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Posts tagged as “Coffee”

Putting Your Face on a Mug

There are two diners here in Milford, Delaware: Westside Restaurant (which is on the south end of town) and Milford Diner. They’re both pretty good, but I prefer Westside. It’s the one of the two that meets my exacting standards. Milford Diner doesn’t have feta cheese, for some reason. Too bad, because their coffee is better than Westside.

Both diners serve coffee in a variety of mugs collected from many sources. You get your Legoland mug, your white porcelain food service mug, your Best Mom Ever mug. You get it. The sort of mug variety you’d see on the shelf at a Home Goods or Marshalls or thrift store. Don’t Talk to Me Until I’ve Had My Coffee!

At a recent breakfast visit, we were blessed to drink out of this mug.

Bob Viscount, the insurance guy of central Delaware.

This raised a few questions, of course.

  1. Does he pronounce his surname to rhyme with “discount” or the like the British nobility?
  2. If it’s like “discount”, why isn’t he using that in his materials?
  3. Is this an effective marketing strategy for him? I’d say that the median age of people who eat at these places is like 60, so maybe this old school approach is the right one.
  4. Where is this guy? I can find no listing for him online. These mugs can’t possibly be that old, can they? Addendum: the name “Bob Viscount” is much more common than I would have assumed. Even a search for “Bob Viscount Delaware” yields many incorrect hits.
  5. Is he “Bob” to his friends and “Robert” to everyone else?
  6. How do we get mugs with our faces in the restaurants?

That last question is obviously the most important one. Over our eggs and toast, we started looking, thinking that it should be relatively easy and inexpensive to make this joke real. Bob here has mugs with his face in at least two restaurants in town, after all.

We were wrong. Vistaprint has custom mugs starting at $10.49, as of the writing of this post. That’s fine for a single mug. No problem. But if you really wanted to do this correctly—and I mean, like, really do it correctly—you’d need to saturate the environment with mugs. Milford is a small town and there are only two restaurants I know about with the Bob mugs, but they both serve a ton of coffee. You’d need a lot of mugs. What, like, 50? 100? You’re looking at $449.62 for the 50 pack and $899.25 for the 100 pack. Fortunately the shipping is free.

That feels like too much for an, admittedly, really funny joke. Stick that one in the bin of hilarious ideas to do when we win the lottery. Which we never play. There are some cheaper options out there, but not cheaper enough.

I am not even sure what the mug would look like. It would definitely feature our faces, but it would have to be a new photograph tailored specifically for coffee mug format. None of this half-assed-reusing-existing-assets stuff. If we’re going to spend $900 on a set of 100 custom mugs to spread throughout town for no other reason than because we think it’s funny, we’re going create a new image. If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing well.

So, you missed Cut Copy at Terminal 5 the other night…

Well, don’t worry because Swedish website Klubbland (it means “Club Land”) has posted a little video of a walk around with the band followed by three live songs. Go with Cut Copy as they get their morning coffee (YUM!), go to the record store (TOPICAL!), and play some super dance beats (OONTZ! OONTZ!). Do yourself a favor, though, and crank the volume. The levels on the video are frankly tepid.

Great band and having just today listened to their three records in order, I have to say they’ve made tremendous growth since Bright Like Neon Love. If you’ve not heard Cut Copy and like things that are fun and dancey and good, check them out. If you like Cut Copy, you already know what I’m talking about and I love you.

A letter to the coffee industry.

Dear coffee industry,

See this?

This is a small cup of coffee. Do you notice anything about that last sentence? You don’t? I’ll clue you in: it’s entirely in English. I didn’t have to use a single fakey-Italian or fakey-French word to describe it. And wasn’t it wonderful? I know, it really was.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind using foreign language words to order in two specific cases. The first is when it’s the actual name of what I want. When I want to order and espresso, calling it a “quick coffee” would be just as stupid as calling a small a “grande”. The words espresso or americano or cappuccino all refer to something specific and are not used as some bullshit affectation to make the coffee look smarter.

The second situation is when I am in a place where they do not speak English. It makes so much sense, right? If I’m in a bodega in the Bronx, I’m going to ask for a coffee. (Note: guys, no, I don’t want 8 sugars in my coffee. None please. I know you think that’s the strangest thing you’ve ever heard, but the correct amount of sugars is ZERO.) If I’m in Mexico City, I’m going to ask for un cafe. It’s just reasonable. I don’t want to have to go pick up some Starbucks and be forced to utter the words “venti half-caf non-whip chai mochaccino latte.” I just made that up. But I bet they’d actually try and make that for you.

I guess, coffee industry, you’re playing into my loathing of being forced to use silly fucking names to order from a place. I don’t want to order the cleverly named smoothie from wherever. I don’t want to order the alliterative sandwich from some other place. And I sure as hell don’t want to use fake as shit, affected foreign languages to tell you I want a fucking small coffee. And, no, I don’t care if if takes 8 hours to make a single cup of drip coffee on your ridiculous Japanese contraptions that drip 12 drips an hour. What a waste of time.

And so to my humble French press, I say, I love you. Thanks for taking the bullshit out of coffee drinking. I don’t even need electricity to make you work, just boiling water and 4 minutes.

Get your shit straight coffee industry.

Curmudgeonly yours,

The Black Laser.

PS – If you see my orange and gray messenger bag around, will you let me know? Thanks.

PPS – You’re still a dick.

PPPS – Unless you return my bag. Then I promise a whole year of ordering stupidly named coffee drinks.