The four C’s of a Melbournian Coffee

Disclaimer: I’m going to cheat, and just use words that include “c”

I feel as though I’ve neglected to inform my American audience that there is one thing Australia does significantly better than America. First, I will admit, I might be confessing to a reluctant joining of the ranks of the coffee elite. No longer able to avoid the title of being a coffee snob, I decided it is only appropriate that I try to explain where this very personal transformation came from. May this be a peace offering/saving grace from eternal condemnation from my coffee drinking American friends.

As with many cultures, a large percentage of the Australian population start their day (granted a little bit later than I would prefer) with one of those treasured morning traditions – a cup of coffee. When I first ventured out into the thriving metropolis that is Melbourne, my instincts pointed me to Starbucks, but my inner travel nerd refused to surrender. This was just the beginning of what would become a two year secondment of touring/evaluating what is believed to be Melbourne's best coffee.

In order to describe the decadent cups of joe, I've leveraged (or ripped off) the diamond model of the 4 C's. It only seemed appropriate that something so important be given an structured rating method.

1 - S ‘c’ ent – Second only to men's cologne, and just ahead of red wine, the smell of coffee is one of my favorite smells. The aroma of a roasted bean, gently blended and strained over with steaming hot water brings a smile to my face every time. It reminds me of sunny days on the patio, long conversations with my Dad about the most random things, and when mixed with newspaper, reminds me of summer mornings by the pool with my Mom. Coffee that isn't freshly brewed (aka french press espresso style), just doesn't bring the same mood altering power of persuasion to the table.

2 - ‘C’ haracter - This coffee category extends across several areas. From froth or foam, temperature, skill, and technology, there are many factors that can persuade a palate to declare that a rotten set of beans. I found it so strange when my long black came with a foamy top. I quickly realized, a cup of coffee without this key indicator of goodness, is not a proper cup of coffee. Temperature is pretty obvious, the steaming hot water (or milk if your more of the latte/cappuccino sort) has to be hot hot hot, but not too hot. I think it is possible to burn a cup of coffee (surprisingly, this is one kitchen disaster I've still managed to avoid).

3 - ‘C’ olour / ‘C’ oncentration - This is the muscle/strength/potency of your morning power punch. At first, I was a bit put off, having ordered a long black, I was expecting a full cup of coffee. Instead, I got a half empty cup. After once asking for a full cup, and being un-politely informed that I could have more 'hot water' but that would be watering down a perfectly good cup of coffee, I learned why my cup is only 'half full'. To get the right flavour from those magically brewed beans, you can't just fill the cup to the brim. It's a delicate balance to get the right colour or concentration.

Side note: Myself and at least one other American expat, that I won’t call out directly (ahem, Breanna Mckeehan), sometimes sneak off to the likes of McDonald's (or as an Aussie might lovingly refer to as Macca's) to escape the tins of oil that many Australians use to ‘do a brew’. Sometimes, a watery cup of coffee is needed, just for that first post hangover mouthwash.

4 - Lo ‘c’ ation – Even if Starbuck’s did master the first 3 C’s – they could never uphold the last and most important ingredient to the ever developing cuppa Melbourne coffee. Drinking coffee is a social event, sometimes an all day social event, depending on how popular the location you’ve chosen to consume this sacred beverage. You can't just pop into the trendy dime-a-dozen Starbucks and get the same ambiance of some place two blocks down a dark alley, with a small door just beyond the 2nd dumpster. Perhaps the funky decorated walls of these unique coffee joints just inspire the barista to put a little extra TLC in every cup, but I reckon it's a mind game on the consumer as well.

Lastly, what doesn’t cleverly (ha, another c word) fit into my 4 C’s pun is terminology. Having been a patron of Starbucks for many years prior to moving to Australia, I respected the fact that a barista wants to hear your coffee order in a certain sing song/pre-determined jargon. I’ve mentioned before that ordering a cup of coffee when I first arrived gave me a bit of a giggle. A “large long black” usually left my mind wandering the expansive depths of the gutter for several minutes after each order. Once I cleared my teenage thoughts, I often wandered, why didn’t someone think of this when they came up with the ‘long black’ barista slang. My conclusion is closely related to that sad but true fact that Americans tend to want everything super sized, and a proper cup of coffee just doesn't come in the Starbucks Grande cup that us watery coffee drinking Americans find comforting and familiar.

All in a Year

It is hard for me to believe I've been here over 13 months now. The old saying "time flies when you're having fun" echoes through my thoughts when I reflect on the last year.

I've learned a lot about Australia and a bit about myself too.

Australian weather (especially Melbourne) is about as reliable as any boyfriend I've had in the last 10 years, and all too often raining on my parade. And whilst we're on the topic of men, Australian men just don't measure up to Texas men. "G'day" just doesn't sound as sexy as a deep voiced "Howdy". Every time I see a man sitting on a tram, as I'm delicately balancing on my centimeters of high heel surface area, I longingly remember what it was like to always be offered a seat.

Not having a car has been interesting, and secretly enjoyable. I don't miss trips to the petrol station (aka gas station), time/money spent on car maintenance, and most of all paying hard earned dollars on a depreciating asset. Occasionally, I think about how much easier life was when I could drive to work, the grocery store, the post office, the dry cleaners or the mall. I would say, I've probably saved money just because I can't easily get to the places where I would spend money. With all that said, I would have never survived without a car here if I didn't have many friends who offer me a ride whether that's home or on one of our group adventures.

Very early on I learned clothes dryers really are a luxury, and I can survive without one (just takes a bit more planning on what I'm going to wear until the next round of laundry). Other luxuries that have been noticeably absent from my Aussie lifestyle are central heating and air conditioning. I never thought I would say this, but lucky enough, the weather temperature here was cool year around (or the few days that were unbearable, I found a cold beer and swimming pool).

I've travelled my little heart out (5 new countries, and many amazing places within Australia), and become even more independent (yes, surprisingly that was possible). I should write a whole blog on the people I've met when I was travelling alone. It really is an experience everyone should have at least once in life.

My liver has taken on new challenges in last year as well. My university wild child drinking days won't hold a candle to the intoxication of my drinking buddies here. There is no sarcasm to the notion that the Irish and the Brits can drink this American under the table any given day. I've also divorced sparkling (aka champagne). It took me a few stubborn times to get to the conclusion that we just don't get along.

If the next 12 months are half as exciting as the last 12, I will be leaving here one very content woman: a couple of years older, a few dreams fulfilled, an ever growing bucket list of things to do and places to see, and rich with a lifetime of friendships I could have never imagined.

Western Australia

When a Western Girl Meets Eastern toilets...

...as if I haven't spent enough time talking about my experiences in the lieu in previous posts, I couldn't help myself but to enlighten y'all one more time. I've recently travelled to SE Asia. Not surprisingly, part of this trip included many potty stops. Now, I'm not new to travelling, but this would be the first trip where I wouldn't have a western toilet option. I tried to mentally prepare myself before I left, even checking out the wiki site on squatty potties. Sure enough, when first faced with no other option than to squat, I bailed. Literally, I spun on my heel and walked out of the toilet that I had just paid 2 ringit (Malaysian currency) to enter. Not since early childhood had I been so challenged by the porcelain. My bowels clenched with fear (and morning coffee that desperately needed out), as I thought about the terrifying options - sit on a bus for 2 hours hoping I wouldn't wet myself, or flush away those fears and squat (sorry for the pun - haha). I won't keep you in suspense any longer, I did it - I survived...managing to not get my pants or feet wet.

Being a good documentarian, I've gathered some photo's for examples of what toilets looked like across SE Asia.




These squatty potties also might explain where the term 'water closet' comes from. There always seemed to be an abundance of water in or around the squat toilets. Now, I reckon that the hose type objects hanging from the wall were the reason that the water ratio was higher than the average western toilet stall. I never did really figure out what to do with the hose?

Water closet, bathroom, restroom, bogs, toilet, lieu...call it what you want. But you really haven't lived until you've gathered your trousers at your knees and taken a squat to pee.

Pictures from Singapore, Malaysia, and Thailand

Cultural Awareness 101

Prior to moving to Australia, I had to take a survey about my perceptions of Aussie culture. I also had to go through a 1 hr course on cultural awareness. The course was pretty straight forward and basically told me that even though Australia is an ‘English’ speaking nation there would be days where I felt the woes of being a foreigner. To alleviate those woes, I try to make note of the ‘foreign’ words, and get a giggle out of the moments lost in translation.

Here are some potential misconceptions Americans have about Australia:
Just like we don’t ride horses to work in Texas, there aren’t kangaroos, koalas, or crocodiles roaming the city streets of Melbourne. In fact, you have to go out of your way to find any of the said creatures. Unfortunately, culture class did not warn me of the Australian spider ‘situation’ (for further information please refer to the blog about my friend Webster).

Only the bogan Aussie’s and Crocodile Dundee (Texas translation: rednecks) say things like “G’day Mate”

They don’t really ‘throw shrimp on the barbie’ but maybe that’s because five out of the 6 months here, I’ve been in winter, thus not much barbie usage going on. Menus don’t ever have ‘shrimp’, it would say prawns. If you want bell peppers on your sandwich at Subway you have to say ‘capsicum’ – otherwise the 16 year old behind the counter just stares at you blankly while you say bell pepper louder and slower (as if that was going to translate into capsicum eventually).

It’s sunny and everybody surfs. Wrong. Considering that Melbourne has now had a record breaking number of days below 20 degrees (which is 68 F) there isn’t much surfing. Now, 68 isn’t bad on a sunny day, but 6 out of 7 days a week it rains at some point in the day, and is rarely sunny after 10am – which makes for shit weekends. (That’s another thing – shit is a pretty common adjective here, not that I’m shy to cursing, just find it is used much more casually).

Australia and New Zealand are one in the same. Not even close – even more different than Canada and the US. Fortunately, once you’ve been here awhile, it’s pretty easy to distinguish the accents. What’s really starting to surprise me is how quickly I can differentiate British from Irish and Scottish (this all used to sound the same to me). I’ve also learned that Canadians get really offended when you ask if they are American. So to hedge their bet, if an Aussie thinks you are from North America, but not sure which part of the NATO agreement you would have signed under, they ask if you are Canadian – which I think explains why I get asked that, a lot.

One consistent misconception about Americans would be that we all love Obama – no further comment.

This one is a bit specific and weird:
Lady in my pilates class: “Heathah, is it true that you can’t walk at night in Greenville, Mississippi because wild dogs will attack you?” (She was travelling there for work next week.)
Me: “Uh, I think that’s about as likely as being attacked by a drop bear”

And of course, more Aussie vocabulary lessons:
Grown men wear “jumpers” – I think it is a type of shirt – more of a winter type that requires another shirt underneath to stay warm, but different than a sweater.

“Thongs” – go between your toes not your butt cheeks

One buys “petrol” at a “servo” – that would be gas at a gas station. And I must admit, I didn’t have a good response when an Aussie asked me “why would you refer to a liquid as ‘gas’?”

Jugs – I think this is a pitcher of beer. I don’t hear this much, but maybe that will change when I start travelling to Sydney and New Zealand.

So back in States (aka Texas), I was always envious of people with nicknames. And I loved calling people by nicknames, especially ones with a funny story behind it (aka Niddy). Nicknames are huge here. The weird part is that male nicknames get a bit of a feminine touch. Matt is Matty, Nick is Nicko/Niko, so forth and so on. Of course, Heather or Heath-ah is difficult to shorten. I’ve heard ‘Simps’ but that just doesn’t roll of the tongue. Occasionally I get called ‘Texas’ but only long enough for someone to realize I don’t have a Texas accent, and consequently the nickname just doesn’t stick.

People here are ‘keen’ and not easily ‘fussed’ or if they are fussed, they will ‘suss it out’ – still not sure I’m spelling that one correctly or to what degree ‘keen’ should be used. I’m not sure if when I say “I’m keen to do xyz” if that means, “I really have to do this” or “It would be nice, but I’m not going to freak if it doesn’t happen”

Liquor stores are ‘bottle shops’ and shops in general aren’t open as late or on weekends like American stores.

Arse is ass, and bum is butt – who knew body parts could have so many names

ps - Thanks Liz for the blog idea :)

Random Coastline Pictures

Can you tell I've spent alot of time looking at pretty beaches?