet. was it going to be a trojan coffee? then it hit me -- oh my god, it was a pod. she was serving pod-water, made with little sachets of pre-ground illy, packaged individually in paper discs.

i must say i bore up remarkably well. so i was presented with the little illy paper cup of espresso, with a thin, beige layer of something that was supposed to be crema. she handed me a quart of milk, still in the paper carton.

"you wanted milk with that, right?" she said. i nearly hit the floor. "um, could you steam that?" i asked. she obligingly shambled over to the steam wand, turned it up full blast for about 10 seconds and presented me with a mini-pitcher of boiled milk.

where oh where was illy new york sales manager guido zoli when you needed him?

but i sipped the pod-scum, and was surprised to discover it was actually drinkable without sugar -- except of course for the burnt milk. anyway, i continued down to sheila's (with a quick stop off at the new dumbo abc carpet & home). on the way back i had to stop at jacques torres to pick up some last minute gifts for my co-workers.

passing over dumbo's charming cobblestones carried me past the dumbo general store, a cool upscale coffee bar cum artist's supply house. i noticed the illy logo on the door. ok! i made my mind up. i would do it again!

dumbo general has the artsy expensive purple leather couch, the carefully prepared concrete floor, the tall wooden bar with design-y stools, the edith piaf wafting up against a 20-foot ceiling. handsome young starving artists of the various genders are strewn about the place in intellectual eyeglasses, while an italian covered in oil paint is downing something at the bar, which is decorated with careful wading pools of light from gallery pin spots.

the barista is likewise a painter making her rent. but there i am heartened to see a mazzer super jolly in all its glory, its elegant hopper replaced with a robotic illy head. the giant can of illy, bulging from its pressure packing, gave the delicate silvery blue grinder a deformed look. i wanted to raise money to send it to a children's hospital where they fix that kind of thing. still, i asked for an espresso macchiato.

but my hope fell to the usual despair to see the mazzer doser stuffed full with pre-ground coffee, which had clearly been ground, oh, that morning. all bad. still, at least the portafilters were mounted in the grouphead! instead of pod-water made by an indifferent soul, i at least had somewhat freshly ground coffee -- maybe? -- that could be made by a real barista.

but no. the artist-formerly-known-as-bartender lazily twitched the doser handle, swiped the top of the coffee with a tiny fisher-price tamper, and tossed the the portafilter into the unic phoenix. the phoenix really is the standard illy machine, after all. the coffee roared into a cold espresso cup, and was then topped with sea-foam. i mean the bubbles were larger than what you'd expect on the storm-tossed waters of the bay of fundy.

i held this cup to my lips and drank. bitter horror assaulted me. i think it might have been paint thinner, actually, or damar varnish. no, varnish is thicker. . .my horror was compounded when i realized that actually this was worse than paula's pod-water. oh lord, my soul cried, how can you give such a great espresso bar set up and have it ruined and despised like this?

it's really sacrilege, you know. dr. illy should sue. at least jacques' chocolate-and-fresh-fig torte was superb when chased with his classic hot chocolate. if only he wouldn't boil the milk. . .

it's such a shame, since long-time readers know how simple it is to make exquisite espresso at home. all you need is fresh specialty coffee, a decent grinder, a serviceable espresso machine, an aluminum tamper, a warm portafilter, and a pre-heated cup. dear friends, learn from my misery!

take your coffee back into the home. offer your family and friends the luxury of fine gourmet italian coffee. that gauzy experience promised by the tv ads can be yours -- just not with the tv coffee. drop by local roaster and get some fresh coffee today.

should you lack even my humble set up, a little silvia and a mazzer mini, you can still make astonishing coffee with nothing more than a burr grinder, a tea kettle, a thermos, and a clean muslin sock. . .tho' a stovetop moka pot might be more expedient!

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