The Daily Grind

The Daily Grind has good atmosphere this afternoon: light salsa CD on the stereo and high airy ceilings. The last time I came here to study it was the late '90s and I was cramming for an Old Testament exam. Scratch that, I think it was actually an exam in "Origins," the class I took on Christian evolutionary theory. (No time for questions on that one.) 

Today, instead of reading Stephen Jay Gould, I am sitting down with my old Blackberry from Pakistan to transcribe a few dozen pages of notes I wrote on my experiences while I was there, thumb-by-thumb. Why didn't I just keep a tiny notebook with me at all times, as Anne Lamont suggests in "Bird By Bird"? Let's just say between the bodyguard, the 12-hour workdays, and leaving the house wearing  drape-y shalwar kameeze, most days I was just happy that I remembered my Blackberry. 

An immediate boost for Daily Grind's grade is a large, extensive menu of made-to-order sandwiches, salads, two soups of the day (today we're minestrone and chicken gumbo), 14 different kinds of smoothies, and even fresh-squeezed veggie juice. (I picked up a veggie juice here a few months ago when I was pregnant and it made me feel very virtuous. Alas, it was disgusting.) 

There are lots of plusses here: McConnell's delicious ice cream shop is just across the street, but Daily Grind is off the beaten State Street path, so no tourists.  The wait staff is welcoming and friendly, and there are plenty of students with laptops (slacker quotient factor = solid) but also empty tables both inside and on the patio (which allows dogs!!) I am the oldest person in the building by at least 10 years. This is not necessarily one of the plusses, just a fact. 

(Isn't there a large, corporate chain called Daily Grind? As seen in the opening credits of the TV show "Weeds"?  Anyway, this is not that place. This Daily Grind screams independent, from their list of sandwiches named after places around Santa Barbara to decor that doesn't get more sophisticated than tacked-up license plates and a clearly stolen "Stop Ahead" yellow traffic sign.)

Two small flies in the ointment: the bathroom is only accessible by taking a huge, grimy restroom key around the side of the building and opening it yourself (ick), and the register is cash only. The last time I had to use cash, it was probably rupees. But there's an ATM in the corner if you're really hard up. 

My "Summerland" is on the way (avocado, cheese, tomato & sprouts on rye), so I settle in my chair beneath a rusty Arizona license plate and pull out my scratched, beaten-up Blackberry that hasn't been turned on since last May. 

Points for great food selection and a cheery vibe that says "stay as long as you like and next time bring Kima!" Deductions for locked bathroom (which, let's face it, would be better served across town at high-homeless-person-trafficked RoCo) and digging linty quarters out of my bag to cover the bill. 

The Daily Grind: A-

Update: Considering revising the grade downward, an hour later, as I am faced with the subtle yet pervasive scent of pee. Seeing as the entrance to the bathroom is actually outside, this seems impossible yet it is the case. Also salsa music just got turned up quite a bit. Wait: did the place close and I didn't get the hint? I am literally the only person here now. Might have to revise my own grade downward.  

Santa Barbara Roasting Company

Let's continue our journey to find the best coffee shop for writing in Santa Barbara with an obvious choice.  "RoCo," as it is known by locals and smug tourists, is right by my house so I can walk there (huge plus). I know it has good coffee, because once I was really hungry while walking to REI so I ordered a huge chocolatey drink with whipped cream on it. I remember that it was smooth and delicious.

But this post is not about how to justify eating dessert at 10 am. Today I am not here for frivolous, whipped-creamy treats. Today we are all about Writing a Book and trying not to be freaked out by how intimidating that seems. 

The atmosphere is right for writing, in that there is a low buzz of constant noise, but not too much commuter commotion. A crew of slacker surfer types has been camped out since before I arrived and is still discussing music/some new social media site/their cute friend Debbie a few hours later.  Obviously RoCo scores high on not getting rushed out (what I have dubbed the "slacker quotient" in a previous post). 

The food choices are not plentiful, consisting of a few pre-packaged cold sandwiches in a case at the front and the usual massive display of carbs (danishes, muffins, brownies filled with cream cheese. More and more I am realizing coffee shops are terrible for the health-conscious.) There is a hot ham and swiss breakfast sandwich rumored, but when I try to order it I am told it is "out." The Southwestern Turkey Club that I end up with is surprisingly tasty, even though there is no whole wheat bread available.  For a second I wonder if I am really in Santa Barbara. (Sidenote: it only took 6 months of being back in the U.S. to get spoiled by this type of stuff. I am half offended there are no gluten-free options.) 

Credit should go to the enterprising staff members who set up a daily "contest" between two similar things to encourage the money to pile up in one side of the tip jar or the other.  Today I can vote with my change for either "Hugs" or "Kisses" (it's Valentine's Day, after all), and I am told that yesterday the people preferred "Electric Guitar" over "Acoustic." This is cute. This is very Santa Barbara. 

I pick a round table in the corner, brazenly ignoring the fact that there are four chairs around it and I am only one person. I am trying to become the kind of person who doesn't stress over this kind of thing, as I sense that I will have to become more "selfish" if I am going to give myself the endless hours actually required to write a book.  This is good practice. 

Slacker quotient goes through the roof as the disheveled man at the next table suddenly drops his backpack and all pretense of not being homeless and lays down on the booth. The 20-something girls working the counter ignore this. I am realizing that I could pretty much move in until my book is finished and RoCo would be fine with it. 

Unfortunately, the distraction of snoring homeless man pales in comparison to the distraction of homeless woman who next sits down at my table and starts talking to me (damn those three extra chairs). In my still overly sensitive new-baby state, I am likely to start welling up at just about any sad story, which hers certainly is. There is really no good way to disengage from these types of conversations, and that makes me sad too.  But not as sad as, for example, those Sheryl Crow commercials about dog abuse (which leave me completely, utterly undone). It takes about ten minutes of unenthusiastic responses for the woman to move along. 

Music is pleasant and unobtrusive: it slips effortlessly from a twinkly jazz CD to light indie rock and everyone is cool with this, because everyone is cool with anything that happens at RoCo, ever. Forget the high-quality coffee roasted on-site, the real advantage of this place is acceptance. That kind of vibe is nice for turning off the inner critic and getting a lot out on the page. 

Points for good coffee, nice sunny windows, and the sense that absolutely anything goes. Deductions for white bread and homeless Mary. 

Santa Barbara Roasting Company: A-

Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf

Yes, I know: I promised I would rank Santa Barbara Roasting Company next.  But I came to Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, because it is known, easy, and makes my favorite blended coffee drink.  I'm recovering from the sniffles and wanted the comfort of the familiar.

I have long adored the chain's "Original Ice Blended Vanilla." Our love affair started back in 1993 when I would take the "Shame Shuttle" with all the other freshmen from my college campus downtown to the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in the Paseo Nuveo mall. (Parking spaces were scarce at Westmont, so no freshmen had cars except Shelley Porter who paid to park her Porsche 911 in the driveway of some Montecito estate. How did I end up at this ritzy college? = subject for another blog.)

The first time I had an Ice Blended was a revelation. And that revelation was: "I don't have to be a grown-up to drink coffee!" I was super excited to drink what tasted like a milkshake instead and became a faithful customer from the first day of college to the last. On the way to graduation, literally in our cap and gowns, my roommate Anna and I stopped at CBTL for two Ice Blendeds with whip. Five years later, the day after my wedding at the Santa Barbara Courthouse, we all went back for a few more. When I ventured out for my first solo field trip after my daughter was born last October, I racked my brain for something I could do that was quick, close to home, and felt like a little indulgence: you guessed it--Ice Blended time. So, we have a history.

That being said, I never really sit down in a CBTL; we've had a strictly get-some-and-run relationship. How would the Bean stack up as a place to spend a few hours writing?

I pick the Montecito location for the easy parking. At 5:30 pm on a Saturday night, let me tell you Coast Village Road is not hopping. The shop's interior is chilly, making me wish my usual order at the Bean is hot tea, cider, or similar. I do have a nice view of the setting sun over some bushy trees from my table, which is one of about 20 I could have chosen as they are all pretty much empty.

The place is definitely not a "scene." The interior turns out to be sparsely populated with boring student/worker types, including two who later out themselves as major nerds in a messy conversation about the Super Bowl ("Can I root for Tom Brady? Is he the one who almost won a few years ago but came up one foot short? Who's the other team again?") which ends with the completely predictable declaration of their preference for the World Cup.

Most of the traffic through this Coffee Bean doesn't stay long. The biggest customer base seems to be a revolving door of Montecito dads who come in to order late-night lattes (I have decided it is fair to call 7pm “late-night” in Montecito) and wait briefly at the counter for their hot drinks. This makes the check-out factor of this chilly, expansive space surprisingly high. At any rate, it’s definitely the only place in town where my "new mom chic" look of frayed Uggs and horrifying sweatshirt is working. I hope you don’t think I’m exaggerating about the sweatshirt: it’s disgusting. I have worn it so much this winter it would probably still form the shape of my body if I ripped it off and discarded it in a corner.  Which I should do, because it smells like spit-up.

In terms of ambiance, the shelves in the middle of the floor look like a display case from Williams & Sonoma, and the entire store has a faint but unmistakable odor of what I can only describe as playdough. Happily my Iced Blended tastes just as it should: smooth, sweet, creamy, and with that hint of exotic coffee extract known only to natives and the CBTL founder who hacked his way through the jungle to find it (this is actually a pretty accurate summary of their main marketing pitch).

Food options are surprisingly scarce: the counter is loaded with pastries but the only thing I can grab that isn't dessert is a snack pack of Sabra hummus with pretzel chips. I pick it up along with a red velvet cupcake. The toxic dye on those suckers always makes me want to say no; the cream cheese frosting makes me say yes. 

The music is perky, which is the best thing I can say about it. The songs make you very aware that there is a playlist for all CBTLs throughout the state and you are listening to it. Rather than giving the place any kind of "vibe," the music feels corporate and is just a teensy bit too loud for my taste.  And if you don't know what I mean by corporate, I mean that the title and artist of each song is listed on the "entertainment" screen on the wall that scrolls useless info to amuse you while you wait for your drink. I have seen my horoscope flash by about 200 times.  "Virgo,  Today you will finally be able to get organized about what you are feeling and why." Unlikely. I am however unsettled by my infant daughter's horoscope for the day. "Libra, When you keep your head down all the time, you don't get noticed.  Be loud today." (Seriously, Astrology? She just started teething and I don't believe she needs the encouragement.)

Okay, yes, it’s sterile. It’s basically Starbucks, but there are two things that make it better. I already mentioned the first:  blended drinks that put gritty Frappuccinos to shame. The second is what I call the "In-N-Out" factor.  Meaning, you can only find CBTLs in California (and Arizona and Vegas, but that doesn't count). This gives them the cool sheen of the inaccessible. When, for example, you find yourself moving to Washington DC after college for an entry-level job, you discover not only that you hate wearing nylons, taking public transportation, and winter, but that these hardships are all the more bitter because you can't drown your sorrows in a refreshing Ice Blended. You have to wait for visits home to California.

(Except for two odd but important exceptions: I have also encountered Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf locations in downtown Saigon and the Colombo airport. I have no explanation for the company refusing to cough up a few branches on the East Coast but then plopping two stores in the middle of Vietnam and Sri Lanka. But whatever: I zoomed happily in for my usual order both times and the Blendeds greatly improved my mood regarding, respectively: 1) just finding out my visa back to Pakistan was denied and I had to take an emergency 16-hour flight back to the U.S. and 2) almost passing out in the airport a few minutes earlier from low blood sugar in my first trimester. How do I end up in these situations? = subject for another blog. Bottom line is that a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf has always been there for me when I needed it.)

But back to Montecito. Although it was by no means bustling when I arrived, when I leave a few hours later, this Coffee Bean is a ghost town. We actually hit a new low, scene-wise, when one of the workers behind the desolate counter could be heard plaintively whining "Kelly, can I go home now?" to his co-worker in the back. (Did I mention that one of the waiting dads referred to his to-go coffee as his "road dog"? Yikes.) I don't know if it's the frigid drafts, unfortunate conversations, or the red #40, but despite all the good times in our past, I leave the Bean shivering and resolved to keep our relationship the quick and dirty one it has always been. That being said, it's a great place if you want a ton of space to yourself or need to pick up a midsize panini press on your way out.

Points for playing my favorite Feist song, the new-mom ego boost, and miles of free tables. Deductions for making my runny nose worse, pop astrology, and the ambiance of a nice shoe store.
Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf:  C+

Coffee Cat

I always thought this place was too cool for me back in my college days.  I literally never went in because it looked so sophisticated from the outside with its droll little kitty drowning in cappuccino sign. Back then I had to think long and swallow hard before forking over $2.50 for a fancy coffee drink, so places that seemed expensive were intimidating.

That's why it is hilarious to finally enter, 15 years later, and realize that what's inside is your typical student hipster hangout: extremely low on pretension and high on threadbare charm. It's all here: the booth full of students studying for the TOEFL exam, loners communicating to the world with nothing but their laptop and air of studied nonchalance, bike helmets and backpacks, and the raggedy bulletin board full of ads for jazz lessons and yoga classes (I am intrigued by one for a seminar on something called "Conscious Communication" and then I am reminded of that Sandra Bullock movie where she thinks she's in love with a guy in a coma. The nice guy from "Sleepless in Seattle" is in it? And it's cute and sort of funny? Hmmm. Perhaps there is too much to look at inside the Coffee Cat. Back to work.)

There is no wait at the counter at 4pm on a Wednesday, and the barista is friendly and welcoming. I take a "Buy 10, Get 1 Free" card--that enduring item of optimism--and get it punched.  Then I see something that spikes up Coffee Cat's grade immediately: crepes!  Fresh made crepes until 2:30 every day (of course, I have missed the window). I approve. 

This photo makes the Coffee Cat look cleaner than it is.

My chai latte is three bucks and comes warm and spiced enough to be enjoyable. The comfy gray booths are full but there are plenty of small tables available. I decide immediately that Coffee Cat is high on what I will call the "slacker quotient": your ability to loaf around the place for hours without getting glares from the staff or being made to feel like a loser.  This is hugely important for writing. Momentum is important, and I'd hate to be guilted out just when things get flowing.

Big minus is the air-conditioner that is blowing directly on my head, even after I move seats.  I am completely unnerved by things like improper sound, lighting, and temperature.  (How did such a delicate orchid survive in Islamabad, Pakistan? You'll have to read the book to find out.) My sensitivity to the elements is why I am the perfect person to dissect Santa Barbara's coffee shops for you.  

Luckily the music is the perfect volume and genre, and the lighting is ideal for writing: not too harsh like the library but not too dim like a bar. And, to be fair, the need for air-conditioning at all in January is definitely a Santa Barbara kind of problem. (As in: "Man, parking in town is so scarce during the International Film Festival!" or "Argh, every time Rob Lowe is waiting in front of me at Starbucks the flirting of the cashier slows down the whole line!" or "Endless gorgeous sunny days make me sick.")

There is a distinctive "do it yourself" vibe at the Coffee Cat that I feel is conducive to the self-sufficient and isolating activity of writing: there is a microwave at the ready so you can warm up your own pizza bagel, and I get the feeling that if the dusty concrete floor is bothersome, you could likewise pick up a broom and take care of that yourself. 

Points for friendliness, slacker quotient, crepes, with a deduction for Arctic Chill and linty floor.
Coffee Cat: B

Next up: Santa Barbara Roasting Company

The Mission

Today I start writing my book about Pakistan, and I need to find the best spot in Santa Barbara to do it.

How do you start writing a book?  I have no idea.  I've never written one (unless you count that 304-page unpublished dissertation).  But I am willing to try, in fits and starts and however I can, in between my job and my 3-month old baby.  I'm aiming to start with two writing sessions per week, and I figure I might as well make it fun.

Santa Barbara has more coffee shops per capita than any city in the United States (I'm making this up, but doesn't it *feel* true?), and I just might hit them all.  I recently moved back to town after 15 years away and I won't be here long, so we will have to work fast.  You can help out by suggesting your favorite spots, and I will do my part by ordering lots of lattes and pastries, testing out wi-fi speed, and telling you which staff give me dirty looks for staying longer than 30 minutes.

Let the grading begin!
First up: Coffee Cat