Former lawyer (and Xoogler), Theresa Beaumont, returned to her former neighborhood and opened this small space in Dec 2015 at the base of the Bank of the West building — following a concession the bank made to the neighborhood to retain its lower level retail space. A lesbian of color setting up shop in a predominantly gay white male neighborhood? You know it. She aims to make your brief time here in the small space “the best 10 minutes” of your day, and would you believe they do a rather good job of that?
There are a couple of small sidewalk tables out front. Inside, there’s tall glass for making the small space seem as bright and open as reasonably possible. There’s one indoor metal café table with two chairs at the front window; any more and it would feel cramped.
White walls, a concrete backsplash, some roasted coffee on display for retail sale (Ritual Roasters and Calgary, Canada’s Phil Sebastian Roasters). With the small service space behind the counters, the menu is similarly focused: espresso, drip coffee, and pastries with the curious addition of bone broth and sheep’s milk.
The baristi here are friendly and engaging. And impressively so. I’ve formally reviewed a few thousand coffee shops around the world for CoffeeRatings.com over the past 13 years, and Jordan here was arguably the coolest barista I may have ever met.
They pulled shots of Ritual’s Last Exit seasonal espresso blend from a shiny three-group La Marzocco GB/5. It’s daringly one-sip short, but it’s a well-crafted shot at that: pungent, dynamic, and lively with a flavor of orange zest and a strong brightness without being overly fruity.
Ritual’s coffee didn’t afford much of a healthy crema on extraction — it was thinner and a pale yellow — but that didn’t detract much from the overall quality of the end product. Served on a decorative dish, in an organically spun ceramic demitasse, with a side of sparkling water and a twist of sugared orange peel.
Opening in April last year, this Mid-Market outlet of the slowly growing Equator chain espouses being a decidedly populist place for coffee. Like we never heard that before. But given its location and the surrounding environs, you can’t get too precious about your coffee when you do your business among more than a few addicts, panhandlers, and the chemically enhanced. “Mid-Market” being realtorspeak these days for parts of the Tenderloin.
Surrounded by the venerable Warfield Theater and near the landmark Crazy Horseflesh-o-teria, this gentrified space is bright and decorated with inclining angles and lots of exposed concrete — warmed up with leafy green stencils/murals. They display their roasted coffees and teas for retail sale on the rear, service wall.
Inside there’s a sort of cherry wood counter with four metal stools at the service bar plus two more similar benches at either side of the entrance for window counter seating. Just beyond that, there’s sidewalk seating beneath two parasols and benches sectioned off from the sometimes-sketchy but always entertaining sidewalk traffic. They offer beer and wine on tap, sandwiches and “boards” to eat, and of course coffee: as espresso and pour-overs.
Pulling shots from a white, two-group La Marzocco FB/70, their espresso comes with an even, medium-to-dark-brown crema. It’s a relatively deep, darker espresso of fuller volume for a doppio shot: four sips large at that. The flavor has some pepper, spices, a hint of molasses, but it is a bit limiting on brightness despite some slight cherry fruit. Served in white English ceramic cups with a decorative spoon and short glass of still water on the side.
It’s a good shot, but I expect more. Especially when comparing it with their Mill Valley surf shop location. A place with Equator’s award-winning coffee stature really ought to do better. It barely gives a Peet’s a run for the money.
Opening in August 2015 in one of the rougher parts of this softening town, Brett Walker combined his experience as a former Four Barrel Coffee barista with his love of houseplants and large-format prints of his photography in establishing what is very much a personal space. It also happens to serve coffee.
On the ground floor beneath new residential apartments (The Lofts at Seven) and nearby UC Hastings and its law students, this café’s name is an homage to his favorite book (John Steinbeck). There’s often a selection of eclectic music playing on the turntable, blaring through cheap speakers.
Besides Brett’s massive plot printer off to the side, the space includes two live-edge cut counters at the front windows with two wooden stools (courtesy of his wife, furniture designer Katie Gong). There’s also a short, two-person wood bench out front for sidewalk seating.
Inside the chairs are mismatched and, along with the occasional cactus, cover the concrete slab floors. He sells Chemex brewers, filters, and roasted coffee plus baked goods, pour-over coffee, and espresso from a three-group La Marzocco Linea Classic. There’s even a chalk menu of drinks and prices that states “Butter Coffee – Yes”.
He pulls shots of Four Barrel’s Friendo Blendo (he also serves De La Paz) with a moderately thick, even, medium-to-pale brown crema. Served out of a short glass jelly jar, it has a distinctive brightness that you can sense at the back of your throat and tastes of spices, some apple, and a little molasses. But this is mostly about the brightness.
Some SF smartphone zombies with a jones for the gram might whine about the lack of WiFi here, but that would detract from Brett’s one-man-show of a coffee space. This place reminds me of some of the edgier SF coffee bars of the 1990s — just with much better coffee.
This Sightglass location was announced in 2015, in the middle of SFMOMA’s three-year hiatus while being expanded into the largest modern art museum in America.
It opened with the museum in May 2016, inhabiting a modern, open air space among photography and interactive exhibits on the third floor. The space employs blonde wood and a sleek, minimalist design and is surrounded by modern sofas, small café tables, and video art installations.
This was the third incarnation of SFMOMA I’ve visited — the first being at the cramped and dated War Memorial on Van Ness, where the collections were more heavily weighted towards interactive and video arts. Some of these installations have returned on the 7th floor of the new building.
Despite my inability to relate to much of the new Fisher Collection on the 5th and 6th floors, overall the new museum is quite impressive — including the extensive outdoor space. Of the new things on exhibit there, I was perhaps most drawn in by Wayne Thiebaud’s Canyon Mountains, excerpts from Jim Goldberg’s poignant Rich and Poor photography/essay series, and the gravity-bending Sequence from Outer Sunset mega-sculptor Richard Serra. Nina Katchadourian’s Under Pressure was also rather comical, but you need to put on the headphones.
A line forms away from the Sightglass service counter to allow pedestrians to pass through, and behind the counter there are dueling two-group Kees van der Westen Spirit machines and bags and bags of Sightglass coffee. For retail sale they also sell their roasted coffee, over-packaged and in a reduced-size (8-oz).
Other than some pastries, it’s largely about the coffee service here. They pull shots with a complex medium-brown mottled crema of lighter thickness. It has the flavor of mild spices, some acidic brightness of lemon peel, wood, and some limited cherry fruit but yet it’s not the stereotypical Sightglass brightness bomb you’d expect. Served two-sips short in logo porcelain cups with a glass of sparkling water on the side.
About as serious an espresso shot as you will find in an American art museum.
In the greater Mylanta area, Octane frequently ranks as one of the preeminent quality coffee chains. As an example, in December 2014 Atlanta Magazine named it the city’s best coffee chain.
This location of the seven-store, three-state chain — in Atlanta’s trendy Buckhead district — seems wedged in a building that looks like what Georgians think is the norm for Silicon Valley. Imagine if a bunch of ex-Yahoo! employees on H1-B visas decided to open a Georgia-themed biscuits and gravy shop in Sunnyvale. Yeah, it’s kind of like that.
Buckhead’s Atlanta Tech Village, or ATV, comes complete with airy glass-and-steel construction and designated Razor scooter parking in front (no, seriously, I am not making this up): surely 33% more startupy than the leading brand. Octane’s role here is to fit the tech worker coffee stereotype: chug coffee, write code.
Outdoors there’s patio seating in front under parasols — which don’t offer much help when Atlanta is hot enough to melt your face. (It was 100°F out, and “feels like 105°F” per my weather app, on my visit.) Inside the space curves around the outside contour of the building, with a service counter (and a King of Pops popsicle case) in front and several tables and a long, shared wooden bench towards the back. Along the glass windows there is a series of white modern stools.
They offer Japanese cold drip, a nitro-brewed iced coffee (which is rather tepid, btw), three pour-over coffee options, and espresso. Their standard blend is the Gravy Espresso.
Using a two-group La Marzocco Linea, they pull shots with a healthy, evenly shaded medium brown crema. It has a good mouthfeel and density and exhibits excellent flavor balance in the cup: an even blend of mild spices, some wood, and some fruit. A friend who lives in the neighborhood told me that it can run a bit green-plant bitter, but I quite liked it and thought it showed great balance and restraint while still having a thick consistency.
If there’s any complaint, it’s that it’s too smooth and lacking strongly distinctive characteristics — making this more of a multiple-times-per-day Italian style espresso. Served with sparkling water on the side in Cuisinox cups by a cringe-worthy barista who calls it “spro”.
For their cappuccino they employ detailed Rosetta latte art with restricted, overly gentle milk-foam: it’s more liquid milk blended in the body and is thus too runny or liquidy. My friend also complained about the cortado here running a bit lukewarm on the serving temperature, which could be explained by their generous use of tepid milk. But despite the sterile office park location, it’s one of the better espresso bars in town.
I hadn’t seen the illy caffè North America crew since attending Università del Caffè at CIA Greystone. I’ve long admired them as a privately-owned company: run by cool people, with an attention to coffee quality and investments in coffee science long before anybody thought that made any sense, and even being named a world’s most ethical company for four years running now. So when they invited me to another San Francisco illy caffè opening last month, of course I accepted.
This is another illy Caffè in SF (and not another Espressamente) — this one located in the eastern shadow of the Transamerica Pyramid, in the heart of the Financial District. Like the other illy caffè on Union St. that predated it, the food menu is a bit more involved and the service levels are just a touch higher than you’d get at an Espressamente.
It’s a 1352 square-foot space capable of seating 32 patrons, and there’s the requisite illy Art Collection chandelier made of their designer cups as you walk in. Tall windows overlook the modern SF firehouse across the street with various café tables spread about for lingering.
Behind a large pastry counter (from City Bakery and Tout Sweet Patisserie) they operate a two-group La Marzocco Strada machine. With it they’ve pulled shots with a picture-perfect, medium brown tiger-striped crema of modest thickness. The flavor profile is classic illy: mild spices, wood, and a broader flavor profile. Served in designer IPA logo cups.
Milk-frothing here is good: it may not be the prettiest, but it has a good texture and density. As illy has gotten into signature drinks lately, upon visit they were featuring their summer-ready illy Espressoda and a dessert-worthy illy Cinnamon Vanilla Affogato. For those bored with good coffee.
This coffee shop opened in early 2009 in San Diego’s transitional Barrio Logan. This neglected industrial and shipbuilding neighborhood, located in the shadow of the San Diego-Coronado Bridge, is home to a few thousand mostly Latino residents. But that mix, and the mix of local businesses, is gradually changing with the winds of gentrification: alongside Latino murals, welding and machine shops, recycling centers, car repair joints, and grittier homes now stand microbreweries, cross-fit gyms, and hipster coffee shops.
Unlike San Francisco, where many see the arrival of an upscale coffee shop as the death of culture as we know it, in Barrio Logan most of the neighborhood friction concerns its mixed-use zoning where toxic chemicals, residents, and art studios struggle to co-exist side-by-side. A coffee shop/roaster such as Cafe Virtuoso is still industrial enough to blend in with its neighbors.
Over the years, as San Diego laggardly opted to get serious about coffee, Cafe Virtuoso has slowly earned something of a loyal following among locals in-the-know.
There’s outdoor sidewalk seating in front with three metal tables and a parasol. Just inside the front door there’s a small room with three tables and artwork made of burlap coffee sacks on the walls. Past that is the main bay: a large industrial space with slab concrete floors that hosts coffee serving, roasting, and retail space.
In the main bay there are three additional metal tables with steel stools for seating. A baker’s rack of roasted coffee, brewing equipment, and tea dominates a section parallel to the service counter. A yellow Diedrich roaster draws attention at the center of the space (they’re San Diego’s only 100% certified organic roaster). Parked in back, when not out on the road at events, is a UNIC mobile cart.
The comparatively small service area features a menu split between regular and premium espresso shot options, served from a two-group La Marzocco Strada, in addition to pour-over coffee and (nitro) cold brew.
Using their House Espresso, they pulled a shot with an event medium brown crema that ran slightly thin on thickness. It was light-bodied, fruity, and expressed some mild spice in addition to some roasted almond bitterness — a touch of which might be due to slight overextraction. It’s a solid shot, even though it shows some technical softness around the edges that could be tightened up with stricter standards and attention to detail. Served in a white notNeutral demitasse with sparkling water on the side.
This is gonna sound cliché, but while I’ve been a longtime fan of Jon Stewart, I never quite warmed up to John Oliver.
Oh sure… on his new show Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, now in its third season, Mr. Oliver can amp up the incredulity and indignation, throw in contrived comedic riffs, and preach to the choir of his liberal-minded audience as Mr. Stewart did for years on The Daily Show. But Mr. Stewart was always so much more adept at it.
Even if Mr. Oliver is trying a bit too hard to follow in Mr. Stewart’s Daily Show footsteps, there are times — like his rant on FIFA — where he can nail a topic with obliterating precision. This week’s episode on scientific research in the media did exactly that, where coffee-related medical research is one of the more popular topics among cited studies.
Coffee today is like God in the Old Testament: it will either save you or kill you depending upon how much you believe in its magic powers.
Reading news headlines on my Flipboard these days has been an exercise in dismay for the future fate of the species. “Science” is regularly quoted in headlines as if it were an individual person, spouting off the most inane opinions on the most vapid subjects. But these opinions are treated as fact — as if chiseled in stone and handed out from high atop the mountain.
Yet study after cited study is inevitably flawed, distorted, and/or spun as click-bait. And no matter what, each and every study is almost certainly unverified — each a quotable example of what has been brewing as science’s massive replication crisis that’s been quietly underway for the past decade. The lone hope is that the scientific process can still call out these replication gaps. But as Mr. Oliver points out:
There is no reward for being the second person to discover something in science. There’s no Nobel Prize for fact-checking.
So why the sudden interest in coffee from Myanmar? While it is still more curiosity than serious demand, coffee from Myanmar is still something of an exotic export — despite Myanmar being overshadowed by its neighbors in China, Vietnam, Thailand, and Indonesia.
The country formerly known as Burma is just now opening up to the world much like Cuba is currently opening up to the U.S. Once a prosperous nation, Myanmar succumbed to a coup d’état in 1962 and it had been under military rule until only recently. Borders were closed, the economy stagnated, civil guerilla wars proliferated among Myanmar’s many tribal minorities, and multiple generations of Burmese citizens were lost to an oppressive regime stuck in the past.
That’s all changing today — and ridiculously fast. Last month, and for the first time in 17 years, a co-worker of mine and all-around cool guy — Anjo — recently returned to his Burmese birthplace. He witnessed a vastly different place with paved roads, modern construction, saturated trucking routes to and from China, the proliferation of smartphones and $1.50 SIM chips, and local Burmese wearing more Western clothes. In the three weeks he was there, he witnessed Myanmar swearing in its first democratically elected president in 50 years and the opening of a new Myanmar stock exchange.
Anjo also brought me back some coffee.
At first Anjo hoped to pick up some coffee at origin near his original home in the Shan State, where much of Myanmar’s coffee has been grown ever since it was first introduced by missionaries in 1885. Instead, he picked some up at a City Mart, a popular supermarket in the former capital of Yangon.
This was even more interesting to me, as it represented what is consumed in the domestic coffee market — not just what’s shipped out for export. While the difference between domestic and export market coffee can be dramatic in many coffee-producing countries, Myanmar’s history of closed borders likely means the locals have become used to drinking “the good stuff” as its only market.
Italian Coffee Myanmar
The first 200g bag of coffee I tried was simply labeled — in English — “Italian Coffee Myanmar” from Ananda Cocoa & Coffee Ltd. It was 100% organic, 100% Arabica coffee designed for “Italian espresso” shade grown in the Pyin Oo Lwin of the North Shan State at about 1200m. As for the coffee varietal, it claimed to be Kenyan — which coincides with the SL 6, SL 14, SL 28, and SL 34 cultivars introduced to Myanmar in 2004.
Purchased in mid-March 2016, I couldn’t help but notice the expiration date stamp of 28-Jan-2017 on the bottom of the decorative bag. Taking a wild guess, that was probably an annual stamp and thus the roast date was probably about 6 weeks prior to purchase. It’s also worth noting how much English labeling is on a package of coffee sold in a Yangon supermarket. (Thank you, British colonialism.)
Myanmar coffee is more typically Arabica (two-thirds of its production, the other third being robusta that was originally planted by tribesmen of the Karen minority) and tend to be higher elevation Catimor cultivars — known more for their body and earthiness. Which is why it was a little bit of a surprise — especially on a bag labelled “Italian espresso” — to find a more medium City/Full City roast that barely made the second crack. There was no visible signs of surface oils on the beans. Have Myanmar coffee roasters been following Third Wave hipster protocol all along?
Brewed as espresso, though not on my most meticulous espresso machine setup (a consumer-typical Saeco Syntia Focus), it produced a cup with a medium-to-blonde crema that was relatively slight (6+ weeks since roasting will do that to you). The body was pretty solid but not heavy. The flavor profile lacked sweetness but also that dense, roasted fullness — and thus centered more around the midrange of the palate. I suspect it wasn’t quite a single origin, but it was a close approximation for some relatively similar green stocks.
Overall, an impressive coffee if you compare it with anything you could get in a supermarket bag labeled “Italian espresso” in Vietnam, Thailand, or China.
The packaging appeared far more commercial and lacked any designation for coffee origin other than “Arabica from Shan State”. While not labelled “100% organic”, they claimed their beans were grown without chemical fertilizers. Plus an expiration date also showing January 2017 and what looks like an indicator that it was roasted January 2016.
As a bag labelled “Espresso – whole bean”, the roast was more of what I expected for SE Asia supermarket coffee: a dark roast with a sheen of oils. As with the Italian Coffee Myanmar, the beans are a healthy, Arabica-friendly size which you might not normally associate with coffee in this part of Asia.
Brewed as espresso on the same machine as before, it produced a cup with a slightly more blonde crema of weak thickness. The body was decent, not great, and the flavor profile dipped into that burn-the-crap-out-of-my-identity territory: not quite a watery cup of ash, but definitely heavier on the smoke and tobacco with only some midrange and no real brightness to speak of. Which is a shame, because it was essentially roasted to taste like coffee from anywhere else.
In conclusion, I can’t say I wasn’t fully convinced of the exotic magic of Myanmar coffee. But there was clearly something going on here that I wasn’t quite expecting — and that coffee from Myanmar clearly has the distinctive potential to be something that could stand on its own relative to other quality coffee producers around the world. So at a minimum, I’ve been put on notice for what’s to come from this rapidly evolving country.
As the local T-shirts put it, “New Mexico: It’s not new, and it’s not Mexico.”
Even the food here is its own thing. Between sopapillas, calabacitas, carne adovada, and Hatch Valley chiles (and ordering things “red”, “green”, or “Christmas”): it’s not Mexican, and it’s not Tex-Mex either.
New Mexico can probably even lay claim to its own state of mind, defining the term high desert. Anywhere you turn starts from at least 6,000 feet of altitude. The combination of the altitude and arid climate can leave you with mild headaches and nosebleeds for days after arriving. Any notable breeze will result in red dust and grit in your teeth.
I last visited this region one winter in the 1990s, passing through one bleary-eyed day in the high-desert driving across I-40 from Flagstaff, AZ to Oklahoma City as part of a marathon trek across the country. Even back then I found Albuquerque more than a little odd, with the entire stretch of the town littered with “experimental speed limit” caution road signs. Experiencing it close up two decades later, it’s far stranger than I could have imagined.
Albuquerque aka ABQ aka The Duke City
It seems rather apropos that humanity’s nuclear era started in the neighborhood, just up the road at Los Alamos. The town of Albuquerque strikes you as a post-apocalyptic world where someone entered a typo in their nuclear launch codes and accidentally overlooked this place. Add the many locals who convincingly impress you as veterans of earlier (and multiple) alien abductions, and to this day there is perhaps no better movie that captures the essence of Albuquerque than the 1984 cult film Repo Man:
Repo Man:This could easily have been set in Albuquerque, NM
Yes, even more than No Country for Old Men and the excellent TV series Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. While New Mexico may not directly feature in Repo Man, it’s the film’s origin story and its influence permeates throughout. (Sorry, L.A.)
The residential areas are typically a criss-cross of wide East-West-bound boulevards littered with strip malls, with North-South streets (like Washington St. NE) jaggedly intersecting like misfit puzzle pieces so there’s never a continuous line through the many lots of ranch homes, covered car ports, and gravel landscaping.
On the subject of food, simply eating here reminds you that Albuquerque is not your typical American city. The most exclusive restaurant in town — universally voted the biggest “splurge” restaurant in ABQ — is run by a three-time James Beard nominee. In true ABQ style, it resides in a local strip mall, next door to a hydroponics shop and across the street from a drive-thru emergency loan shark/cash station called Fastbucks. That’s how ABQ rolls.
Among friends I’m known for identifying the TV trope of the generic “fancy restaurant”: high-end dining establishments that have zero distinguishable interior design. Meanwhile, real-life restauranteurs often bleed ridiculous amounts of money to heavily brand their high-end dining room experiences so you always know exactly where you’re eating. For all that Better Call Saul gets right about the town, there was a scene in an episode last month where they dine at one such generic “fancy restaurant” in Albuquerque. If you spend any time in ABQ, you’d immediately recognize that no such place could exist in town.
Better Call Saul does, however, nail the region on lawyers. Albuquerque is overflowing with courthouses and law offices, with the billboards of personal injury attorneys lining Interstates 25 & 40 with come-ons such as, “Hurt? Call Bert”. Is it any wonder why Bugs Bunny should have turned left?
Downtown ABQ gets even stranger. There’s a vast sea of multi-story parking garages, largely filled with cars, scattered among the remains of aging U.S. Route 66 kitsch and the tinted glass monoliths of more modern-yet-nondescript bank and energy company towers. And yet walk the downtown streets on a weekday afternoon a couple hours before rush hour and it is eerily devoid of pedestrians or even traffic. Which gives downtown ABQ the feel of a giant long-term airport parking lot for alien abductions: nobody is here, and yet everyone has left their cars behind.
We’ve written before about Austin, TX and their “Keep Austin Weird” motto. But the people here, although very friendly, are simply just too weird for Austin. More to the point: they’re blissfully unaware of their weirdness, thriving as an amalgamation of teen and adult runaways, Native Americans, silver-toothed street urchins, and the progeny of prior vehicle breakdowns along U.S. Route 66 to California.
All of this makes Albuquerque a more than unusual base for developing a quality coffee culture, which most cities typically identify with urban hipsters. The bizarro culture of ABQ essentially renders a hipster’s raison d’être as pointless and irrelevant. If anybody from Portland, OR ever ended up here, I’d put them on a suicide watch.
Quality coffee is a relatively new thing in this town that normally celebrates commodities, down to its streets named after mining and minerals. Hence it is surprising to see a few $3 espresso shots here without the “moral outrage” you’d normally expect from most cities that love to gripe about the cost of a cup of coffee.
In Albuquerque, the espresso shots tended to run a bit thin on body and were often served in various presentation contraptions involving carved wooden blocks (or serving trays) and sparkling water on the side.
One of the local oddities I came across was piñon coffee. Much as New Orleans has been known for blending regular coffee with chicory for a unique local variation, piñon coffee is made by combining regular coffee with nuts of the piñon pine tree (the official state tree). Native Americans traditionally harvested these pine nuts. Once roasted and brewed, it exhibits a sweet, spiced smell like an amped up Arabic coffee, but it tastes more like regular coffee with an earthy, nutty edge to it.
An hour up I-25 from Albuquerque is the town of Santa Fe. Founded in 1610 by Spanish colonialists, the New Mexico state capital carries a lot more history — including one of the oldest houses and the oldest church in the U.S.
Very much unlike Albuquerque, Santa Fe is a deliberately preserved town. This makes the stark contrast between the two not unlike the city of Napa versus St. Helena in the Napa Valley: one grows through big-box-store sprawl and lower costs of living while the other prefers a controlled aesthetic gentrification that makes it attractive to tourists with money.
This means that Santa Fe, like New Orleans, is one of the few places in the U.S. where you know exactly where you are — i.e., not in some random urban center lined with all the same chain stores. Sure, there are many fancy restaurants and massive hotels and spas about town, but everything is harmoniously dressed up in Pueblo or Spanish style. Every building is some variation of an earthtone and the architecture is remarkably consistent.
Despite the million-dollar Pueblo homes near the old city center, there are still plenty of tourists parading through town in rumbling two-story pickup trucks with tinted windows, Oklahoma or Texas plates, and blasting some variation on death metal out their windows. Yet at the same time there’s an extensive arts community and even the relocation of many Tibetan expatriates in town.
Although Santa Fe is where locally roasted coffee was first introduced to New Mexico, the coffee culture here has generally been slow to evolve — with more options growing in just the past few years. Like Albuquerque, there’s often an unusual emphasis on an inventive rotation of specialty drinks. But here there is also a strange validation of the Paleo diet as something more than the snake oil fad that it is: a few places place their own buttered coffee knockoffs prominently on drink menus.
Synesso espresso machines can be found in uncommon locations — cart services, ice cream shops, etc. — which makes us suspect there’s a local distributor with service and influence in the area. If you’re going to cover this high desert service area, my advice — based on ample empirical evidence — is to listen to a lot of Guadalupe Plata on the car stereo:
I originally noted a lack of sweetness in the coffee of Santa Fe and Albuquerque, which I partly blamed on the altitude at first. But I eventually found examples that broke that stereotype, such as the excellent Iconik Coffee Roasters — easily one of my more favorite coffee house finds of the past couple of years.
In conclusion, fallout from the Manhattan Project and Trinity tests may have left behind one unusual place and its residents, but the global advance of good coffee has infiltrated even here in just the past few years. Though for the record: Los Alamos scientists still drink pretty crummy coffee for the most part.