Coffee Dictator Of Quality

Pikolo Espresso Bar

Walking into the little French Pikolo Café, I searched the length of the floor & balcony, and could not find a seat.

Descending the stairway to get a second look, I saw three seats all together and alone. Around them, not a seat was without use, but these three sat at the end of the coffee bar, like three lone metallic barstools.

While the rest of the café felt artistic and productive, this group did not. I had the feeling of reserved use and a working demeanor.

They alone in the café had no access to an electricity plug. Not meant for a person focused on electronics.

I came up, & my attention was instantly drawn to two baristas bustling, single-mindedly, around syringes, coffee packs, cleaning wipes, & two tiny glass cups, one holding a small, clear, goblet of water & the second with a few drips of golden rimmed, dark, liquid.

The two figures bustling & running around with the collection of contraptions & ingredients were a stylishly shabby guy & girl in slim, alluring clothing. Suddenly the girl walked away the guy peered into the two cups, using a small dropper to administer droplets of shining water to the dark liquid.

I asked if I could take a seat here &, getting a startled yes from the guy, dropped my bag on a stool. A bright red and white container of medical looking toilettes seemed to suddenly appear, and I asked, intrigued, “Is someone hurt?”

“What? No.” said the guy looking as befuddled as me before dropping the dropper & jotting some numbers & short words onto the notebook.

He alternately peered into the dark liquid and jotted something down for a short & yet indeterminate period of time.

“What are you doing?”

He looked up, just noticing me for the third time. And a conversation of scientific discovery ensued…

His concoction was coffee. A few small drips of nearly pure espresso. He was testing a small sample of what he had just made, for color & taste.

His notes were directions so that the palm sized packet of coffee that this small sample was from would be brewed perfectly.

What he was doing was an elegant chemistry of in the pursuit of perfection.

I asked him, “What is the name of your roll?”

Back straightening and his angular face turning to gaze off into the distance, he proclaimed, “Dictator of Quality.”

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