I agree, “obviously a business” was a poor choice of words – but it’s fairly obvious that she didn’t mean it as a criticism of business itself, but as a comment on the aesthetics of Starbucks: Bland and corporate. Not a biggee for me-- I have no problem with Second Cup or SBC, which are equally bland and corporate, except with coffee that doesn’t taste terrible. Still, neither of them are a patch on a really good quiet little cafe that serves excellent coffee.
I didn’t want to come back to VC03’s estimation of “Starbucks bashers,” because I figured we were getting far enough off-topic with stuff that might be more suited to Is drinking coffee that is over-roasted unsophisticated?, but it seems that there’s little interest in the quotations tempest remaining anyway, so…
I’m still rankled by the suggestion that people who are critical of the Starbucks Roast must naturally prefer tepid Maxwell House. This is such an astonishing display of missing-the-point. It’s like saying that people who are disdainful of skunky Heineken are know-nothings whose palates are accustomed to Coors Light – as if there wasn’t a wide world of quality beer out there.
Crikey. I’d sooner drink Starbucks than a Denny’s-style dishwater cuppa – but that doesn’t mean that Starbucks is a quality cup – just that it compares well with the stuff that is used primarily to get bacon grease of your tongue of a morning.
I’m critical of Starbucks’ coffee because I’m used to better. I’ve always lived in a coastal Coffee Town. Real espresso bars have never been far away. I learned how to properly roast my own beans at an early age from an old Russian man that lived upstairs, to whom coffee was practically a religion. I bought a nice commercial Faema double pull espresso machine off that guy, which served me well for years. I only stopped buying raw coffee beans in Little Italy when the market developed enough that it became easy to buy a wide variety of high-quality, fresh roasted beans at many, many locations in the city. At the moment, my standard morning cuppa comes from Antioquian beans bought freshly-roasted (French) from a fair-trade collective here in town, and ground just before the water boils. I get my espresso beans from a little Brazilian cafe around the corner.
Starbucks tastes like failure – literally. I can’t taste it without seeing old Oleg spit in disgust: “Pah! Second expulse, you pull! They burn on the tray! You kill the beans.” Those are the beans you put in a paper bag and give to someone who doesn’t care. The way good espresso coats your tongue with that wonderful aromatic oil – that’s why you drink it. It’s awesome. If you overroast your beans like Starbucks does, you don’t get that at all – you get that concentrated carbony taste, instead. Bleah.
Taking this product and dressing it up with a slick outlet and flash packaging is like putting lipstick on a pig. Starbucks wouldn’t put a hair up my ass if it wasn’t so pretentious – it’s the McDonald’s of espresso bars. Fine – I guess there’s a place for that – but McDonald’s doesn’t pretend to be a premium steakhouse, and charge accordingly.
They’re irritating enough in a city where you never have to walk too far to find a really good cup of coffee, but if I lived somewhere that had limited choices to begin with, and Starbucks muscled them out of business, I think I’d be tempted to start building a fertilizer bomb. (Note to CARNIVORE: No, not really. Hyperbole. Not even after seven double espressos.)
Anyway, there are two types of people who can’t abide Starbucks coffee: Those who have a clue about the preparation of coffee from harvest to inhalation, and those who don’t, but intuitively know, nonetheless, that burnt crud is burnt crud, no matter how glossy the ads are or how pretty the package is.