Canned Coffee

Cheerio: Blues Big Coffee

Tue, 08 Jul 2008 15:51:27 +0900

It had to happen during rainy season. She told you that she was getting married, and you'd had no idea whatsoever that she had something going on the side. And it just had to happen during rainy season. This time of year, you always feel so hemmed in, the clouds like a lid over the city, the air much too tactile. You think you're going to be sick and go quickly into the bathroom and kneel in front of the bowl. Nothing comes. You're zoning out, still stunned, staring at the Rorschach patterns of mold on the tiled walls. She always joked about that, about how you never cleaned it because you thought the fungus had some sort of anti-biotic effect and kept you healthy. Now these same walls are hemming you in. You gotta get out.

You brush past your neighbor on the stairs, barely registering as she says something about the color of your face. You make it onto the street and walk awhile. The sky is clearing some, but the damp still hangs heavy around you. You wait for a signal to change, then cross the street and find yourself before a ridiculously colorful vending machine. It says "Cherrio" on the side, which brings an ironic smirk to your lips. You want something cold. You push a coin through the slot, and hit a button under a can of Blues Big Coffee.

~BH~You can really relate, man. Under the logo is a guy blowing a horn — maybe Louis Armstrong — and surrounding him are the words, "High Quality Enjoy Coffee." A contradiction, you think, between enjoyment and the blues. But this town has never had a shortage of contradictions. The can's design, too, is far from bluesy, with colored stripes like the backdrop to some Monkees video. But the Monkees got the blues too sometimes. And as you pop the top and take a sip, you remember their prophecy:

"And I will drink my coffee slow,
And I will watch my shadow grow,
And disappear in firelight,
And sleep alone again tonight."

Ted Taylor works in Kyoto as a writer and yoga teacher, essentially twisting words and human bodies. He aspires to make balloon animals someday. More of his writing can be found at notesfromthenog.blogspot.com.

Confessions of a canned-coffee collector

Thu, 03 Apr 2008 15:16:53 +0900

Fifteen years ago, Mikio Yamazaki published a book called The Aesthetics of Canned Coffee (our translation of the Japanese title). The provocative cover is reproduced here, and for those of you who may be wondering why those women are so jazzed about cans of coffee, well, obviously, you have a lot to learn about Japanese culture. Today, Yamazaki-san runs a Japanese website called Canned Coffee Retrospective that includes some marvelous old cans and the stories behind them. Perhaps we'll feature some of those with translations in the future, but this week, we bring you Miyazaki-san's "Confessions."

Dr. NakaMats Brain Drink

Sat, 02 Feb 2008 10:12:55 +0900

In 2005, Dr. Nakamats (he prefers to drop the "u" from his name) won an Ig Nobel Prize, a parody of the Nobel Prize, for his practice of photographing each meal he has eaten since the age of 42, the year he believes is the start of one's downward slide in life.

"To win an Ig Nobel Prize, one must do something that first makes people laugh, then makes them think," said Marc Abrahams, cofounder of the Annals of Improbable Research, the organizing body of the Ig Nobel awards. "Dr. Nakamats' epic meal photography work does both those things — and does them with style."

The reasoning behind the photographs can be found in Rebody, one of the dozens of books authored by Nakamats that details the means for living a healthy life until his projected age of 144.

"I was curious about how I could extend my life span," Nakamats says of his research. "I found that we are eating too much. That is what makes life short."

He concluded that one meal per day is ideal, and that meal itself should be low in oil and around 700 calories. For drinking, coffee should be avoided as it is bad for the brain. The number of sleeping hours should be limited to six, and he encourages a steady intake of Rebody 55, a dietary supplement (10,000 yen for five bottles) of his own invention composed of 55 grains and other elements that is perfect for sprinkling on soup or cereal.

In the Dr. Nakamats Library, whose entry door is written in the typical font found on his products that renders the "N" similar to a lightning bolt, the glory of Nakamats comes to life. Samples of Flying Shoes, strap-on plastic attachments for the feet whose springlike behavior results in minimal strain on the body while running, a pachinko machine that shoots balls automatically and the Dr. Nakamats Cerebrex chair, whose electrical current is said to relieve jet lag and improve eyesight after a 20-minute session, can be found mixed in with letters from dignitaries and accolades from overseas universities. A photo of his first invention, at the age of 5, which included modifications to a model airplane, is posted outside.

Also exhibited is the evolution of his most recognized work, the floppy disk. "I was in my second year at the University of Tokyo Engineering Department," he remembers of the floppy's beginnings. "Back then I really liked to listen to Beethoven's Symphony No. 5. But I thought the combination of the relatively fast-spinning 78 rpm record, the grinding of the groove with the needle and scratches on the record produced an unclear sound."

Nakamats subsequently, in 1952, patented a floppy media and data reader that would eventually result in a series of licensing agreements with IBM Corp. in 1979. Though many experts have questioned Nakamats' claim as the inventor, Nakamats and a representative from IBM wished to not comment on the details of their agreement. However, Nakamats, who is reluctant to divulge earnings figures for this or any of his works, adamantly maintains that he is indeed the father of the floppy.

Still, the life of a successful innovator is not always smooth. At a recent news conference, Nakamats presented the Dr. Nakamats Grip (7,800 yen), a bulky rubber golf putting grip that allows the user to align his thumbs in parallel down the shaft and, according to its inventor, achieve better control of the ball. The grip was already in existence as a part of a complete putter he patented in 1980. But Nakamats has recently found that grip company Golf Pride is now marketing a similar parallel-thumb model, which he claims is infringing on his patent.

Much of what drives Nakamats are the fond memories he has of his mother. At the age of 14, he went to the library and studied Bernoulli's principle, which provides a relationship between the velocity and pressure produced by a moving fluid, to assist his mother in cooking with soy sauce. The result eventually became the home kerosene pump. "It was 1943," he remembers, "there was no fuel during the war. So it was very cold. My mother was working in the kitchen. It was difficult to pour a bottle of soy sauce with her shaking hand. I was looking at her, and I wanted to help."

Though he is said to charge upward of 1 million yen an hour for public speaking, Nakamats maintains that money is in no way his driving force and that he funds all the research for his projects independently. In fact, recent years have seen him focus his attention on less tangible topics that he thinks can have a more positive impact on the world.

Last year, he made his fourth unsuccessful attempt at being elected governor of Tokyo, collecting nearly 86,000 votes — the highest for any independent candidate. He feels that his holistic approach to tackling an invention is perfectly suitable for addressing society's ills as a politician, and make no mistake, he will be running again.

Though his future direction is not certain — toward public office or otherwise — perhaps the guiding philosophy within the world of Nakamats is best conveyed through the lyrics of the "Dr. Nakamats Song," his personal theme tune, which can be summed up as: Make an effort, invent and enjoy; think and create like magic.

Following our interview in his office, I was taken over to the library within Dr. Nakamats House, one of the few areas within the four-story building open to the public. Inside, samples of his work and numerous accolades are scattered through the aisles and along the walls.

After explaining the concept behind the Dr. Nakamats Putter, the inventor led me over to a small display for his Brain Drink, a tea-based beverage that is said to improve one's smarts, and Rebody 55, an additive that is supposed to increase longevity.

"You tried Brain Drink didn't you?" Nakamats said, still holding the putter firmly in both hands.

Remembering back to sitting in his office 15 minutes earlier, I said, "No, you only showed me the can."

"But I thought I saw you drinking from the cup my secretary gave you..."

"You mean the tea?"

"Yes, yes!" he exclaimed. "That was Brain Drink!"

Obviously, its effects hadn't worked on me.

Check out the full article on Brett's Sake-Drenched Postcards site, where he morphs into Captain Japan and takes his readers into the darkest, most bizarre recesses of the country's soul.

from Hints toward an essay on conversation (1713)

Mon, 14 Jan 2008 08:34:13 +0900

I know a man of wit, who is never easy but where he can be allowed to dictate and preside: he neither expects to be informed or entertained, but to display his own talents.

Percolation

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 00:10:39 +0900

Watching coffee perk before breakfast, I picture myself a child again, easily amused, as though it was not me who filled the pot, who shook the dry grounds into the brewing basket, who lit the fire.

Somewhere outside this snapshot is a mother, or a father, or a spouse, but right now I am alone in the kitchen letting thoughts percolate in my head as the water bubbles into the glass dome of the coffeepot, at first visible only as a wobble in the refraction of the light through the glass, then gradually hinting at gold, then turning rich brown, the liquor rising and falling bloop-bloop, blurting little abrupt eruptions, little pert spurts of brown surf working inside the dome, a brown eye winking in furious rhythm da-da-dada-da-da like the pot in the old Maxwell House commercials on a busy television day, then frantically dadah-dadah-dadah-dadah—the bubbles peak in apocalyptic apoplexy, the flame is too high. Someone turns it down.

Holiday memories, volume 1, the haiku (What would Jesus drink?)

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 05:13:46 +0900

The jam-packed train nears.
A quick, hot can of coffee,
Christmas morn commute.

Holiday memories, volume 1, the limerick

Sat, 24 Nov 2007 05:34:07 +0900

Oden from the Seven-Eleven
does not make for Thanksgiving heaven.
I slurp it all down
and then with a frown,
take a long swig of Roots, just like Kevin

The women's petition against coffee

Mon, 22 Oct 2007 10:01:01 +0900

Representing to Publick Consideration the Grand Inconveniencies accruing to their Sex from the Excessive Use of that drying, Enfeebling Liquor.
Presented to the Right Honorable the Keepers of the Liberty of Venus.
London, Printed 1674.

To the Right Honorable the Keepers of the Liberties of Venus; The Worshipful Court of Female Assistants, &c.

The Humble Petitions and Address of Several Thousands of Buxome Good-Women, Languishing in Extremity of Want.

Sheweth, That since 'tis Reckon'd amongst the Glories of our Native Country, To be a Paradise for Women: The fame in our Apprehensions can consist in nothing more than the brisk Activity of our men, who in former Ages were justly esteemed the Ablest Performers in Christendome; But to our unspeakable Grief, we find of late a very sensible Decay of that true Old English Vigor; our Gallants being every way so Frenchified, that they are become meer Cock-sparrows, fluttering things that come on Sa sa, with a world of Fury, but are not able to stand to it, and in the very first Charge fall down flat before us. Never did Men wear greater breeches, or carry less in them of any Mettle whatsoever. There was a glorious Dispensation ('twas surely in the Golden Age) when Lusty Ladds of Seven or eight hundred years old, Got Sons and Daughters; and we have read, how a Prince of Spain was forced to make a Law, that Men should not Repeat the Grand Kindness to their Wives, above NINE times a night; but Alas! Alas! Those forwards Days are gone, The dull Lubbers want a Spur now, rather than a Bridle: being so far from dowing any works of Supererregation that we find them not capable of performing those Devoirs which their Duty, and our Expectations Exact.

The Occasion of which Insufferable Disaster, after a furious Enquiry, and Discussion of the Point by the Learned of the Faculty, we can Attribute to nothing more than the Excessive use of that Newfangled, Abominable, Heathenish Liquor called COFFEE, which Riffling Nature of her Choicest Treasures, and Drying up the Radical Moisture, has so Eunucht our Husbands, and Cripple our more kind Gallants, that they are become as Impotent as Age, and as unfruitful as those Desarts whence that unhappy Berry is said to be brought.

For the continual flipping of this pitiful drink is enough to bewitch Men of two and twenty, and tie up the Codpiece-points without a Charm. It renders them that use it as Lean as Famine, as Rivvel'd as Envy, or an old meager Hagg over-ridden by an Incubus. They come from it with nothing moist but their snotty Noses, nothing stiffe but their Joints, nor standing but their Ears: They pretend 'twill keep them Waking, but we find by scurvy Experience, they sleep quietly enough after it. A Betrothed Queen might trust her self a bed with one of them, without the nice Caution of a sword between them: nor can call all the Art we use revive them from this Lethargy, so unfit they are for Action, that like young Train-band-men when called upon Duty, their Ammunition is wanting; peradventure they Present, but cannot give Fire, or at least do but flash in the Pan, instead of doing executions.

Nor let any Doating, Superstitious Catos shake their Goatish Beards, and task us of Immodesty for this Declaration, since 'tis a publick Grievance, and cries aloud for Reformation. Weight and Measure, 'tis well known, should go throughout the world, and there is no torment like Famishment. Experience witnesses our Damage, and Necessity (which easily supersedes all the Laws of Decency) justifies our complaints: For can any Woman of Sense or Spirit endure with Patience, that when priviledg'd by Legal Ceremonies, she approaches the Nuptial Bed, expecting a Man that with Sprightly Embraces, should Answer the Vigour of her Flames, she on the contrary should only meat A Bedful of Bones, and hug a meager useless Corpse rendred as sapless as a Kixe, and dryer than a Pumice-Stone, by the perpetual Fumes of Tobacco, and bewitching effects of this most pernitious COFFEE, where by Nature is Enfeebled, the Off-spring of our Mighty Ancestors Dwindled into a Succession of Apes and Pigmies: and

The Age of Man
Now Cramp't into an Inch, that was a Span.

Nor is this (though more than enough!) All the ground of our Complaint: For besides, we have reason to apprehend and grow Jealous, That Men by frequenting these Stygian Tap-houses will usurp on our Prerogative of tattling, and soon learn to exceed us in Talkativeness: a Quality wherein our Sex has ever Claimed preheminence: For here like so many Frogs in a puddle, they sup muddy water, and murmur insignificant notes till half a dozen of them out-babble an equal number of us at a Gossipping, talking all at once in Confusion, and running from point to point as insensibly, and swiftly, as ever the Ingenous Pole-wheel could run divisions on the Base-viol; yet in all their prattle every one abounds in his own sense, as stiffly as a Quaker at the late Barbican Dispute, and submits to the Reasons of no other mortal: so that there being neither Moderator nor Rules observ'd, you mas as soon fill a Quart pot with Syllogismes, as profit by their Discourses.

Certainly our Countrymens pallates are become as Fantastical as their Brains; how ellse is't possible they should Apostatize from the good old primitve way of Ale-drinking, to run a whoring after such variety of distructive Foreign Liquors, to trifle away their time, scald their Chops, and spend their Money, all for a little base, black, thick, nasty, bitter, stinking, nauseous Puddle-water: Yet (as all Witches have their Charms) so this ugly Turkish Enchantress by certain Invisible VVyres attracts both Rich and Poor; so that those that have scarce Twopence to buy their Children Bread, must spend a penny each evening in this Insipid Stuff: Nor can we send one of our Husbands to Call a Midwife, or borrow a Glister-pipe, but he must stay an hour by the way drinking his two Dishes, & two Pipes.

At these Houses (as at the Springs in Africa) meet all sorts of Animals, whence follows the production of a thousand Monster Opinions and Absurdities; yet for being dangerous to Government, we dare to be their Compurgators, as well knowing them to be too tame and too talkative to make any desperate Politicians: For though they may now and then destroy a Fleet, or kill ten thousand of the French, more than all the Confederates can do, yet this is still in their politick Capacities, for by their personal valour they are scarce fit to be of the Life-guard to a Cherry-tree: and therefore, though they frequently have hot Contests about most Important Subjects; as what colour the Red Sea is of; whether the Great Turk be a Lutheran or a Calvinist; who Cain's Father in Law was, &c., yet they never fight about them with any other save our Weapon, the Tongue.

Some of our Sots pretend tippling of this boiled Soot cures them of being Drunk; but we have reason rather to conclude it makes them so, because we find them not able to stand after it: 'Tis at best but a kind of Earthing a Fox to hunt him more eagerly afterward: A rare method of good-husbandry, to enable a man to be drunk three times a day! Just such a Remedy for Drunkenness, as the Popes allowing of Stews, is a means to prevent Fornication: The Coffee-house being in truth, only a Pimp to the Tavern, a relishing fopp prearative to a fresh debauch: For when people have swill'd themselves with a morning draught of more Ale than a Brewer's horse can carry, hither they come for a pennyworth of Settle-brain, where they are sure to meet enow lazy pragmatical Companions, that resort here to prattle of News, that they neither understand, nor are concerned in; and after an hours impertinent Chat, begin to consider a Bottle of Claret would do excellent well before Dinner; whereupon to the Bush they all march together, till every one of them is as Drunk as a Drum, and then back again to the Coffee-house to drink themselves suber; where three or four dishes a piece, and smoaking, makes their throats as dry as Mount Ætna enflam'd with Brimflame; for that they must away to the next Red Lattice to quench them with a dozen or two of Ale, which at last growing nauseous, one of them begins to extol the blood of the Grape, what rare Langoon, and Racy Canary may be had at the Miter: Saist thou so? cries another, Let's then go and replenish there, with our Earthen Vessels: So once more they troop to the Sack-shop till they are drunker than before; and then by a retrograde motion, stagger back to Soberize themselves with Coffee: thus like Tennis Balls between two Rackets, the Fopps our Husbands are bandied to and fro all day between the Coffee-house and Tavern, whilst we poor souls sit mopeing all alone till Twelve at night, and when at last they come to bed finoakt like a Westphalia Hogs-head we have no more comfort of them, than from a shotten Herring or a dried Bulrush; which forces us to take up this Lamentation and sing,

Tom Farthing, Tom Farthing, where has thou been, Tom Farthing? Twelve a Clock e're you come in, Two a clock ere you begin, And then at last can do nothing: Would make a Woman weary, weary, weary, would make a Woman weary, &c.

Wherefore the Premises considered, and to the end that our Just Rights may be restored, and all the Ancient Priviledges of our Sex preserved inviolable; That our Husbands may give us some other Testimonial of their being Men, besides their Beards and wearing of empty Pantaloons: That they no more run the hazard of being Cuckol'd by Dildo's: But returning to the good old strengthening Liquors of our Forefathers; that Natures Exchequer may once again be replenisht, and a Race of Lusty Here's begot, able by their Atchievements, to equal the Glories of our Ancesters.

We Humbly Pray, That you our Trusty Patrons would improve your Interest, that henceforth the Drinking COFFEE may on severe penalties be forbidden to all Persons under the Age of Threescore; and that instead thereof, Lusty nappy Beer, Cock-Ale, Cordial Canaries, Restoring Malago's, and Back-recruiting Chochole be Recommended to General Use, throughout the Utopian Territories.

In hopes of which Glorious Reformation, your Petitioners shall readily Prostrate themselves, and ever Pray, &c.

FINIS.

Cappucino art from Japan

Wed, 19 Sep 2007 09:50:34 +0900

Georgia — "Season's Best"

Tue, 03 Jul 2007 02:06:20 +0900

They say the best way to enjoy coffee is with your eyes nearly closed, mouth forming a ragged "o", arms hanging limp and legs bandy. As a coffee reviewer, this is perfect for me, because this is also the pose that my tai chi teacher makes me do as punishment for being too chatty during class. She calls it the "senile orangutan." I'm kind of a master of it.

Once, when it looked like I was about to come to blows with a drunk businessman on the platform at Shinjuku station, I broke into the senile orangutan. He just stopped dead and wandered off. It works. You should try it.

It has been a long time — months — since I've drunk a can of coffee, so naturally I'm nervous. What if it makes me hum the Star-Spangled Banner in the office again? What if it makes me sulky or want to pull out my eyelashes? What if I try to fit the whole can in my mouth and my wife walks in on me? You wouldn't believe the stuff you get up to after a few sips of Japanese canned coffee.

I don't want to drink the coffee just yet. I can't rush this or the results will be unprofessional. I hold the can up and examine the artwork. It's a tropical scene, bursting with flowers and probably several metaphors for something. Two blue-and-yellow parrots hang out amid palm fronds and unplucked, outsize coffee beans. The birds, insatiable lovers by the looks of things, are gazing knowingly in the direction of the beans. They appear to be working up the gumption to say something profound.

~BH~As I am wont to do before a tasting, I touch the virgin can to my forehead six times while standing in front of a mirror. I then make several different faces, some good-looking, some ugly, and check my profile by angling the mirror just so. My face gets so close to the glass that a four-inch smear of condensation forms opposite my nose. "Close up, my nose is ghastly," I say to my reflection.

It is time to drink the coffee. I place the open can to my lips and consume approximately two ounces of room-temperature liquid. I feel my legs start to bow. My arms fall to my sides, and through fluttering eyelids I see my mouth in the mirror appearing as though it is fellating an invisible gnome.

The beverage is watery, milky and sugary. Jesus H, this stuff just doesn't change. I fill my mouth with the remaining liquid and shoot a fine jet of Georgia Season's Best right between my reflected eyes. My wife walks in on me, and I want to tell her something about performing ablutions, but I don't know how to say that in Japanese, so I just start laughing very loudly.

One man's plea for canned coffee machines in the West

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 07:48:14 +0900

I formally call for a coalition of canned coffee advocates who will toil with me until the day when we can enjoy each other’s company in the States beside our honorable guest — a vending machine that serves both hot and cold canned coffee.

I’m done with having to pay an outrageous amount for a decent iced coffee every morning at Starbucks. I’m also through with wasting time by sitting down to drink such a coffee. Here in Japan, I indulge in a new flavor of iced (and hot) canned coffee every day. Maybe if my precious cans of java moved to my home in the States, I would follow.

Here's the simple reason for my post: I love canned coffee in Japan, especially the way it is delivered, and am frustrated that it isn't sold in the West in vending machines, both hot and cold. The West does have two canned iced coffee offerings (none hot) from the over-priced beast Starbucks — but only in limited convenience stores.

This will not stand. Please join me in my quest. Until we meet,

Ryan Meinzer
meinzer@imp-inc.co.jp　

We shall not be beaten

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 09:27:01 +0900

I'm writing to you although it is in clear violation of the canned coffee rules. I couldn't help myself. I kept looking at that post by M.P. that has like a thousand typos (and they say our education system is bad now), and I kept thinking about how a man had a dream, and he realized that dream — was living that dream, in fact — but then he sent one too many boxes of canned coffee and gave it all away to live a life as a Lance Armstrong impersonator.

Most of you will have no idea what I'm talking about, so let me explain. Canned coffee started in the mid 1990s as a stand-up routine by David Cady on the Friday night late shift at the Nikkei Weekly. David would regale us (by "us," I mean "me") with 'reviews' of the canned coffee on the top floor of the Nikkei building when we took a break around 11:30 or midnight. The cans all tasted the same to me, but not David. No, he always was able to draw out something new, like when he compared the original Wonda to an "unchanged diaper." Funny stuff ... and true.

Then David went on to pen reviews for our first book, Kuhaku & Other Accounts from Japan (bulk discounts available by the way). This too was funny and good.

And finally, we launched this site. At first it was slow going, but soon it started to catch on. We (by "we", I mean David) were reeling in big fish — Aimee Bender, JT Leroy, Eli Horowitz, Dan Kennedy and many other fine writers began writing reviews for us. Suddenly, we were players, baby. And that's when we let the fame rush to our heads. We thought that MC Hammer would actually deign to write for us.

But there's one more thing: Since we didn't (and still don't — bulk discounts available on all our books, by the way) have much money, David came up with an ingenious and kind of insane plan to make little boxes chock full of trinkets from Japan, with one precious can of coffee in the middle, and send them to writers who expressed interest in our project. At one point, David was all but ignoring his wife and two sons, packing boxes late into the night. He was possessed, and though his current life is probably much healthier for him and his family, we (by "we," I mean "I") loved it.

~BH~Now, before I accuse MC Hammer and the rest of the people who received one of these beautiful handmade boxes but never responded of breaking a man's frightening artistic spirit and setting him on a wholesome, healthy life course — before I do that, I dare you to watch this video to the end.

OK, if you made it to the end, you'll know that MC Hammer is running some sort of boot camp for would-be white rappers. It's not pretty, but I can understand that he felt compelled to help the less fortunate. That is as it should be, and I am not going to attack anyone for their choice of charity. That's a very private thing.

But when you say, "OK David, send the coffe to" (sic) and then start your address with "Mr. Hammer," I think you ought to at least say, "Hey David, thanks for the stuff, but I can't do a review for you. This latest white rapper I've been training needs a lot of work," or something like that, don't you?

So I guess what I'm saying in a very non-Strunk & White kind of way, is, hey, we've got a great little site here, we will not be sending any boxes your way, so you'll have to find your own cans or write about some other sort of coffee topic, but if you write something, include a picture, and we post it, I (by "I" I mean our intern) will send you a free copy of Kuhaku. No joke. Help us revive this site and help us keep Chin Music Press at the top of every google search for "David Cady, MC Hammer" (the famous Christians in sports are gaining fast!)

A Character of Coffee and Coffee-Houses (1661)

Sun, 29 Oct 2006 23:26:27 +0900

Printed for John Starkey, neer the Devil-Tavern, by Temple-Barr.

A Coffee-house is free to all Comers, so they have Humane shape, where a Liquor made of an Arabian Berry called Coffee is drunk. Six or seven years ago was it first brought into England, when the Palats of the English were as Fanatical, as their Brains. Like Apes, the English imitate all other people in their ridiculous Fashions. As Slaves they submit to the Customes even of Turky and India. Doth the French-man wear Feathers in his Hat, and Pantaloons to hide his stradling? Believe it, the English-man will be a la mode de France. With the Barbarous Indian he smoaks Tobacco. With the Turk he drinks Coffee.

These capricious Islanders, of the Hop, Malt, Cock, China, Rash-berry, and other ingredients, make and swallow as many and as various sorts of Drink, as they amongst them have Sects and Opinions. They drink as much Canary, as its native Countrey produceth. 'Tis said, they devoure down a greater quantity of Wine, (called Canary) than the Canaries afford. All Countries send in hither their several sorts of Wine and other Liquors. This variety of drink satisfies not the voraginous Palat of the English. Even the Deserts of Arabia are ransackt for a Berry, which made into a drink, is as thick as puddle-water, and so ugly in colour and tast, that Poets hereafter will undoubtedly choose it, as the best resemblance to describe the Stygian Lake by. Oh Heavens, how do the English Palats differ from those of more sober Nations? These preserve Snow to temper their Liquor with, those gulch down Coffee even boyling in the Dish, more eagerly, than an almost starved Dog doth lick up Pottage, just then taken from the fierce fire. In time sure the English-man will swallow down burning Coals.

Coffee is a Dryer, and therefore with successe is drunk by those Gentlemen, who are infected with theFrench-pox, which is now become the Characteristal difference between the plumed Nobless and the high-shoon. Alas, Vertue is a pedantical and vulgar quality.

'Tis extolled for drying up the Crudities of the Stomack, and for expelling Fumes out of the Head. Excellent Berry! which can cleanse the English-man's Stomak of Flegm, and expel Giddinesse out of his Head. Yet it is certain, that for the small space of an hour or thereabouts it hath expelled out of an English head and Stomack these infirmities. But after such a little interval, they return again. And the house being thus swept and cleansed, seven Devils enter it. For Physicians say, that Coffee causeth the Meagrim and other Giddinesses in the Head, &c. Of this dayly experiment may be made: For if you set Short-hand-writers to take down the Discourse of the Company, who prattle over Coffee, it will be evident on reading the Notes, that the talk is extravagant and exactly like that of the Academians of Bedlam, and such, as any others, would be asham'd of but themselves.

Coffee makes no man drunk. But for this, it is no more to be commended, than a Neates-tongue, a dish of Anchovaes, or a salt Bit, which never yet intoxicated any man. For Coffee being mixt with the more drying smoak of Tobacco makes too many run to the Tavern or Ale-house to quench their thirst, which they cannot satisfy, till out of their gorged stomacks, they send up rich Sacrifices to Liber Pater.

This forein Liquor in truth qualifies the Vapours of Wine, which makes your Good Fellows resort thither
to heat their Stomacks made cold and infirm by their having powred thereinto too too much Wine, and thus they inable their weak Stomacks to receive a new Load. But hereby in part may be made a Judgment of the good Company of this place. O Heavens! how well will the Barrels of Herings (imposed on these houses) agree with Coffee.

Coffee being dry, in proportion, dryes up the Radical moisture. By constant use thereof, a man becomes,

ad unum
Mollis opus

The other Sex hath just cause to curse the day, in which it was brought into England; Had Women any sense or spirit, they would remonstrate to his Majestie, that Men in former times were more able, than now, They had stronger Backs, and were more Benevolent, so that Hercules in one night got fifty Women with Child, and a Prince of Spain was forc'd to make an Edict, that the Men should not repeat the act of Coition above nine times in a night, for before that Edict, belike Men did exceed that proportion; That in this Age, Men drink so many Spirits and Essences, so much Strong-water, so many several sorts of Wine, such abundance of Tobacco, and (now at last) pernicious Coffee, that they are grown as impotent as Age, as dry and as unfruitful, as the Deserts of Africk. Having remonstrated this, they then would (were they wise) petition his Majesty to forbid Men the drinking of effeminating Coffee, and to command them instead thereof to drink delicious Chocolate.

'Tis the Interest also of Women to have this drink damn'd, lest the Men bereave them of one of their most excellent and appropriated Qualities, that is Garrulity and Talkativeness. In this Age Men tattle more than Women, and particularly at the Coffee-house, when the number hath been but six, five of them have talkt at one time. The Company here have out-talk'd an equal number of Gossipping Women, and made a greater noise than a Bake-house. Men are here born down by clamour, which resembles at times the noise of the Cataracts of Nilus, but alwayes resembles a School, fill'd with Children, every one conning his Lesson aloud.

Here Men carried by instinct sipp muddy water, and like Frogs confusedly murmur Insignificant Notes, which tickle their own ears, and to their inharmonious sense, make Musick of jarring strings. Hic fluvius Verborum, vix gutta Mentis.

In this confused way of gabbling the Coffee-drinkers fondly imagine, that they make a better Consort, than four and twenty Violins. They run from point to point, from one subject to another, as insensibly and as swifty, as Polewheel runs division on the Base Viol.

The day sufficeth not some Persons to drink 3 or 4 dishes of Coffee in. They borrow of the night, though they are sure, that this drink taken so late, will not let them close their Eyes all night. These men are either afraid to be alone with themselves, or they to excess love Company, so that they never set apart any time to converse with themselves. This ill-tasted Liquor (by what charms I know not) makes Men to neglect and forsake themselves; for

who cannot rest, till he good Fellows find,
He breaks up house, turns out of dores his mind.

At this place a man is cheated of what is, by far more valuable than Mony, that is, Time. A constant Companion of this House going in all haste for a Midwife, or to save the life of a Friend then dying, must call in, and drink at least his two dishes of Coffee and his two Pipes of Tobacco. And which is yet more wonderful, many persons prefer Coffee, (and the Company, which love it) before the gain of money, for many men neglect their Callings and Vocation, to tattle away their time over two or three dishes of Coffee.

Here is no respect of persons. Boldy therefore let any person, who comes to drink Coffee sit down in the very Chair, for here a Seat is to be given to no man. That great privilege of equality is only peculiar to the Golden Age, and to a Coffee-house. However even here, a small portion of Wit, gilded over with an Estate, hath an influence. Mony! Thou art the Man, and Man but Dross to thee. Or with Juvenal I may say,

O nummi vobis hunc præstat honorem
Vos estis fratres

Such is the humour of the Coffee-meetings, that that person shall gain more love and respect, who gives to the Company a Suger-plum, than he who bestows gifts more befitting men to receive, and he who hath attained the Art of making an agreeable by words, addresse to the Company, and knows, how by empty Complements to flatter them into a good opinion of themselves, or to tattle to them little pleasing things, shall assuredly thereby insinuate himself into their good opinion more than if he discoursed to them of the most Profitable Subjects with the deepest Judgment.

~BH~Very critical and very discerning is the Assembly here. The Company within a very short while will look thorow and thorow the Prudentest and most cryed-up Person. A Weak part will quickly be found in him, and not only Real but Imaginary Faults will be laid to his charge. A Man of Reputation is so tender a Creature, that he should in a manner alwayes keep within dores, and never come into the Air, unless chosen, and cleer. But by all means let him beware of the Coffee-house, for here there is alwayes a thick smoak, which will sully a fair colour. In plain terms, an assiduous frequenting the Coffee-house, and exposing reason, parts and estimation, by conversation, to the open view of the Society, renders them hereby first familiar, then contemptible. Here a man too late will be taught, that the most excellent Jewels, to wit, the Noblest Speculations, the Divinest Truths, the most Exquisite Fancies, the most Meritorious Actions, and the most Complacential Humours prodigally thrown away amongst a mixt number of persons, become as common, as Gold was once in Jerusalem, that is, as common, as Stones.

Such is the mixture of Persons here, that me thinks I cannot better express it, than by saying, That at these Waters meet all sorts of Creatures. Hence follows the Production of diverse monstrous Opinions and Absurdities. Here is a congress of old Rome and of new, of Turky, Geneva, and Amsterdam. A Coffee-house, like Logick, the Lawyer, and the Switzer, will maintain any Cause.

Infinite are the Contests, irreconcileable the Differences here. The Society hath been divided about the manner of the creeping of a Louse. Were there not here, a constant contention amongst the Elements of this Body, it could not subsist. For should all agree, and be of one Judgment, they would as it were become but one Person, the House would be solitary, and at last one or two Persons would be the whole Company.

However, though it resemble Amsterdam, being divided into innumerable different Opinions, yet is it free from effects of Sedition or War. For there are no bloody Challenges here made, much less Duels fought, or Blows given. Will you know the reason? The Company in this are more Couragious than wise, that they contend about triffles only, but they are more Wise than couragious, in that they fight not for the Victory: so that in a true sense the Lion and the Lamb ly down together here.

Such being the differences of Opinion, and such the Tameness of the Company, how can any one in reason, think, that a Coffee-house is dangerous to the Government, that seeds of Sedition are here sown, & Principles of Liberty insinuated? A Coffee-house hath alwayes been as great a Friend to Monarchy, as an Enemy to Liberty. The Principles of a Popular Government at the Rota were weakne'd, and rendred contemptible. Men of such Contrary Judgments as here meet, cannot justly be feared to Agree in a Conspiracy. And in truth they talk too much, to be lookt on as dangerous, and active Persons.

Rather say the Fanaticks, that this is not a place in which a great and generous Truth can be maintain'd, that a Person full of such a Truth, not being able to contein it, is forc'd to whisper it in the ear of some Ingenuosus, if he can find such a one. This is certain, that who ever intends here to discourse of Worthy Subjects judiciously, ought carefully not only to chuse his Time, but to pack the Company, that so he may be heard but with patience.

On the other side, who ever is troubled with impertinent Fancies and ridiculous Notions, is here quietly heard and sometimes heraunged. The Relater hereof hath heard a young Gentleman affirm, that he used to go to the Coffee-house purposely to vent his strange and wild Conceits, and to rid himself of such bad Guests. An opinion, how foolish or fond soever, here receives entertainment. To this Coast, as to the West-Indies, you carry not rich Merchandises to Trade with, but only Beads, Looking-glasses, Knives, and such like, nor shall the Merchant make returns of any other Commodities, than such as are fit for the Pedlars box.

Though the Coffee-house may be condemned for ill choice of subjects, on which they discourse, yet are the Company by many persons commended for this, that every one of them abounds in his own sense, and submits to the reason of no other Mortal, following herein that great Example of the Men who inhabit the Lunary World, who put the Monsieur in a Cage, for discoursing like a Parrat in the words of Aristotle. Every one over Coffee discourseth those things, which his own reason or fancy inspire him with, and he, who cants in the terms of Aristotle, or argues by Book, is lookt on to want terms and reason of his own, & jurare in verba Magistri.

Yet here being neither Moderators, nor Rules, (were there no other reason) a Man shall as soon fill a Quart Pot with Discourse, as Profit by it. He may as rationally expect to carry a Ship from the River of Thames to the East-Indies without a Pilot or Rules of Navigation, as to manage a discourse successefully, or in this School to bring it to a good Issue.

A School it is without a Master. Education is here taught without Discipline. Learning (if it be possible) is here insinuated without Method. Good Manners and commendable Humors are here infused into Men by the contemplation of the Deformity of their contrarie's, as the Spartans infused into their Children hatred of Drunkenness by setting before them their drunken Helots.

A facetious or merry Story is preferred by the Gentlemen here before a Banquet of Philosophy. The Auditors lissen to him, who tells a Tale gracefully, with as great an attention, as Orpheus his Beasts did to his Charming Musick. And good reason such a person should be attentively heard.

One relates he took thirty and three thousand Pipes of Tobacco in one night. He tickles the Auditors. They laugh heartily. Another informs the Company, that the night before having swallow'd a vast quantity of Ale, he slinkt home, and crept into Bed, and that in the midst of the night he was wak'd by an Alarum made in his Guts by reason of an Insurrection therein. Hereupon he riseth to expel the Rebel, but his weighty being too ponderous for an earthen Chamber-pot to bear, the Pot broke, and his unluckily fell on the bedighted ground. At this Story the Company laugh majore cachinno.

Here I at present stop, having run (methinks) a long race in dirty way, concluding with Juvenal,

Aspice quid faciunt commercia

An Apology to those Ingenuous Persons, who frequent the Coffee-house, for this description. The Describer knows, there are several Virtuosi and Ingenuosi, resort to the Coffee-house, whom, he hath the honour to be acquainted with, others are his Friends. Yet all the Elements here being confusedly mixt, this House appears to him as a meer Chaos, so that (in contemplating it) he cannot prefer even Light before Darkness, not being here separated or distinguishable one from another, amidst confusion it self.

Verbum sat.

FINIS.

Many thanks to this site for giving new life to an essay written by a guy who would make a Fox News commentator cringe.

Boss — "Midnight Mocha Blend"

Mon, 23 Oct 2006 21:41:34 +0900

My attitude to canned coffee mirrors almost exactly my attitude to its country of origin.

When I first came to Japan years ago as an enthusiastic youth, I thought canned coffee was the greatest thing mankind had yet produced, and I drank cans and cans of the stuff, preferably from streetside vending machines — another technological marvel I could hardly believe existed — and usually opted for the one with the most amusing picture of a man with a pipe and moustache on the side, because that made the experience all the more rad.

Drinking it not only made me feel like I was making the most of my time here, it was the perfect expression of my fascination with the novelty of the place, my desperation to one day be able to "blend in" here, and the eagerness with which I lapped up everything I could in the few months I had.

The next time I came to Japan, I drank canned coffee with the nonchalant air of a boy who thinks he's a man who's seen it all, and who can imagine nothing worse than being thought of as desperate to blend in, or excited to be here.

I would sink cans of unsweetened black filth, and smoke a particular brand of Japanese cigarette that I thought would seem mysterious to fellow foreigners and puzzlingly unclassy to Japanese people, in the belief that this would completely throw them and they would suffer the agony of not knowing what category to file me under.

I'd put money on it that they simply filed me under "prick" and didn't give it another thought.

Anyway, I stopped drinking canned coffee for some time after I had a cold white one and small rubbery chunks of congealed milk slopped against the back of my throat and nearly made me sick all down myself.

I drank less and less of it the more I came to Japan, and, the quality of my life not dropping noticeably without it, eventually gave it up altogether. After all, it's fucking disgusting stuff when you're honest about it, and I grew old and miserable enough not to be able to see someone drinking it without being faintly disgusted by their enthusiastic denial of its many unredeeming features.

And now I find myself sitting in a hotel room, for the first time completely indifferent about being here, trying to figure out if I'm just tired, or if I really don't give a shit any more about this country, or the novelty drinks it produces.

There's a part of me that is faintly worried that this is a shame, and that I should still be running around necking shitloads of the stuff, and getting excited about train station music and schoolgirls, and going to clubs and trying to like Japanese music and meeting people.

Thankfully, this part of me is heavily outweighed and outgunned by a right miserable bastard. But not enough that I can't be convinced that it would be a good idea — at least so I can moan about it — to dust off my coffee drinking hat and neck a can of Boss.

Fuck you Craig, and your website, I drank it and I feel like shit and I want to throw up now. At least I was right about it being horrible.

Apparently, Chekhov's last words before he died were "It's a long time since I drank champagne." Well, it's a long time since I drank canned coffee, and I'm not entirely sure I'm not about to die either. Bunch of cunts.

Having cut his teeth at the front line of 16-bit games journalism at Nintendo Explosion in the early '90s, Digits Wolfowitz moved permanently to Japan with his wife Noriko in 1997 to work as a correspondent for the then-fledgling gamekickers.com. His New Games Journalism blog allyourfacearebelongtous is the third-most popular online journal in his native Canada, and his sideways glance at Japanese culture has earned him fans all over the Blogosphere.

Starbucks Iced Coffee — “Italian Roast”

Mon, 28 Aug 2006 19:50:51 +0900

The Big Easy has become The Great American Failure. Over the past year, my city has come to represent the failure of America, the crumbling of the American myth. That “American Dream” idea was always a myth anyway, but like any good myth, it had some truth to it. The country, at one point, was able to create and to improve life. We had our Ben Franklins, our Thomas Edisons. We built railroads. My God, look at what we have now.

It is not that the citizens of New Orleans are sitting and waiting for help. The Big Easy has also become a hard working city, with the sounds of hammers on rooftops and of trucks hauling an endless amount of trash (trash that once composed our homes), the pounding sounds of crews working on levees. I have heard that sound echoing through the night, and it is still not enough. To this day those levees offer little security.

And let me make clear that it was the levees that created the great disaster, not the hurricane. Hurricane K. (which I will leave unnamed, with only a Kafka-esque initial) tore off some rooftops, broke some windows and knocked over some trees. Alone, that hurricane destroyed a handful of houses. I will leave the hurricane unnamed, because it is not to blame.

The Army Corps of Engineers is to blame. When we speak of this disaster, we need to speak of the levee failures. The flaws in design, the failures of maintenance. This was plain American decay. What was once a grand achievement, is now crumbling away before our eyes, while our government remains focused on Iraq.

New Orleans is the victim of American Incompetence.

This is the Great American Failure, but it is not a failure of the people, or, at least, not of all the people. The people have always been better than their government. I have met people from all over this country who have come to New Orleans to help. A choir came from Seattle to do what it could. Countless young people gave up their spring breaks to come shovel debris. There is a woman in a bookstore in Austin, Texas, who spent some of her time to help save animals in this area. People have opened their homes to the refugees of New Orleans, less than half of whom have come back, a year later. People have given of their time and money and it has helped.

Of course, on the other hand, there are many people who responded to our disaster as they would to any television show, and are now enjoying the latest flare up in the Middle East. (Hollywood often remakes old television shows, so does the news.) Or perhaps these folks are focused on the most recent chapter of Terrorists of Our Lives. (People love to be scared, so they flick on Fox News after putting down Stephen King.) Other viewers are wonderfully excited about an unexpected new chapter the Jon Benet Ramsey Soap Opera. (Who is this creepy new character?)

~BH~If you watched the disaster of New Orleans on TV and cried, guess what – that didn’t help.

Anyhow, I no longer blame the people of this country for the Great Failure. How can I blame the people when the government itself only seems mildly interested?

There is no plan at any level. No leadership anywhere. Homeland Security has proven to be a failure. One real test, one F. People I tell you – I tell you through a forum that gives you canned coffee reviews – that you are on your own.

The leaders wait, as though some plan is forming in the mythosphere and will descend benevolently upon us. Meanwhile, we hammer.

Those of you who read my piece in Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans? may have thought that I was funny. I apologize. To those of you who enjoy this canned coffee site for its irreverent humor, I also apologize.

A silver cylinder sits on the table next to me as I write. I have often utilized coffee to perk my muse. It is the writer’s best friend. I have had coffee, here in New Orleans, that can give one a greater reason to live. Life is stronger after a good cup of N.O. joe.

However, today the coffee remains untouched. What I have written above came from the greatest necessity. I had no choice. There was no call for caffeine. If I had been asked to review a children’s story, I would have written exactly what I wrote here.

I walk around the city of New Orleans, and every step I take calls for an editorial, at least.

I hope I have not been too negative. I still love New Orleans. It is by no means dead. It’s just that we only have a few small hands to rebuild an entire city.

That would be my conclusion, but I have been asked to drink a can of coffee.

I rarely sip anything. My manner is to guzzle. Half this can is emptied on my first taste. Coffee. The second half is finished off on the second taste. Nice.

Rex Noone is an expert in so many fields that it becomes redundant. He is the offspring of the gods Bacchus and Nihillia, the sacred gods of grapes and grapelessness, respectively. They are also the gods of insight and ciphers, again, respectively. After dark, he has been known to declare, "My knowledge abounds!"

He is also a contributor to both The Voices of New Orleans and Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?