Free Photos! Naked 18 Year Old... Portafilter?

I hate pulling myself out of bed on a day off... it takes something very important to wake me up before the crack of noon. Today, however, was one of those days... I had a loosely scheduled appointment to meet up with Tristan at Moja Roaster Cafe near Phibbs Exchange, and I wasn't planning on missing it. I'll pull on a sweater and wipe the sleep out my eyes for a free cup of coffee and some barista training any day.
When I arrived at the modern, minimalist cafe, Tristan wasn't behind the counter. Instead it was Mileesa (I know I've met her before at a bar or a party, but she refuses to admit my acquaintance) doing her best to deal with the demanding assholes that think they own the place for the price of a $4 latte. I blame Starbucks for the fact that people think its perfectly OK to order their “nonfat vanilla extra hot half-caf” or some other bullshit. What happened to coffee for coffee's sake? How fucking spoiled have we become? Mileesa manages to maintain composure and a smile, which is more than I could say for myself at 11am on a Monday.
I ordered a large latte... and waited patiently for the bitchy yuppies to waste her time trying to choose the Goldilocks scone. Well worth the wait, for what a beautiful coffee it was... two simple ingredients: expertly pulled sweet, balanced espresso painting a softly steamed microfoam canvas Your special order, yuppies, is an illusion designed to distract you from the half-assed teenagers' lack of skill at your local chain. THIS, my friends, is coffee at its best. For once, I remembered to capture its beauty photographically before I tucked into its luxurious, foamy warmth. The perfect way to start a productive morning, while leisurely absorbing the impassioned prose of Michael Pollan's “Second Nature.”
Tristan's welcoming tenor resounds jovially from behind me. He's finally made it out of the roastery and onto the cafe floor. Inviting me behind the bar, the first thing I notice is the GORGEOUS old-school espresso machine. This one, explains Tristsan, is a hybrid of old and new: instead of pushing a button like on the new automatic machines, the barista pulls down a lever above the filter head to pressurize a loaded espresso shot. In the classic machines, this lever would have to be pulled down by hand slowly to extract the shot; but with this mechanism, after the lever is pulled down, a precisely calibrated spring releases it upward as hot water (just shy of boiling) is forced through the puck. Most of the finer points of this art of extraction, the different times required for different bean varietals, and the flavors that are pulled out of the grounds at different stages of the process, fly right over my head because I'm too absorbed with the absolute pornography of what is pouring out of the naked portafilter.
Brunette with streaks of blonde and luscious auburn lowlights stream gracefully into a heated espresso cup, practically trembling with anticipation below. One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, I reckon, and I'm beginning to understand why baristas can fall in love with the older style of apparatus as well as the flavor and texture of the coffees they create.
To finish our Coffee 101 crash course, Tristan could not have been more excited to introduce me to Moja's new Kenyan blend, roasted from heirloom varietals that have apparently been rooted in African soil since the dawn of time. And like an old-vines Zinfandel, these ancient plants produce some stunningly complex flavors. I've always found it hard to ascertain “citrus” and “tropical fruit” from coffee, and always thought it the kind of circle-jerking that wine experts can get lost in during their arcane tastings. But this cup, brewed in a french press with beans measured to the gram and water tempered to the degree, tasted like a good cup of light roast at first... but finished like strawberry fondue. If you don't believe me, go down to Moja Roaster Cafe and ask Tristan for a taste of the Kenyan. You won't regret it.