Some vanilla, bullshit, latte, cappu-thing.

It's not just milk and coffee. Getting a latte in LA is a whole thing.

A couple of days ago I wandered into a new coffee place around the corner from our house to grab a latte before starting work and I left empty handed. Why? Because they didn't have whole milk. They were waiting for a delivery, the guy serving me, explained, with an apologetic smile. He was very nice in that super enthusiastic LA way most Brits find especially annoying before 8.30am.

He proudly pulled out a selection of milk alternatives they did have, from the fridge. "You can try any of them!" he kindly offered, waving cartons of pistachio and macadamia milk in my face. "I'm fine, thanks," I grimaced, weighing up whether to run across the road to CVS to get my own milk and ask him to make me a latte with it. I say this not to sound like Larry David but to merely emphasise my relationship with my daily regular latte. I can't do without it. 

I don't mind if it's whole milk, 2% (that's semi-skimmed in the UK) or non-fat (skimmed), I just like cow's milk. I respect all the different reasons people drink dairy alternatives, but I don't like how they taste. So I drink cow's milk. Does that make me a bit basic? Maybe don't answer that.

That's the thing about coffee. It's a very personal, particular, ritualistic thing. If you drink the stuff, you likely order it a certain way and the same way, each time. Often to cliched, comic effect. Remember when Larry David asked for 'some vanilla, bullshit, latte, cappu-thing' in Curb Your Enthusiasm? He saw LA Chris, and his 'oat milk latte with a shot of vanilla' coming, didn't he? A special shout out to my friend Lauren and her '8oz Americano in a 12oz cup'. How she can make a simple coffee order so-not-straightforward-at-all is both impressive and very LA.

But back to me and my 'regular latte.' And yes, I've tried experimenting with more exotic options. I even went through a phase of turmeric lattes until that time I forgot to take my Invisalign out and stained it an unfortunate fluorescent shade of yellow. 

Plain and simple, a latte is one of the highlights of my day. It perks me up when I'm tired; it picks me up when I'm low. It's a reassuring, reliable constant when life is unsettled or unpredictable. It's a hug in a mug. It doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with, a latte makes everything feel better.

Instagram: @overheardla

I can still recall the coffee shop we found ourselves in, after being told we wouldn't be able to conceive (with my eggs); it was the same place I waited before finding out Chris had cancer. It was, in later, happier times, where Chris ordered lattes from, the morning after I gave birth. Like other coffee shops I have frequented and there have been a few (a daily latte x 5 years = you do the math), the place proved a refuge as comforting as the latte itself.

So what makes a great coffee shop? What makes it somewhere you go back to, time and time again for the same order? We're spoilt for good coffee in LA (although many are distinctly average, there are quite a few Australian-owned which are exceptional) yet we often stick to the same place - even when there a handful of great options in walking distance. What determines that? How important is the actual coffee? Does it matter where the beans are sourced or what the milk options are? Do stale pastries equal bad coffee? Is it better to be served by a silent hipster or a cheesy chatterbox? Is a line of merch a seal of approval or a big turn off? The list goes on. 

I'm no coffee connoisseur (did I mention I drink regular lattes?) so it's rare I ever have a very bad experience (except when I leave WITHOUT a latte) but I have my go-to coffee shops, like Good Boy Bob, which I've mentioned in this newsletter before (ahem #NotAnAd). And where I'm assuming Larry David must go for his 'vanilla, bullshit, latte, cappu-thing' because his office is right around the corner. (Sorry - I was determined this coffee story wouldn't revolve around 'Latte Larry' and that's my third reference. I can't help it. The line, "Milk and Cofffffeeee! Who would've thought!" pops into my head a lot when ordering a latte. It's not just me, right?)

I love the coffee at Good Boy Bob but it's not the only reason I go so often. We put down roots there. Interestingly, it was where we met with a nice lady from an agency in Beverly Hills to hear more about egg donation. Is it weird that I can still picture the table we sat and the latte I was drinking? It wasn't your average meeting, obvs, and I remember how comfortable and familiar that latte was, as the woman talked us through something that felt anything but. 

We ended up enlisting that agency to help us find the donor that led to our daughter. And coincidently we moved into a house within walking distance of 'Bob' as we now call it, when I was pregnant. It was 'Bob' we took a newborn Maggie when we ventured out the house with her for the first time. And it's 'Bob' I go to when I have writer's block, I'm jet lagged or I'm suddenly hit by a wave of homesickness or grief. 

'Bob' is great for accidentally eavesdropping. The staff know our names and they do the best pastries - although there was an outcry from Chris and I when they replaced the 'chocolate twist' (think the texture of a cinnamon bun but with chocolate weaved through - absolutely divine and so helpful in any of the above scenarios) with a boring old pain au chocolat. I've made friends in 'Bob', cried in 'Bob' and got into (dog) fights in 'Bob'. That's how at home I feel there! 

So you see, it's about a lot more than the coffee. And that could also explain my love affair with a now-defunct coffee shop even closer to our house called Please Enjoy. The logo was an eye sore, the coffee wasn't particularly memorable and the air-con was so strong I used to have to take a sweater with me on a hot day. All valid reasons for boycotting and yet I returned there again and again.

In fact in the About page of this very newsletter, I wrote: "I'm that person drinking a whole milk latte in the coffee shop next door to the booty workout place". It was that place! It was a nice place. A friendly place. A place with a calming vibe. I liked taking my laptop and working there when I needed a change of scene. 

I just hope I didn't have anything to do with it closing down because there was a guy in there who was always giving me discounts or sneaking me a free cookie. He asked me to sign a leaving card for one of the staff members (that was definitely a first!) and when the place was closing down, he presented me with my own branded mug. I never mentioned the logo gave me a headache. 

I'm not sure if I was just a highly regarded loyal customer or you know, the object of his affection but I'll never forget the first time Chris and I went in together when the guy was working. He didn't see me at first and he was really short-tempered and impatient with Chris. He was like a completely different person to the guy I always met. Then he spotted me. Suddenly his mood changed and he leaned over the counter to greet me with a big smile.

Er, rude! 

Almost as rude as a coffee place running out of whole milk, wouldn't you say?