When I decided to move to Taipei, I braced myself for a few hard changes. On the whole, I was planning on being happy here (hence the decision to move), but Taipei is not the American west coast, and I am a very American west coast girl. I’ve had experience living abroad in Beijing and Shanghai (from 2005 to 2006), and I remember suffering over the abrupt scarcity of artisan bread, fine coffee (not Starbucks), cheese and nut butters. Of course, some of these things can be found in these cities, but it takes a determined effort and a pretty penny to acquire them. That experience was a transformative one – I’m now capable of going months sans bread and cheese without complaint, and I don’t even eat nut butters any more. (It’s bonkers, I know – revoke my American passport now.)
There is one substance, however, that I cannot, or will not, do without for more than 48 hours – coffee. I didn’t touch the stuff as a child, but I saw it every day, and knew it would eventually become a part of my adult life. My papa often brought me into the local coffee roasting company, where I’d stand against the wall, staring at the post cards decorating their drip bar until his order was ready. That café was in a long dark hallway (always cool in the summertime), down which ran a wooden bar. The bar was lined with labelled glass jars full of beans, which were arranged according to how darkly roasted their contents were. It was here that I learned to distinguish a dark roast from a light roast, drip coffee from espresso, and an espresso from a cappuccino. Sometime in the nineties, my hometown’s first Starbucks was installed across the street from the coffee roasting company, but never offered it much competition. How could it have?
Eventually, I moved on to Portland, Oregon, home of the illustrious and ever-hip Stumptown. I also attended a college that demanded its students to be sharp-minded more often than was humanly natural. This is how coffee became an even greater part of my personal culture (but I have to say, I prefer Ristretto). At home, I always have a fresh bag of locally roasted beans on hand and ready to go into the grinder every morning. Under extreme conditions (e.g., a midwestern suburb, or Shanghai) I am capable of surviving (only just) on Starbucks – nobody’s perfect.
Shortly before I left the West Coast, I had the opportunity to discover a delightful new roasting company, Caffé Vita, during a weekend in Seattle. I first enjoyed their coffee in iced form at an equally delightful bakery, called Macrina (I strongly recommend their fresh fruit & yoghurt tart, revolutionary as that sounds). I enjoyed this iced coffe so much that I immediately purchased a bag of beans on site, and brought it with me to Taipei.
Of course, a few weeks ago, the inevitable happened: the bag ran out. View the evidence below.
My empty Caffé Vita bag, still redolent with beans of mornings past.
I knew I’d have to sacrifice my standards to Starbucks eventually, and had brought a pound and a half of Northwest coffee with me to delay that inevitability. I’ve endured bravely since running out of my supply. A week ago, however, the impossible – I mean, the really, really unbelievable – happened.
I was sitting outside an alleyway restaurant, enjoying dinner and the summer evening breeze with a few coworkers. Mid-meal, bored with the conversation, I absentmindedly turned my gaze to the neighboring space. What I saw made me freeze. I wasn’t immediately happy; I was a little terror-stricken. Was I mistaken? Was someone playing a cruel joke on me? But how could they have known? What I saw, was this:
The impossible is real.
My Pulcinella! Caffé Vita’s Pulcinella! What would you have thought? Actually, I didn’t sit there thinking about it long at all. Without explaining myself to my companions (I was afraid of speaking too soon, and I was spellbound, dumbfounded by this illuminated sign – I think I muttered something about coming right back), I rose from the table and disappeared into the café next door. I asked the barista if it was real, and he said it was. I ordered an americano, and it was delicious – it was real. The barista explained that his boss, also taken with this coffee, has it imported from Seattle. He charges the same for an americano as does Starbucks. All this, and it’s within walking distance of my office. Is this a sign (no pun intended)? Is this destiny? What does it mean?!
I think it means that I’m not the only one who loves good coffee (duh), and that I need to quit underestimating the global savoir faire of certain cities – but I swear, this couldn’t have happened in Beijing three years ago! Well, whatever I’m supposed to glean from this experience, I’m giddy with joy that I can get a good, a really good cup of artisan coffee every day here in Taipei – I’ll take it as one more reason to love this city.
P.S. – If you’re in Taipei, and you want to imbibe a cup of this great coffee, you can find it at Toasteria, on Lane 248 off of ZhongXiao East Rd., Section 4.
