Savage Words: A European quest for a simple cup of coffee

I spent the holidays in London. I just got back, and I’m happy to be home.

My daughter spent last semester studying in South Korea. She asked her mom and I if we’d want to meet her in London over Christmas.

“I’d fly to Kabul, Afghanistan, if it meant I got to see you,” I told her.

So off we went.

But little did I know that I’d likely have a better shot at getting a cup of coffee in Afghanistan over London.

Maybe it was the tea culture in England? I dunno.

But what I do know is that I couldn’t get a normal cup of coffee anywhere in London. Anywhere! And that includes the big chain coffee houses, like Starbucks.

You know what Starbucks Coffee in London doesn’t have? Coffee.

It’s true, at least in the first 1,000 coffee shops I stopped at, including Starbucks.

London, it seemed, had everything but coffee … just a simple cup of coffee.

This was a typical conversation the first three days I was there, and it was at several different places. After a while, it became comical.

“Hi, yea, can I just get a cup of coffee with some cream and sugar,” I asked.

“A latte,” the person behind the counter said with a puzzled look on their face.

“No, just a coffee,” I said.

“What flavor,” was the question/answer from the worker.

“What,” I asked. “I don’t need a flavor, just a cup of coffee. Maybe a little cream.”

“So, an Americano,” again was the question/answer.

“No, um…just a regular cup of coffee,” I said with a puzzled look on my face.

They responded, with an even more puzzled look.

“So, an espresso,” they asked, now with some disdain in their voice.

Seriously, this happened three mornings in a row.

I finally gave up, and just told them to make the Americano. If you’re wondering, an Americano is probably the closest thing to a regular cup of coffee, so I went with it.

But still, I was just looking for a regular damn cup of coffee.

“Can you add some cream to it?” I asked the barista when we finally settled on the Americano.

When he handed it to me, I shuffled my way over to the counter where there were packs of sugar, stir sticks, things like that. If you’ve been to any coffee house, you know the spot I’m talking about.

I grabbed the pack of sugar, slowly took the plastic lid off my coffee … uh hmmm… Americano, and my eyes widened.

It looked like Buddy the Elf threw up in my drink.

Cream? This wasn’t cream. 

Some half-and-half would have done it, but my coffee …uh hmmm… Americano was blasted with a heavy whipping cream that swirled about an inch deep on top of my drink.

I just dropped my head, stirred up my Buddy the Elf vomit Americano, and left.

We finally went to a fancy pants breakfast place on Christmas morning. For sure, I thought they’d have coffee, just a regular drip coffee that I could add some cream and sugar to.

Nope.

Again, it was another back-and-forth, bewildering conversation between me and the fancy pants waitress.

I went back to my hotel room and actually Googled: “Does London have coffee?” The answer was perplexing. It was almost as if Google was screaming at me. “Yes, London has an incredibly vibrant and thriving coffee scene.”

I couldn’t find it.

Later, there was a Black Sheep Coffee – another global giant – near our hotel. They had a massive neon sign, big enough to cast a shadow that read: Ain’t No Coffee Without Beans.

Surely, they’d be able to hook me up. But I had my doubts. Starbucks Coffee had a difficult time making me a coffee.

And sure enough, it was another similar back-and-forth conversation. I eventually got another Americano, but the struggle continued.

“You said you wanted milk,” the barista asked me.

“Perfect,” I said.

“Hot or cold,” he asked.

At this point I didn’t care.

“Whatever’s easier for you,” I said, with a big American smile.

But finally, I hit the mother load, and it seemed to catch the barista off guard. After several days, we made our way to an area of London called Notting Hill, the same place with the same name of the Julia Roberts movie.

I initially ordered an Americano, simply because I was a beaten man who couldn’t find a cup of coffee. But I looked at their menu on the wall, and it said: “Freshly Brewed.”

“Where it says ‘Freshly Brewed,’” I asked with some hope in my voice. “Is that just a regular drip coffee?”

“It is, actually,” the barista said, a bit surprised, as if no one ever asks for it. I guess most folks order a frilly drink with a lot of syllables.

“I’ll take that, with some cream,” I said.

“Milk?” he asked. 

I nodded. “One step at a time,” is what I was thinking.

So in London, I saw Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London, Windsor Castle, Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, the London Eye, the Tower Bridge, one cup of coffee, and several Americanos.

I’m happy to be home. I’m going to Kingbird, or Annie’s, or Scooters.

I wonder if they can make an Americano?