I’ll Take Two, Please

I drink a lot of coffee when I travel. Actually, I drink a lot of coffee all the time. I told my doctor I drink three cups a day and he said I should cut back. What would he have said if I’d told him I actually drink a full pot just so I can fall asleep at night? (“Go ahead and try crystal meth, son. You’re ready.”)

When I’m rushing to catch a flight after a big out-of-town meeting, I like to get a cup of delicious “dark rost.” Mmmm!

Even on the plane, I’ll often settle for a cup of whatever they’ve got. No–wait. This cup says it’s called “Café Mystique.” That sounds exotic! Thanks a lot, US Airways marketing department! I just know this is going to be good. If only every morning I could “Indulge” and “Escape” in such luxuries.

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What’s My Name?

Alright, I admit it. I have now been married to Ben for almost a year and I still haven’t legally changed my name. I decided a long time ago that that changing my name would be more of an aesthetic decision than a political one. Lucky for me, I always wanted a “Mc” name. I like the sound of it.

According to Gmail, Facebook, and my dry cleaner, my name is McAllister. The kids at school call me Mrs. McAllister – do you get more married than that? It just seems like such a hassle to get the copies of our marriage certificate and deal with Social Security, the DMV, the bank, American Express, Time Warner, AT&T, etc., etc.

This weekend I slipped up while ordering a burger at Mighty Fine. They asked for my name and I spelled it out as I always do: E-L-I-Z-A. But then the squirrely woman at the counter asked for my last initial. “P,” I replied automatically. Oops. Good thing Ben was there to correct me and remind me that my last name is, in fact, Price because I still haven’t changed it.

Did she really need to ask? How many Elizas could there have been in the joint? It’s not that obscure of a name these days, but it still causes plenty of fast food confusion. When Ben and I first met, a woman at an Atlanta Starbuck’s wrote “Shaliza” on my coffee cup. Ben still calls me that sometimes.

Here is my cup from my latest Atlanta Starbuck’s visit. Is my accent really that thick?

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The Fix: Caffe Medici

Yesterday, I had some work to do, so I went to one of my favorite places in Austin, Caffe Medici.

I went with a double breve macchiato.

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Dancing Goats Coffee Bar, Atlanta GA

We are serious coffee snobs. And I am certifiably obsessed. I even brought my own thermos of iced coffee concentrate on the road (which was a brilliant call).

I usually delight in bringing visitors to Austin’s Caffe Medici, which serves espresso that rivals any cafe’s in the world. So I was at least a little skeptical when brother-in-law Matt told us about some expensive machine called “The Clover” at their local coffee shop. According to Matt, it used some sort of space-aged pressure system to brew the perfect cup of coffee.

Of course, I shouldn’t have doubted him. I’d had Batdorf & Bronson’s coffee before, both at the Dancing Goats coffee shop (also on Matt’s advice) and at Star Provisions. I remember it being great, and even being disappointed once I got home and was unable to match it. But maybe my memory didn’t actually serve me well, I thought. Maybe my tastes were so refined now as to render previous judgments irrelevant.

How wrong I was. In terms of brewed (non-espresso) coffee, it was definitely one of the best cups I’ve ever tasted.

The Clover in action. It’s sort of like an upside-down french press.

After the brewing time is up, the barista clears this little hockey puck of grounds with a squeegee. What a time to be alive.

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