In a 'tough world,' there's still food and fashion

Egyptian anti-Muslim film protester dodges tear gas, Voice of America photo

Today's Friday, the day of prayer for Muslims, as well as their riots against America. The disgusting YouTube video by a low-life criminal in Cerritos, California isn't the real impetus for the frightening and dangerous manifestations in Tunisia, Sudan, Indonesia, India, Pakistan, Lebanon, Malaysia and even Germany. Deeper hatred fuels the anger that would eradicate every power and faith that isn't Muslim. (And as the world has seen, branches of Islam can be equally violent against those in differing sects.)

President Obama won't need to launch an "October surprise" to boost his leadership profile; he's placed in that position presently and so far has yet to impress.  We hope and pray that the coming days will bring strong denunciation of the violence rather than placating apologies for offense. Ours is a land with freedom to speak, even if the content insults another. The world stage is not so generous.

Meanwhile, my daughter who lives in New York City can no longer purchase a 16-ounce soft drink, lest her petite frame become obese. Mayor Bloomberg proudly touted his city's restriction on large-sized sugary drinks as "“the single biggest step any city has ever taken to curb obesity,” adding, "we believe that it will help save lives.”

I'm all for saving lives, and if Mayor Bloomberg can show that unlimited refills in smaller-sized cups, enforced by a cadre of health inspectors, will either reduce obesity or keep citizens going, I'm willing to toast him with my, um, Venti Frappuccino (373 calories). I don't get many of them, but when I do, it's because I'm really thirsty and probably didn't have breakfast. The Starbucks frappuccino, by the way, is in controversy since drinks with more than 50% milk are exempt from the ban. If the ice-to-milk ratio is dropped, my venti could be safe. Sound silly to you?

If not, perhaps this news item will. A New York Times "Front Row" column in the Style section a week ago discussed the virtues of Michelle Obama's sparkly dress as a prop with a message for her address to the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte. Eric Wilson approved of the Tracy Reese design, noting that Ms. Reese "who happens to be black," designed a creation that "from a distance...had a shimmering effect...but in closeups, viewers could practically study the pattern of the gold brocade."

The message of the dress: A boost to the middle class. Why? "Ms. Reese's prices are also in the middle ground...which fits perfectly with the Democratic pitch for the middle class." Middle ground, ie, middle class dress prices for pieces by Ms. Reese run $200-500. The zinger at the end of the article was the single sentence, "Mrs. Romney's dress cost $1,990."

OK, Mrs. Romney wore a readily-available Oscar de la Renta red taffeta belted dress for her boffo speech to Republican conventioners (from the pre-fall collection). Ms. Obama's dress, one-of-a-kind and designed specifically for the first lady, is not available. Of course, it's being rushed into production, and according to reports will sell for "less than $500."

Now, no middle class woman I know--and certainly not I--would pay $500 for a dress. Nor $400. Nor $300, or $200 or, I will admit, in my own case even $100.  Middle class women shop at Nordstrom Rack or Target, and like bargains more than labels.  At least that's true for everyone in my sphere. If they do wear a label--maybe on a pair of good denim jeans--they want to get it on sale. I often wear hand-me-ups from my daughters from Forever 21.

I sometimes wonder: who are the women who buy from designer shops? There must be enough of them to support the fashion industry, but if they're not the wealthiest 1%, they're definitely in the richest 5%. You don't need to buy a $500 replica of Michelle Obama's dress to announce you're in the middle class.  And you don't need to diss Ann Romney for her (expensive) choice.

My take-away message: Democrats want to demonize success. Rather than cheering those who achieve, and making way for more to follow, the tack is to channel last year's Occupiers and chastise the Romneys for making it to the top.

The suggestion that wearing a custom-made dress from a mid-priced designer shows some fidelity to the middle class is here just another rap from the very biased press.

A Love-Disgust with Starbucks

As a Seattleite, I proudly show my tourist friends the first Starbucks coffee store, located in Pike Place Market. Usually there's a fabulous a Capella quartet in front, swinging with their excellently-blended harmonies.



My photo of singers outside the first Starbucks, Pike Place Mkt.

Purchasing my favorite excellently-blended grande Americano inside, however, isn't such an easy question anymore.  Oh yeah, I've got my special registered Hawaii-design Starbucks card, loaded so I earn their rewards.  But I'm getting word from the right and the left that perhaps using it at the coffee stand ubiquitous on nearly every corner might carry some not-so-approved connotations.

Cochineal beetle pieces. MMMM-mmmm!

I wasn't one to order the Strawberries-and-Creme Frappuccinos anyway, knowing they didn't have kosher approval.  But now I know why: It's revealed that the red coloring Starbucks adopted a couple years ago to align with their "natural ingredients" push is actually crushed up bugs. The Cochineal Extract from ground South American beetles is definitely not kosher. It's not vegetarian, either, and aside from an occasional kosher meat digression (Passover's coming!), our family refrains from eating slaughtered flesh. But crushed insects, added for their crimson color, doesn't comport with the system. Perhaps using strawberries to shade the Strawberries-and-Creme could have been even more natural.

Then I got an email saying Starbucks is pouring millions of dollars into the initiative to redefine marriage, on the ballot here in Washington State this November.  I happen to hold with the traditional Torah view that the entire purpose of marriage is to synchronize the complementary differences between male and female, and to best encourage that each child can be raised by his biological mother and father together.  Love's a crazy-wonderful thing, and if two men or women want to affirm their commitment and spend their lives together, great; I just don't think government should shift the focus of the institution from children-with-parents societal stability to elevating individuals' feelings.  If men and women are truly interchangeable, as re-defining marriage suggests, then family law can no longer privilege biological connection over emotional claims on a child.  The overwhelming data showing children do best when raised by their two biological parents won't mean much in practice after that.

I'm not into boycotts, but it seems that vegans, vegetarians, foes of advertising deception and traditional marriage boosters are coming together in a moment of joint Starbucks wrath.  Perhaps to counter this, I just got an email from the company inviting me to a local benefit concert featuring two indie bands. Sounds like fun. Too bad it's on Shabbat.

 Strawberries-&-Creme ingredients: not kosher

We happen to be fans of Starbucks. Not only is it a local company, but we like their coffee. My husband even drinks their Via instant when he wakes up pre-dawn some mornings. I choose their specially-roasted-for-Costco espresso-blend beans. I trust there are no ground bugs in either. I also like their coffee-houses, and our neighborhood outpost is even decorated with original artwork by a friend of mine. It's cozy to sit near their fireplace, using their free internet service, sipping their java.

So I'm hoping that once again, Starbucks will choose to placate all and regain its position as favored caffeine station. To paraphrase Kermit, it's not easy vending bean, and it's reassuring that the marketplace is a reliable source of feedback for businesses.  I like to see retailers do well, and I'm eager to once again proudly take my politically correct friends to that first Pike Place landmark.

Coffee: for Seattle and the Soul

Coffee.  It's what Seattleites like me think of on a day like this: gray, drizzly, cool.  The rest of the country may be sweltering, but we're hunkered down (again) with our noses perched above steamy mugs, not just warming our nostrils but inhaling the aroma, assessing the brew's perfection. Or lack thereof.

Perfect coffee started here, in a small shop at the Pike Place Market that expanded to 17,000 outlets, 11,000 of them in the U.S. I'm talking, of course, about Starbucks, loved by most, eschewed by some, but undeniably the force that made taste complexities, mouth-feel, aroma, and presentation style of coffee drinks important to the masses.

My husband requires coffee to start his day. Black. When we had a morning ceremony with breakfast welcoming our baby boy into the Jewish faith nearly 19 years ago, my husband insisted on good coffee.  Starbucks was relatively new in Los Angeles, our home at the time, but we went out of our way to get it.  People kept telling me how delicious the coffee was, and it changed the ambiance of our whole event.  Just as it changes the outlook for every day.

An article recently in the New York Times describes the mania the popularization of excellent coffee has unleashed. The piece is about the rush to capitalize competitive coffee roasters who seek to top off what is arguably the most sophisticated array of coffee offerings ever.  For example, Stumptown Coffee Roasters of coffee-competitor Portland, Oregon, mentioned in the article, currently features Guatemala Finca Semillero-Tekisic, traced to a five-acre family farm (The Zelaya family's at Finca Semillero) and a special bean, the Tekisic, which is "a dwarf mutation of the Bourbon varietal," blah blah blah.  The result? "Honeysuckle and butter interweave through flavors of nectarine, cocoa and graham cracker."

Caffe Vita, a local Seattle roaster is similarly descriptive. For example, its Sumatra bean from the Gayo River produces "A rich, aromatic cup with well balanced flavors of dark berry, vanilla, baking spice, smoke and earthiness. Accented with notes of tobacco and hops throughout the warm, comforting finish."  Another Seattle homie, Zoka Coffee, offers "Sulawesi Totaja Jaya...from the Rantebua Disctrict in the Nothern Toraja province of Sulawesi," with flavors of  "Summer Squash, Honeydew, Chamomile, and Portobello."

To appreciate the contents of one's mug in Seattle means to know the name of the family who owns its land of origin, the history of its cultivation and roasting, and details of its first taste through lingering post-swallow notes.

Coffee writer Oliver Strand asks, "Does this sound too elitist for the average American?" rhetorically answering, "Remember when the idea that millions of people would spend $5 for a latte seemed absurd?"

We live in a suburban Seattle town of 22,000, and we have 5 Starbucks outlets, a Tully's and an independent drive-through kiosk. It is normal in our overcast part of the world to nurse a cuppa joe at (nearly) all times. Certainly while shopping. Often a coffee cup is seen perched near exercise equipment, next to the Nalgene water bottle.

Studies released this month show that drinking at least four cups of coffee per day brings health benefits, significantly lowering one's chances for Alzheimer's, certain cancers and perhaps diabetes.  It's definitely an antioxidant, though decaf doesn't seem to confer the same benefits as regular caffeinated  brew.

The big drawback for me was taken as the name of a coffee kiosk chain here in the northwest: "Jitters."  It's an unpleasant buzz that interferes with my normal peace.  Also, for me, coffee is a food.  Unlike my purist hubby, I doctor my mug with copious sugar and half-and-half.  The "enorme" Mexican Mocha I got instead of breakfast at a Nordstrom's espresso bar was listed on the menu board at 790 calories (photo, right).

Did the calories posted in red deter me? Not at all.  I want what I want.  And I'm not the only coffee drinker in our region who's determined to have her drink exactly the way she enjoys it most.  The string of adjectives many customers feed baristas was even the subject of a local insurance company ad profiling weird Northwest types, this one the "super long coffee orderer" (hear it here).

Coffee in a morose climate not only elevates the spirits with nervous energy, but roasting, brewing and serving it becomes a culture that gathers people together.  Classes are held in Starbucks stores.  Independent coffee houses boast unique blends, weekend music, latte-foam designs, and a strong connection to their neighborhoods.  Of course, there's free wi-fi.

And here, to grab a coffee is to come closely face-to-face with some very uniquely adorned folk.  Multiple facial piercings, lavish tattoos and creative garb under their aprons are de rigeur.  Along with unflagging cheerfulness and a very serious dedication to the nuances of coffea aribica.  Even vaccuum-pumped coffee at the supermarket or corner bagel joint has to have a card proclaiming the liquid's fancy name and special qualities.

I host a class weekly in my home, and of course strive to please with excellent coffee.  Brag: some of the members say they come not only for the enlightenment but the flavor of my java.  I watch the participants compose their cups: one puts her half-and-half and flavoring in the cup first, then adds decaf, no stirring.  Others want caffeinated, with milk, or soy, or what-have-you, in their particularly favored mugs.  Coffee is a comfort not only because it warms from within, not only because it delights several senses, not only because it provides a welcome kick in our cloud-darkened town, but because it allows us to have one small part of our day that goes exactly as we desire.

Now, I wouldn't mind if we got a little summer sunshine.  I'll just put some ice cubes in my cup and an even bigger smile on my face.