Coffee is common bond among real Americans

Did you know that James Hoffman of Britain is the current World Barista Champion? Well, according to Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia, he is. Neither James nor his agent would return any of my calls requesting an interview.

OK, I didn't make any calls. But I'd still like to know how, exactly, we decide upon the World Barista Champion.

Never heard the word "barista," you say? Don't be embarrassed. I didn't know either until, recently, my girlfriend informed me, "The barista was flirting with me while I waited for you." I smiled and nodded -- the way I used to smile and nod in high school when guys would open the hoods of their cars and use words such as "header," "belt," "mixture" and "engine."

She bought the "smile and nod" thing, and I ran home to Wikipedia. Typical of the American lexicon, we stole and bastardized the word, this time from the Italians, for whom it means "bartender." But as of two weeks ago last Friday, for us it means: "one who has acquired some level of expertise in the preparation of espresso-based coffee drinks ... a professional who is highly skilled in coffee preparation."

And to think, up to now I had crudely and ignorantly referred to these artisan culinary scientists as the "person who gets my coffee."

My son, 16, says the word out loud, and then says he can't say it anymore because it threatens his masculinity. My friend says it sounds like an undergarment. Or a pastry. My son bursts back into the room and says: "Wait -- I can say it if it refers to a military uniform, like, 'Tighten your baristas, men!' "

So, back to James: How do you win the title World Barista Champion? Deft filter placement in brew machine? Learning to grind coffee by ear (the higher the pitch, the finer the grind)? Groundbreaking syrup combinations?

Geez, I love coffee. Strong, black coffee. Drip, perc, espresso, French Press, pinch of fresh grounds between my cheek and gum. An office secretary once asked me: "Steven, do you not like my coffee?" And I said, gently, hesitantly, "Well, it's hot, and it's wet, and it's brown, and, when I drink it, I think of coffee."

When I belly up to the bar at Starbucks, I'm their easiest customer of the day: "Grande, black, straight up and mean." In fact, I often have to convince the barista that I want it black. I'll say "black," and the barista will ask, "Do you want me to leave room for cream?"

Can't blame the barista, really. Most Americans don't order coffee. They order caffeinated hummingbird food: "I'd like a Sugar Free Vanilla Double Pump Nonfat Latte With Extra Foam, one Splenda."

If it takes you more than four adjectives to order coffee, I'm not sure we can be friends.

Never touched coffee until I was out of college and went to work for the church. Then I went right to hell. Became a shameless junkie. Completely strung out. Coffee is my own personal Ritalin. Levels out my natural ADHD tendencies.

Sometimes I'll be overcome by piety and give up coffee as a Lenten observation. Intense headaches for two days, followed by uncontrolled, grotesque yawning at any patient who schedules after lunch.

Wikipedia says coffee emerged in the ninth century in Ethiopia where, according to legend, shepherds said their goats appeared to dance after eating coffee beans. Bet that was a fascinating conversation ...

Shepherd 1: "Look! Goats dance when they eat those beans! Try one."

Shepherd 2: "Blecch! These taste bitter and horrible!"

Shepherd 1: "But still, I really like dancing. Let's pick some and take them home and dry them and then ferment them in distilled water and then roast them across a continuum of light and dark and then grind them to various grinds, pour hot water through it, and then drink the water and see what happens."

Shepherd 2: " 'K."

Has there ever been a beverage with such social power and meaning? It's not merely a drink, it's an archetypal social symbol. Not even beer has the same symbolic grip on socialization and relationships. Nobody ever says, "Hey, wanna meet for carrot sticks?" Or, "Let's grab a couple of caramel apples." Nope. It's coffee. That's the bond of real Americans.

Postscript: I just made a phone call and talked to a friend who has seen the World Barista Competition on television. Indeed there's an actual, organized competition.

I have to get out more.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@reviewjournal.com.