Skim milk for cappuccino?

James Channing Shaw

So. I'm waiting in line at Starbucks and the young woman ahead of me asks for a grande-chai-latte-soy-non-sweetened-caramel-extra-hot-no-water-no-foam, and the order guy rattles it off to the espresso-maker guy as if he gets 50 similar orders every day! When it is ready, the espresso-maker guy (oh, excuse me…the barristo) calls it out again, every word, for the customer, with just as much ease. Only in America.

When it comes to coffee, North America has made great strides since the 1970s when the likes of Maxwell House and Folgers were the only games in town. Young people don't have a clue about how good they have it now. Back then, the entire East coast was awash in coffee that tasted like dirty dishwater. Back then, even in nice restaurants, coffee was percolated in huge vats, and for those who didn’t travel to the Mediterranean, espresso was an abstraction known only to a few Bohemian types in hidden subterranean clubs or the cognoscenti of high-class Italian restaurants. Fortunately, espresso is now a household term, along with French press, Turkish, cappuccino, caffé latté, etc. More and more, Americans appreciate and expect coffee with rich, robust flavor.

The American way, however, is to transform everything to its own liking. The Starbucksification of America has taken what for years has been a stable industry in Italy (we could probably include Spain, France, Turkey), and turned it completely upside down. Customers now ask for everything under the sun and they actually receive what they order. With no backtalk!

In Italy, it is unheard of to order a cappuccino after about 11:00 a.m. without receiving some form of snub (in Italian of course) by the waiter like "You dunce, cappuccino is a breakfast drink!" After mid-day, to any self-respecting Italian, espresso is the thing, or possibly macchiato. In America, though, the customer is always right, and you might as well close down your shop if you don't offer thousands of variations and flavors, any time, day or night.

I'm actually OK with that. Where America has gone seriously awry is with skim milk in cappuccinos and lattés. Cappuccinos made with non-fat milk are an American abomination of the worst kind. Steamed milk is supposed to be made from full-bodied, smooth, rich milk. The silky white froth should slip into your mouth blissfully, luxuriant and warm. It is not supposed to be stiff, standing at attention on top of a cup of coffee, or adhering like chunks of Styrofoam to the sides of the cup.

Simply put, excellence in foam can not be had with non-fat milk. Oh, you can make bubbles with non-fat milk, to be sure—the milk protein bubbles up nicely—and even the manuals for home espresso units in North America tell you that foam is easiest to make with non-fat milk. But easiest is the operative word, not best. They are not concerned about flavor. The bubbles are too big, and the foam too stiff, too dry. It requires some fat to keep the bubbles small, smooth and rich. Skim milk foam, like costume jewelry, is a cheap imitation of the real thing.

That being said, I fully realize it is politically incorrect to be disparaging about another person's taste. Apparently, any form of bad taste is acceptable these days. But are there no limits? Are we not allowed to ridicule those, for example, who actually eat food sold in convenience stores? Are we not allowed to criticize those who like their steaks well-done? Can you imagine the chef at a Michelin two-star acquiescing to a diner's request for a well-done steak, or for the Caesar dressing be put on the side, and hold the anchovies? The same goes for skim milk for cappuccino. People, stay home! Eat your frozen pizza and watch reality TV!

In the 50s and 60s, Americans were notorious for their bad taste when it came to food (Velveeta and overcooked zucchini come quickly to mind). That reputation has improved to an impressive degree with the help of visionaries like Alice Waters (Chez Panisse) and Thomas Keller (The French Laundry) who revolutionized American cuisine in the 1970s and 1980s, and T.V. chefs like Anthony Bourdain who have recently taken food nearly to cult status. I wonder what Bourdain thinks of decaf cappuccino, made with skim milk, served at nine o'clock at night.

But maybe there is hope in America: not too long ago I had lunch at a little Italian restaurant in New York City, and printed on the menu were these words: "No de-caffeinated coffee. No skim milk. We only use the best ingredients." It was so refreshing, and they were still in business!

What Starbucks needs to do now is send all its barristos to Rome for a week to learn how to make espressos and cappuccinos. Learn the culture. But that is merely my wishful thinking. Maybe the truth is that Italians are coming to Seattle to learn how to say 'grande-chai-latte-soy-non-sweetened-caramel-extra-hot-no-water-no-foam', in Italian.