I'm never willingly up at 4am. Even for something fun. Even for something really fun, like whisky sipping or roller skating or puppy patting or any combination of the 3. But last night, for some strange reason, I found myself up at 4am, arguing about coffee with a bunch of online coffee jerks. Is this how it begins? Am I going to be one of those crazy people who stay up all night arguing about nothing with nobodies on the Nowhereweb? Should I just buy the xtra-strength Clearisil now?
But this wasn't nothing. This was West Coast v East Coast, and, in an unprecedented move, a West Coast wimp leveled the first blow. Shocking! I simply had to fire back. My honor as a New Englander (for the first 27 years of my life anyways) was at stake. Now, I know some of you who know me will point out that I not only married a West Coaster, but I gave birth to one. But as the only non-native San Franciscan in the family, I feel I have to represent.
Take my grandmother (still alive, by the way). She's from South Carolina, but lived most of her life in the Boston area, The South Shore mostly. Still, she never lost her accent, never stopped doing weird Southern (I assume)things like putting mint jelly on toast and always made cornbread with her Boston Baked Beans, instead of the traditional brown bread*. She held on so tight to her roots, that I, a true-blue 5th generation New Englander, brought up to believe that everywhere south of Connecticut is exactly like Deliverance, believed (and still do a bit) that South Carolina was the best, prettiest, most refined, and plain old kick-ass (my words not Gram's) state in the whole country.
That is how I hope Snappy will someday feel about New Hampshire...and maybe even the South Shore...hm, that might be asking too much. New Hampshire definitely...and Cape Cod maybe? Who are these Patriots you speak of and why do you expect me to cheer for them?
But I'm getting ahead of myself, back to the Coffee Battle waged mainly by me and some intern at the SF Chronicle. I was checking in on SF Gate, because truth be told, I was up at 3 AM because I was freaking out about preschools and I was going to see if they had any resources. Then I saw this:
Oh really? A blind unbiased taste test for the five spoiled, organic fair-trade farmer hugging West Coast office workers who just happened not to be telecommuting that day? And none of them like Dunkin Donuts coffee? Quel surprise, Ivy League. Dunkins is not for you or for anyone who spells donuts with an "ugh". I maturely responded with this (for some strange, sleep-deprived reason, I mentioned Brains...that's Brains the beer....not the organ.) :
"I find three holes in your supposedly fool proof plan:
Firstly of all, just like, you know, the further from Wales you get...the yuckier the Brains. It's like that with DD coffee the further you get from Boston.
Also, you can't test Dunkin's coffee on spoiled office workers. This is a diner brew that only Truckers, beat cops and gumshoes can test.
And lastly, what did you drink it with a low-fat scone or something pansy-ish like that? No. No. No. You have to drink it with a cruller. A cruller! Eh. Spoiled West Coast office workers don't even know what a cruller is."
Of course, I expected the other New Englanders still awake to put the smackdown on these bean snobs, but no...just someone who likes to eat French crullers (okay, but yuck) a jerk who thinks California has better pizza than NY (yeah, and Noah's makes bagels...not one-holed puffy bread rolls) and a moron who thought that Dunkins default coffee preperation is cream and sugar. Moron. I had to clarify:
"Oh. And Dunkins does NOT autimatically add cream and sugar. It's just that for some strange reason West Coasters order regular coffee. Why? If you don't say regular, do you think you're going to get decaf...against your will??? In New England, regular means "with cream and sugar". We thought it safe to give regular a meaning because we figured no one would be dumb enough to just add extra words all willy-nilly like to their coffee order."
Am I crazy? Or just a New Englander who will never be a Californian but will never ever leave the Sunset district of San Francisco? Sigh. Oh well. Maybe the next time I'm awake at 4am, it'll be to catch the Sox game opener in Japan. Where I'm sure Daisuke will beat the freash-roasted stuffing out of the As.
*Brown Bread is a molasses bread baked in a tin can. It can have raisins or not and it is DELICIOUS.