Yesterday, I went to the roasting works for a training session with Andy, and got to hang out with Mike & Thalia, some Broadway kids who went to Nationals this year. So today, I have a totally reworked dosing/leveling technique. (That’s the fourth or so serious revision of it since I started being a barista, and there’s at least another one coming to adjust for USBC standard double baskets).

Now, I’m working seriously on putting together a good steaming & pouring technique for cappuccinos. By 2009, I’ll be ready.

Everything is goin’ my way. For the first time since the breakup, I’ve been unabashedly, irrevocably happy. What’s gone right? Everything. I woke up this morning and the foie gras ban has been repealed, Obama has Edwards’s endorsement, the White Sox had won, and then my day just kept getting better.

And, and, and! The espresso totally tastes like blueberries. So happy.

Yes, another picture of a beach in portrait orientation. And yes, if memory serves, that girl is topless.

Actually, I got to spend maybe an hour hanging out on any beach, most of the vacation was spent fighting with the GPS about how to get from one important thing to see to some tourist trap or other. The itinerary obviously, was not mine.

And if you must know, the coffee in France is nothing short of undrinkable. The basic black coffee (un express, or un espresso) is a single shot pulled until it’s at least 2 ounces, and the much ballyhooed cafê au lait in its modern form is just a bad latte made from that. L’arte? Hardly.

Yikes, so a quick update from Barcelona, which won´t be nearly so quick since Spanish keyboards are just unfamiliar enough so I can´t quite type. The good news is, my French was resurrected in only a few days, and I can get around France just fine with it. I mean I can´t carry on real conversations, but the basics of getting a hotel room, a meal or even a flirtation, all of that´s easy.

Also, as far as flirtation goes, French girls have this certain directness combined with a certain naivtee. The two have never really come to any sort of compromise, but they´ve grown up together, and are used to each other´s company. It´s quite charming, really. Like once, totally out of nowhere, some girl points at my chapstick, comes up to me, and puckers her lips for me to apply it. Totally made my day. Never travel without chapstick. Never.

Oh, yeah, and they all wear Converse and Diesel jeans. Or cute skirts & flipflps.

Going to France and Catalonia. (I’m hoping my French comes back in a hurry, and I’ve got a copy of Learning Catalonian for the flight). Will be back middle of May.

I’m glad to get away for a while. Anyway, pictures will appear on my Flickr when I get a chance. But I doubt I’ll get much of a chance to write much.

No, really. I’m done so done with this. It’s been over for weeks. And she’s still running.

Why? To make Obama unelectable?

This is another thing that I haven’t heard anyone say nearly enough. Remember the big knock on John Kerry four years ago? Two words, no swiftboat is one word. Flip. Flop. And what has Hillary Clinton not flip-flopped about? Oh, I know. Baseball teams!! (Uh, wait, I mean…)

Beets, chèvre milk, and espresso is absolutely, stunningly brilliant. Next time you’re in Chicago, please let me buy you lunch at North Pond or something, and we’ll talk shop.

Hit contacts, and I usually get those. Or just drop in the Millennium Park shop, I’m there enough.

It helps if you know what the photographic term “bokeh” means, and what good bokeh in a photograph looks like.

A La Recheche du Temps Perdu is all about how buttery smooth the bokeh is.

One thing that really strikes me about 20th Century modernism in literatures is how different authors keep returning to the same basic themes. One earlier example is how Lolita is in a sense a funhouse mirror image of Tender is the Night. The latest example is how much A l’Ombre des Jeunes Filles en Fleurs, especially the second part, is an elaboration on Prufrock.

This is all fuel for my solipsism & subjectivity project. The problem solipsism means to address is a skepticism about one’s actions’s and words’s ability to adhere in the world.

I used 3 thick slices of applewood smoked bacon, cut into uniform bite sized pieces. All the better if you can find real lardons, about 2 oz. thereof. Fry them until they’re crispy, but still with some chew. Meanwhile, slice 2 medium sized yukon gold potatoes 1/8 inch thick or so. Fry potatoes in bacon fat until golden-brown-delicious, being careful not to cause the fat to smoke. Salt & pepper to taste. Work in batches if necessary. Strain off the bacon fat, and whisk in red wine vinegar & dijon mustard – 2 parts fat to 1 part vinegar to 1 part mustard – with a few dashes tobasco sauce & thick-cracked black pepper to taste. Toss some greens with the dressing. I use mâche, but frisée would also be lovely, or even arugula if you like. Lay potatoes on top and toss again lightly to dress the potatoes.

Serve with cheap, dry pink wine. Or expensive Chablis or Riesling if you must.