Traveling Dina - Explore. Dream. Discover.

What’s the difference between a Latte and a Flat White? Not much, it seems.

According to Wikipedia, “A Flat White is a coffee beverage served in Australia and New Zealand, prepared with espresso and milk. The drink is generally made with 1/3 espresso and 2/3 steamed milk, very similar to the ingredients in a latte. The milk is prepared differently, with the volumised milk at the top folded into the lower layers. The resulting drink has only a very thin layer of froth at the top.”

“A latte is prepared since the early 1980s with approximately one third espresso and two-thirds steamed milk, with a layer of foamed milk approximately one quarter inch thick on the top. The drink is very similar to a cappuccino; the difference being that a spoon is used to separate the layers of foam and steamed milk in a latte, while the milk in a cappuccino is free-poured (lattes also typically have a far lower amount of foam).

“A latte can be differentiated between a cappuccino and a flat white by the proportion of milk to froth. A latte is recognised as having about one-third espresso, with steamed milk added, and holding about one centimetre of froth exhibiting latte art. A cappuccino is one third espresso, with one-third steamed milk added, and holding about one-third froth. A flat white is a serving fill of about one-third espresso, with steamed milk then added, and holding no froth.”

Thank you, Wikipedia!

In my never-ending quest for a decent iceland here on this lovely isle, I decided to head to the… well… it has the potential to be worse than Starbucks in terms of global reach and mass destruction of independent businesses if it somehow takes off: The McCafe. Yes, it’s McDonald’s, but with lattes and frappes and scones and espresso. (Lord, help us all.)

So I shamefully took my hard-earned tourist dollars over to the McCafe, hoping to get an iced coffee, the closest thing to an iced latte they had on the menu. I supposed I should have been suspicious when the iced coffee was advertised as a “milky” drink, but I ordered it anyway. “Just coffee and milk?” I asked the girl behind the counter. “Yup!” “No sugar?” “Nope!” “OK!” I was excited until I saw the girl squirting some sort of syrup into the cup with ice. I hate to be “that one” causing the commotion, but I asked what it was — i mean, it sure looked like something with sugar in it, to me. “Oh, it’s iced coffee syrup, and we add that to espresso and milk.” Oh, the horror!!!

Somehow, I was able to convince her NOT to give me any syrup, just, you know, coffee (OK, espresso, even better) and milk. So yeah, I finally got my corporate iced coffee-like beverage, with little ice, but it was still tasty enough to do the trick. Repeat visits to the McCafe, though? Um, that would be: NO. Obviously, I should have known in the first place, and I hang my head in shame.

Next time, a Flat White. Hot.
I’ll save the Iced Lattes for my SF homecoming.

After gorging on oysters a few weeks ago, Emily and I figured the rest of the day would involve a lot of rest and recuperation from the bivalve overdose. We bid farewell to our Finnish friend Sami and decided to walk off a little of the fullness.

Eventually we found ourselves in the cute and trendy Hayes Valley neighborhood. As we walked, we came upon what turned out to be a rather clever — and effective — marketing ploy: a typical chalkboard advertising sign in front of a small, easily overlooked cafe. “The Best Latte in San Francisico!” it proclaimed in clear white letters and a crisp hand. “Ask Us Why!” We looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and silently turned towards the cafe to scope out the circumstances of this supposed best latte in town.

“Latte” is one of my most favorite words in the English language. (If indeed it is even English!) Equal parts pretentiousness and hipster, there’s something that just feels more sophisticated about saying “soy latte” than “coffee regular.” Now, those who know me well are aware that there’s nothing I like better than a nice, full-fat, triple-shot iced latte in a giant glass (recall our Starbucks adventures in Turkey and Las Vegas), so how could I turn down the opportunity to sample this tiny joint’s supposedly top-notch java?

We walked in, shook off the dampness, and looked around. The narrow cafe consisted of a long bar, six barstools, and not much else. A youthful looking, attractive, slender, and stereotypically gay young man in fashionable jeans, a tight t-shirt and a mop of curls was behind the counter, lazily chopping celery. He greeted us and asked how he could help.

“What makes your latte the best latte in San Francisco?” quizzed Emily, ever the journalist.

“Well, you’d just have to see,” he replied.

Perhaps we let him off easy, but that’s all it took. We chose a couple of barstools, settled in, and ordered 2 hot lattes.

As he made our drinks, another, older cafe worker — perhaps the owner? — came in and began puttering around behind the counter, bantering good-naturedly with the younger barrista. Emily and I joined in the fun, and suddenly we were all in a very intent, loud and raucous discussion about the Spice Girls. I already loved my latte and I hadn’t even tried it yet.

I left the conversation for a moment to pick up a call on my cellphone. As I chatted briefly with my friend Matty, our lattes were placed on the counter — steaming, caramel-colored, frothy brews in ice-cream soda glasses. The barrista quietly asked Emily a question, and pulled out something that contained what looked vaguely like chocolate syrup. He held it over my drink and began deftly and smoothly pouring a thin line of syrup.

“OMG, Matty, I have to go. This dude is writing my name on my latte!”

“Wha—?” =click=

It was by far the coolest beverage I’d ever seen. Emily got a lovely flower-like sunburst design on hers. Our drinks were so pretty we felt bad destroying them. But we slowly sucked them down, enjoying the hint of chocolate and warm milky taste, the cute surroundings and clever comversation with charming employees. When it comes to frothy coffee beverages, I’ve learned that presentation counts for a lot. Our tiny, nameless Hayes Valley cafe was right — I’m pretty sure that they do indeed have the Best Latte in San Francisco.

I love road trıps, drıvıng fast, zıppıng down the highway, sıngıng along to upbeat, fun music. Even though Lısa & I don`t know what they`re saying we groove along to the Turkish pop, sometımes tınged wıth hıp-hop or hındı ınfluences. We seem to make faırly frequent stops, for çop şiş (tiny shısh skewers) and tea, or, more oddly, to stop for some dıstınctly Western-style shoppıng at the outlet malls. Yes, outlet malls. More strıp-mall style than the classıc Amerıcan outdoor “outlet vıllage” experıence but outlet shoppıng just the same.

Even more amusıng was when, after just havıng stopped for a quıck browse through the Puma store that popped up from the otherwıse featureless lanscape, Lısa and I spotted a Starbucks sıgn ahead of us. “Oh please, Hakan, can we stop can we stop pleeeeeze????” Atılla joıned ın and so the whole back seat was a chorus of “Pleeeeze???”, essentıally forcıng a Starbucks stop otherwıse face a mutiny.

I asked Hakan what I could get hım, and I understood hım to say “I`ll have what you`re havıng.”
-”Are you sure?”
-”Yes!”
-I trıed to communıcate exactly what he was in for. “Cok Sut! (’Its a lot of mılk’) “; “Yuk cok Kafe (’and not a lot of coffee’),” I warned.
-”OK!”
-“Cok saouk! (’Very cold!’)”
-”Yes, yes!”

Well, clearly we mısunderstood because Hakan looked posıtıvely crestfallenwhen I brought hım out a mılky, lıght brown Iced Latte in a clear plastıc cup wıth a straw– so far removed from what a Turkısh coffee ıs (think super-strong, thick, muddy, double-espresso-style coffee boiled with sugar and served in a teeny-tiny ceramic mug) that I can’t belıeve the drınks can actaully be consıdered related.

But, he was a good sport, sayıng ıt was “Güzel, güzel!” (”Good, good!”) and eventually fınıshed ıt all. I found mıne fabulous as usual. We really need to fıgure out how to get these ın the mornıng ınstead of 6 o’clock at nıght!