
Looking Good
I work at Think Coffee, at the Bleecker Street location and sometimes while behind the espresso machine, as the drinks pile up and the morning rush enters full swing, I turn to whichever co-worker is closest and say, “you know, I really like being a barista,” and they smile and I continue on coffee slinging. It’s true. I do really like being a barista. I like the physical motions my body has to make. I like the way it makes my shoulders sore. I feel like a well-oiled machine every time I pour rosetta after rosetta after rosetta into espresso shots without making any mistakes. I calculate my speed, I ease into a routine, my muscle memory takes over.
Several months ago, over the summer, I decided that I wanted to compete in the 2012 Northeast Regional Barista Competition, and two weeks ago I did just that. Let me take a minute to explain what the Northeast Regional Barista Competition (hereafter NERBC) entails: twenty-eight baristas from all over the North East prepare a fifteen minute presentation in which they must pull four single shots of espresso, four single shot cappuccinos, and 4 of a signature beverage of their own creation in front of four judges. The competitors must talk at length about their espresso, its flavors and its synergy with milk and the specialty drink. There are two score sheets, a technical and a sensory. The Sensory judges taste the drinks and give scores based on flavor. The technical judges observe every move the barista makes and gives scores based on how well a competitor works in their area, taking into consideration cleanliness, pacing and ability to repeat motions.
This description doesn’t even do justice as to how scary and stressful preparing for the competition actually was, but hold on: I’m getting there.
I decided to compete because I drank an horchata for the first time at a Salvadoran restaurant in East Williamsburg, Brooklyn. It was different than any flavor I had ever tasted, full of earthy, rich, nutty sweetness. I knew it would go really well with espresso and I immediately became determined to compete in the barista competition, this thing that I knew very little about, just so that I could create espresso horchata and share it with someone, anyone, for the love of God, I NEEDED TO TRY THIS.It would be another few months—not until the middle of November—before I made the first trek out to Dallis Brother’s Coffee Roasters in Ozone Park, Queens for competition training. Myself and three other talented baristas trained for several hours a week at Dallis with seasoned competition professionals who showed us the ins, the outs, the do’s and the don’ts of competing. We made ourselves sick and delirious tasting espresso shots for hours. We did countless fifteen minute run-throughs of our presentations. We learned how to say the names of the farms our coffees came from. It was stressful, and frustrating and fun. Everyone had at least one emotional melt down. This was so amazing, and from November until February 25th—competition day—Dallis Brothers was our guiding light, our support and did everything in their power to prepare us for the big day. And then ready or not, the big day came.
The funniest part about the Northeast Regional Barista Competition (after my turn was over, of course, and I stood watching my fellow competitors) was the audience. This year’s NERBC was held in conjunction with the Coffee and Tea Festival, which attracts people who know little-to-nothing about specialty coffee and, it seemed, came only to wait in long lines for free samples from various vendors. But they were entertained, and simultaneously befuddled by the NERBC, which took place amidst all the free-sample glory. One woman asked her friend, “What do baristas do?” and received a shrug as an answer. Another woman attempted to sit at the judges’ table while a competitor was setting up, hoping—I can only assume—to score more free samples.
Even in the days before and after the competition when I would mention the NERBC to PEOPLE IN THE COFFEE INDUSTRY, most of the responses were “oh so what kind of latte art will you do?” and trying to explain that this competition was something much bigger, and way more complicated than “latte art” suddenly seemed hardly worth the effort.
This was funny. It was so funny because those of us who were competing, or who were in the audience and DID know what was going on, took the NERBC so seriously. Some of us had trained for months; most of us didn’t sleep the night before from nerves. Nothing else mattered to us on that day except our grinders, and espresso flavor profiles, technical score sheets and whether or not I will be able to say Apaneca Llamatapec in front of everyone.
So the fact that more than half the people watching didn’t understand a majority of the words or phrases that came out of our mouths was comical and alarming at the same time. It added a new perspective: what was I doing there in the first place? Why is this so important? Who cares?
I think I have already answered these: I was there in the first place because I love being a barista and I wanted to become a better machine. I was there because I felt I had something unique to offer, and it was important because if I became a better machine then I could teach the people I work with to become better machines, too. I find myself on a quest now, a quest to become the best possible barista machine my hardware will permit, and to share my skills and my passion for coffee with anyone in earshot. And of course, I will continue to compete. I am in it for the long haul.