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Cupping

June 15th 2008 07:13
I thought about this a couple of months ago before it had such a locker room official name; thought it would make a great little money earner in Sydney especially on rainy days, and weeks later there was an article about it in the New York Times where cupping has become the new gourmand phenomena. I was crushed. Or perhaps finely ground.

espresso
espresso van



But I was still curious to see how it would work so I thought to try it when I was in Wellington, crowned as it is by me the coffee centre of the universe. (It's not just me - check out guide books and articles on Wellington sometime and you'll see words like caffeine fuelled city...cafe society and so forth)

The idea of cupping is to treat coffee sampling like a wine tasting: take a small shot of the potion and comment on the surroundings and the knowledgable server and all other ambiant features, followed by a description of the tipple itself. I could use words like nutty and earthy and composty, adjectives usually reserved for pinot noirs and poose. But it was too hard. Unlike wine where there is a reference point to grapes and the terroir, and a whole stack of pre-packaged wine words to describe flavour and aroma, coffee has no touchstone, no reservoir of terminology. It’s not that the flavour variation and notes aren’t there. It’s just that without a background knowledge they’re had to identify and even if you are that perceptive, it’s even harder to articulate.


mojo
Mojo rising


The other thing is that there is a huge difference between ingesting 10 twenty mill bursts of wine and 10 twenty mill bursts of coffee. One turns you into a relaxed bon vivant. The other turns you into Kyle Sandilands.

So until a body of information builds that I can plaigarise and they work out the kinks to cupping (they are working on it: try Coffee Research for more information) here’s a whole bunch of cafes you need to try if you like coffee and are in Wellington.

I’d love to hear your solutions to the problems currently presented by cupping. Does it have potential or is it just a bit of a shit idea?

By the way, all the coffee and café’s below are made and roasted in Wellington and is prepared to a ludicrously high standard. Beans are taken very seriously here and all of it is really good.

Mojo

Mojo declares itself a coffee cartel and they’re not doing a bad job at backing it up. They’re becoming as ubiquitous in Wellington as StarMarts. They do a pretty mean coffee. And they have a retro colour scheme too which is kind of nice. What sets Mojo apart for me is its location on the waterfront (just to the north of Loaded Hog – can’t miss it). They also have Hofbrau on tap which is kind of cool.

Fuel

Fuel are all over the place too. Mostly in little carts. They’re the guerillas of the coffee world in Wellies: mobile, covert, concentrating on high calibre work. I think they add silk worms or something into their milk because they take out the prize for the smoothest flat white by a long way.

There’s a Fuel around the corner from the main area in Wellington airport (towards the domestic gates). It's the best coffee you'll get at an airport anywhere in the world. Betcha.

Havana Coffee Works

In Wigan Street just off Cuba (geddit?) all tucked up and around the corner, these guys are the pioneers….kind of (I haven’t gone into detailed research on the history of the city's beans but I lived there for quite a long time and I reckon it would have to be close to the first). The Wigan Street premises is their factory, or works if you will, so its kind of like watching how your hamburger’s made but in a good way.

Fidels

They have no plans to change the name of Raul, which is good. They’re staying true to the roots. Fidels is more about the alty atmosphere of upper Cuba and the general vibe than the actual coffee, which explains why I didn’t pay attention and find out what kind of coffee they use. It’s yum though.

Revive

My old favourite in Woodward Street off Lambton Quay. They do the whole bowl thing, which is pretty standard in Wellington, but somehow they just do it kind of a little bit better.

Supreme

Probably the best. Hunt around for the cafes with its brown and orangey sign. Or buy the beans next to Revive in Woodward Street – it’s such good coffee even if you’re a useless barista it’s hard to fuck up. I have the lattes to prove it.


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Watsons Bay in Sydney

June 15th 2008 06:01
South Head

Do you like – in no particular order – beer nudity and head?

Of course you do. Everyone does. That’s why it’s one of Sydney’s quintessential and most popular day trips. Whether you want to potter around Sydney to kill half a day on the harbour or whether you reside there and need to use up a few hours with friends – or even better entertain family without hardly having to talk to them – the South Head and Watsons Bay combo can’t be beaten.

Wharf 4 at Circular Quay quarter to or quarter past takes you out to Watson’s Bay past the salubrious suburbs of Darling Point, Potts Point, Rose Bay, Double Bay, and Vaulcluse. If you had a couple of tens of million in your back pocket you wouldn’t be able to sit down. But then you wouldn’t need to because you could be living in one of the mansions you float past and you’d go to Watson’s Bay in your own boat.

Now wait: before you head straight into Doyle’s pub at the end of the Watson’s Bay wharf you need to work up a thirst and be put off your food simultaneously.

Wind north through the cute little weatherboard cottages that look curiously out of place along the mansion lined water further down. The small tip of the South Head has a whaler village feel complete with shell and driftwood trinkets and baby blue weather beaten shutters. Wendelling around to the edge you’ll end up at Camp Cove. A crystal clear blue bay that usually has bronzed people swimming or bathing on it.

South Head and Hornsby Lighthouse
South Head and Hornsby Lighthouse


At the northern of Camp Cove is the South Head harbour walk. No need for a sturdy shoes notify your family pack GPS and granola national park walk preparation. It’s only about 500 metres round trip.

Now you get your head and nudity.

The first bay north of Camp Cove is Lady Bay, a nudist beach. Not nudism in the Naked Wild On sense, more in the sixty-year-old-man-unusually- hairless-and-women-with-skin- like-leather-and-nipples-at-p ussy-level kind of way. Why do they wear a hat? If you’re concerned about melanoma you’ve left a good part of your body untouched. If you’ve got problems with glare apply sunglasses.

The South Head track runs across the top of Lady Bay and ends with a viewing platform where you can watch the fat old guys stretched out on the rocks like seals.

From the platform the track loops 400 metres past the lighthouse cottage at the point; around the dug out pits of the military installations; to the Hornsby Lighthouse; to further installations and the Naval base that sits between Watson’s Bay and the Head. It’s a spectacular if short walk. The views stretch north up the northern beaches, west back to the City, the harbour bridge peeking above the Mosman ridge, east out into the Pacific and Tasman and downwards to the smooth almost accommodating table like rocks below.

And when you backtrack past Lady Bay and Camp Cove you’ll have yourself back at Doyles. There’s three kinds of Doyles. Doyles the 200 year old restaurant. Doyles the newer café style wharf with takeaway outlet. And there’s Doyles the pub.

The Fish and Chips make the beer taste nicer at the pub. A brisk walk, rugged scenary, salty chips, and a larger is an unbeatable combo. They’re a little bit more expensive that the usual shark and taties but its close to the best feed of fish you’ll have in Sydney. And after a brisk walk around South Head and the natural wonders of Lady Bay, you’ll need it.

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Lucky Luke in Cologne
Cologne's Dom and Luke


Cologne is a big cathedral called the Dom with a town around it, the town split in half by the Rhine. This is how it has been since the Romans. This is how it will always be. Dom and Rhine.

And really there’s not all that much more you need. Standard European city formula is one times large river and one times centre point of the town, usually town hall or cathedral or palace. If you want to really stand out from the crowd you go Scandinavian and perch yourself on the edge of the sea on a series of islands. Only Venice has really embraced that one south of Copenhagen. In general though you’re looking for a large river and an ornate building. It was historically necessary. If you were a European in 500 AD deciding on building a city there were only two pre-requisites.

Firstly, you needed a navigable body of water because the roman road system had virtually unusable. The rats and pox weren’t going to carry themselves from pestilence to pestilence.

Location sorted, you needed some sort of elaborate building to give the peasants the illusion that there was something better than stale bread and black death once the mortal coil had unravelled. People tended not to be too motivated to trade and slave away if this was as good as it got. In addition to this, the churches were also built tall and grand because prevailing Catholic wisdom was that building elaborate churches was a great way to wipe the marble clean of all those mortal sins. The protestants blew that one out of the water but got more out of their peasants by telling them the harder they worked, the better the chances of getting on St Peter’s guest list.

So by the start of the twentieth century you had your cathedral or your town hall on the edge of a river surrounded either by huddled medieval lanes, slums, or grand renaissance boulevards. Everything was coming up gravy for the Europeans. Then industrial technology overreached itself. While the human brain laboured back in previous centuries where three day gentlemanly battles ended with a handshake and an exiling, the human hands played with weapons that could severe a millions of limbs. These ornate buildings on which the whole European social system were based got the living shits bombed out of them and if they didn’t get bombed and gutted, the pollution the byproduct of creating billions of tonnes of steel often used for the bombs, was doing its work slowly and savagely.

Cathedrals no longer exist today, instead you get a huge sheet of scaffolding with advertisements on the side and a peek at the occasional piece of blackened stone. Internet porn and reality TV are the new saviour of the working class. Also, while he was deviously inventing blitzkriegs, a German made the river irrelevant by creating 10 lane motorways. The question which presents itself then is: what is the use of these centre points? Are they consigned to ill-considered and hastily written histories, nothing more than curiosities? The answer is of course yes because now we have postcards so once a decade on a sunny day they can remove the scaffolding, reel off some snaps, sell them for 60 cents and that’s the only function the cathedral need serve.

Cologne’s a little different. It may have a river and a cathedral like every other city in Europe but remarkably, both actually function. There is no scaffolding on the oversized towers poking their heads over the entire region; the only thing it was draped in was a light dusting of snow. Postcard sellers must’ve been doing it hard. And the river actually had commercial traffic on it. Low slung barges were carrying sausage that no German would eat to be sold as salami in Italy; wine a Frenchman would turn up his nose at was being shipped in from the west to be retailed at horrendous prices in Cologne; cheeses that someone forgot about and were about to throw away w
Cologne Lucky Luke Condom
Luke and Dom
as chugging north to be sold as blue vein; people in USA shirts no other country in their right mind would want were being ushered up and down on tours to see castles and the Dom.

It was heartening to see that after the destruction of the twentieth century that had left so many European cities with little use for their traditional stalwarts, the powers that be had finally latched on to the incontrovertable fact that the way to foster economic and social unity was to ship your rejected crap to other countries

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Maastricht

May 27th 2008 09:52
Maastricht has something no other Dutch city can offer.

You would be correct in pointing out that it has unique place in European history, the city where the treaty relating to currency was signed in 1992, charting a course to the eventual creation of the Euro. It celebrates this, with the Maura Biava sculpture Stars of Europe thoughtfully set in a Vodafone office complex. And it’s more than just money: the whole city has a united Europe sense to it with the European Journalism Centre and several other European institutions calling Maastricht home


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Stockholm and its hockey

May 27th 2008 08:55
Lucky Luke Stockholm winter palace ice hockey
Cold


As George Orwell, the renowned writer, essayist, and cross-country skiing ignoramus who wrote: ‘Sport is war minus the shooting


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Noumea

May 17th 2008 02:53
Boules
Old guys and their balls


I have a friend called Butros. He is a smart guy, very funny, and he is the most absent minded person I have ever met. He is forever leaving wallets, glasses, keys, or pants at home and having to double back in a mad rush to get them. In preparation for one excursion out of the flat, we muddled around for 3 quarters of an hour getting ready and for once, Butros was ready in record time, half an hour before anyone else. We were all prepared, set, when someone uttered the fateful and familiar words, ‘Where’s Butros?’ just as the tinkle of the water and the melodic notes of shower signing reached our ears


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Kava Bender in Fiji

May 15th 2008 10:14
Sunset
Sunset


Surimi despite its exotic name, is just fake crabmeat, and fake crabmeat, even with all the glamour, is simply processed hoki heads. Still, it is a delightful and nutritious snack, and currently on special at New World for 58 cents per 100 grams


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Dutch windmill
Groningen
Upon the dissolution of Spanish and Portuguese empires in the mid 1600s the Republic of the Netherlands became the most powerful naval force in Europe. As irritants went, this was up there with ladders in his milky white stockings for Frenchman and state-personification, Louis XIV, no sun king when it came to the Dutch.

While Louis lamented, across the channel the English had a misplaced confidence in their ability, reminiscent of that heady spring frenzy every 4 years when an honestly held national belief builds that they’re about to win the World Cup in total disregard of their competitors abilities and their own team’s form. In that 1672 spring, without the football drug to sate them, the English were baying for some form of combat in which to fall predictably short. As Samuel Pepys noted at the time in his diary, they were mad for a war. They even had their own theme song. Perhaps. But as a kicker, on top of all other geo-political manoeuvrings and populus bloodlust, the Dutch Admiral Tromp had insulted the wife of the English Admiral Spragge. So in a bout of tall poppy syndrome and pettiness the English, with the full cheer squad of Louis XIV at the ready, tried to invade the Netherlands in 1672. Very Springer


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The Lovedale Long Lunch (LINK)

May 13th 2008 06:02
Vineyards
Hunter Vinyard


While I respect the eccentric observation of Mr Toad that there is nothing half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats, it would be hard to argue with anyone who embraces this more sedentary gourmand age that there is equally nothing half so much worth doing as whiling away a weekend eating and drinking your way around wineries


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Sestri Levante - Part 2

May 13th 2008 05:49
Sestri Levante Portobello
Portobello


There’s a tendency to become smug and patronising when you think you’ve found a pocket of undiscovered beauty amongst the urban sameness. Unable to identify any other tourists, I guffawed knowingly into my mystery aperitivo, condescension personified until I was told by the rugby-pianist barman that there’s nothing undiscovered about Sestri Levante in when it warms up. Like the other villages up and down the Ligurian Riviera, the inhabitants of the inland cities turn Sestri into one giant carpark in the spring and summer. Only once the stylish fur coats and leather gloves come out and the days begin to shorten does Sestri Levante become a find. When the Italians have trudged back to the cities to work and strike and gesticulate, the Med resort is packed away with the Speedos and sun umbrellas and the sleepy fishing village emerges


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