Café Presse

Every once in a while I feel minor intimidation toward certain eating establishments in Seattle. Either they've been written up in one too many foodie magazines, their menus are in a chic foreign language, or the wait staff have uncommon piercings and tattoos covering the majority of their visible skin. 

This morning I brunched with my bloggy girlfriend Allie at Café Presse, and it nabbed a spot in all three of the above categories. 

First of all, hellooooo magazine selection. Bless their hearts for alphabetizing—made it a lot easier to find these winners.

Croque Madame. One bite is worth a thousand words. And this iPhone photo is worth about five.

 Ginger Al. Looking sassy is her M.O.

 The go-to mezzo: espresso, steamed soy, H₂O.

 Al's café au lait...

Natural car air freshener. The first lilacs of Spring. Pure love.

the diva way of life

When I first moved here and began a writing internship, I started working part-time as a barista...because that's what you do when you're 25 and move to Seattle with an unpaid internship. And if we could get past the fact that it's called Diva...that would be great. I have no idea why it is. No one seems to know. I've asked.

Now I just pick up occasional shifts when tip money sounds enticing. This week I worked a shift at the location that's attached to one of the main Seattle hospitals.  

It was awesome. 

Have you ever wanted to be on an episode of Grey's Anatomy? I have. And I am 96% sure this is as close as I will ever get.

A few things I noticed about the McDreamy-status doctors:

• Some of them drink up to four mochas a day. Which isn't healthy, despite their doctorly opinion.
• They all have perfect hair, and half of them have tattoos.
• I lost all my flirting prowess. There's something about putting whipped cream on someone's daily drink—when you know that they've gone through med school and are about to go save someone's life—that just makes you feel small.
• More than once did I fix my hair in the bathroom mirror.
• More than once did I try and weasel into the coffee-cash exchange conversation that I had a Bachelor's. 
• More than once did I not get asked out by a tattooed, perfect-haired doctor.
  BUT I did shoot some photos to share with you the glamorous life of the barista. Go grab an Americano and enjoy.

And oh look...me in my coffee clothes. Way cuter than scrubs...right?

employment part 2: Diva

You're not alone if this was the first thing you thought of after reading the title of this post.

Before I moved to Seattle and discovered this amazing locally owned coffee house chain, I was thinking the same thing.

I was also thinking that I wanted to fit the 20-something Seattle cliché as much as possible, so "coffee shop barista" only naturally meshed with my current nanny gig.

Another interesting tidbit worth mentioning here: 

The first time I ever had any form of coffee was in September of 2010. The day before my BFF's wedding, the mother of the bride brought a bunch of iced caramel macchiatos to the nail salon we were prepping at. I drank it. But I won't admit to liking it. 

Roommate even caught it on film. It was a big day.

 

Yes, it's true, you can make it through college without large quantities of caffeine. Apparently, however, you cannot make it through a month in Italy without coming home strung out on espresso. A month after the above picture I took off for Europe. Traveling in a foreign country really forced me out of my coffee-free comfort zone, and unwillingly into the arms of addiction. My traveling partner-in-crime, Erica, got to watch it all unfurl. I might even call her an enabler.

So how does someone with a lack of coffee history like mine wind up employed by a gourmet coffee shop?

No clue. But I'm a quick learner and I'm grateful for the money.

And guess whose shift started at 4:45 this morning?!?! You know it. And somehow I still took a three hour nap after a double Americano and a cup of drip. Goodness gracious, this might wreck me.

In other news, I gave up Friday Night Lights for Lent a few weeks back. At a worship night at church this evening, they played Explosions in the Sky (essentially the soundtrack of FNL) as people exited. I left church feeling tempted and dreaming of Tim Riggins. #counterproductive