Author: Marina Zosya

Small Business Crusader Presents: Slate Coffee Roasters


 

Espresso Deconstructed

Photo by © Yana Alexandra Crow

As I mentioned in my travel reflections, it is not enough to treat my visit to Seattle's Slate Coffee Roasters as just another thing I did during my trip to the West Coast in August.  The place definitely deserves its own dedicated post. 

I personally know espresso aficionados who are obsessed with Slate, and I can totally understand why:  Even if you are a jaded connoisseur, you will have a novel, unforgettable experience here.  From the very beginning, Slate's founders conceptualized their business out of three exceptional building blocks: niche high-quality raw materials, superior preparation techniques, and singular finished products.      

Conceived and founded by Chelsea Walker in a partnership with her brother and mother, Slate was born two years ago, in November 2011.  It started its life in an Airstream trailer strategically positioned in Seattle's Capitol Hill.  Now, transplanted to one of Seattle's northwestern neighborhoods, Ballard, the establishment continues to cultivate the same aesthetics of grace and elegance that inspired the founders to start the business in the first place.  It applies to everything: the offerings, the methods, the decor, the ambiance, the hospitality, even the service sets.          

What fascinates me the most is that this young woman did exactly what I advocate all young people to do.  She found something that she (a) feels the most passionately about; (b) has talent for; and (c) knows well how to do, both technically and commercially.  She utilized her reputation as an innovative espresso barista to solicit valuable advice from local coffee-business celebrities and went full force after her entrepreneurial dream, attacking the odds on all fronts: Her business model includes the wholesale of Slate's roasts to other coffee boutiques (so far 9 locations in Washington, California, Massachusetts, and Illinois), the online store selling the current selection of beans as well as a few signature coffee implements, a coffee subscription, and, of course, the bar itself, where you can experience the magic firsthand and then leave with a bag of the fresh roast you've just tasted.

Everything in Slate Coffee Roasters is unique.  The uncluttered decor complements the minimalist menu very well: There are no lattes, cappuccinos, macchiatos, frappes, and such other potions here.  The only espresso-based drinks you can get are, well, espresso – either neat or cut with milk, in various proportions.  The rest are hot or cold-brewed coffees – usually from no more than 3 or 4 sources.  The coffee bean is treated here as a tropical fruit that it actually is.  So, just like good wine makers, Slate folks pursue rich bouquets and go after small-batch sources that harvest the most flavorful products: a 1500-farmers estate in Kenya, a specific lot on a Panama estate populated exclusively by Gesha trees, an Ethiopian co-op, etc. 

The single-source beans are roasted in house twice a month in 15-kilo lots.  Slate abandoned the tradition of the deeply roasted espressos and goes light on the heat for the sake of preserving the flavors.  In order to provide the bar's customers with an unadulterated experience, no sugar or any other sweeteners are offered.  They use non-homogenized local-farm milk here – so sweet and real, you feel happy for the cows that gave it away, and the desire to taste it on its own motivates some people (me!) to order the full Espresso Deconstructed set twice in a row.  If you do like something solid to complement your espresso or coffee, you should try the hand-dipped in chocolate… no, not conventionally dried orange peels, but syrup-soaked fresh orange slices.  It only makes sense that these exquisite offerings are served in a bar (rather than the common coffee house) setting, with espresso presented in designer stemware.  Other straight coffees are brewed to perfection in a variety of methods expertly matched to specific beans.

Of course, when judged by the field's elite, this, for a lack of better words, artistic and somewhat rebellious approach to the provisioning of coffee-based beverages, elicits high recognition and praise: Many a West Coast barista know of Slate; the wonderful Brandon Paul Weaver, who's been at Slate from the start, won the 2013 North West Regional Brewers Cup; and Slate's team captured the title of America's Best Coffee House 2013 in Seattle, which, considering the city's history with the drink, is a feat, especially for such a young establishment.    

It goes without saying that all these elements set Slate apart from the rest of Seattle's coffee scene and theoretically should've given them a tremendous competitive advantage.  Yet, the company struggles commercially. And it is my strong opinion that it has a lot to do with its geographical location – not just the remote Ballard specifically, but Seattle altogether.  Of course, the bar has its own devotees, who come in all the time (some are even willing to fly cross-country just to feel the magical brews on their lips), but, generally speaking, there are simply not enough people to generate a steady stream of clientele to the counter.  There is no question in my mind that the good people of Slate would be so much better off  in a place famous for its unyielding hyperactivity.

Yes, New York City is the most competitive place on this planet.  And yes, it is especially true for the majority of food establishments – according to Business Insider, 80% of restaurants here close in their first year of operation.  It makes total sense to me: you've got to do something extraordinary to survive here as yet another deli, a French or Italian restaurant, a Japanese sushi bar, or a Chinese take-out.  That said, the field of designer espresso is pretty barren.  Well, we maybe have about 20 highly rated specialized places – a ridiculously small number for NYC!  Yet, people with really discriminating tastes still complain that it is impossible to get a good espresso in New York.

The top places in competitions and recognition by connoisseurs are great, but at the end of the day, for a consumer-dependent establishment it's all about the statistics of public exposure: the more people pass a place, the higher the number of those who will enter.  And only then can you start wowing them with your miracles, hopefully achieving a sufficient level of the customer retention:  In order to succeed a small coffee-bar business needs a steady 10-people line during the morning, lunch, and coffee-break rushes.  Alternatively, this particular business can position itself as an exclusive Art House of Espresso with people coming in specifically for the Slate's religious experience and willing to pay exorbitant prices for it.   Neither possibility, unfortunately, is going to present itself  in Ballard.   

To illustrate how the statistical probabilities are impacted by geographical locations, let me use an analogy from my recent music experience:  Royal Canoe, a great small band from Winnipeg, Manitoba (don't jump to Wikipedia – they are not there) primarily performs at alternative festivals and small peripheral venues with, let's say, 50-300 people capacity.  What is the probability that someone who sees them at The Garrison in Toronto (capacity 270) will go out of their way to attend their concert in Brooklyn?  I'd say, close to zero.  But on 09/14 they opened for Alt-J at NYC's Hammerstein Ballroom (GA Floor capacity 3400, plus galleries) and I know of at least 5 people (two independent groups), who went to Canada specifically to see them play again.  And there might have been more.  And even if only 10% of the live audience buys t-shirts and CDs, it translates to 27 music lovers in Toronto, but at least 400 in NYC. 

Numbers - they don't lie.  So, is it surprising that at this moment Slate has only 28 reviews on Yelp, while Lucid Cafe (even though a very nice place, but no award winner or espresso breath-taker) located 4 blocks from Grand Central has 93? 

What I hope for is that Slate's current operations will create enough momentum to ignite in owners the desire to solidify their success and branch out to the busiest spot in the world, the city that never sleeps and, therefore, is in a dire need of Chelsea Walker's heavenly concoctions.  Plus, we have the highest concentration of people who adore the high-end, luxurious, elite products and services.  So, see you in New York?!            

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Quote of the Week: “Wave Bye-Bye to the Bureaucrat.”


Busy-office-workerSynopsis of James O. Incandenza's short (16 min) film Wave Bye-Bye to the Bureaucrat, Latrodectus Mactans Productions, Year of the Whopper:

"A bureaucrat in some kind of sterile fluorescent-lit office complex is a fantastically efficient worker when awake , but he has this terrible problem waking up in the A.M., and is consistently late to work, which in a bureaucracy is idiosyncratic and disorderly and wholly unacceptable, and we see this bureaucrat getting called in to his supervisor’s pebbled-glass cubicle, and the supervisor, who wears a severely dated leisure suit with his shirt-collar flaring out on either side of its rust-colored lapels, tells the bureaucrat that he’s a good worker and a fine man, but that this chronic tardiness in the A.M. is simply not going to fly, and if it happens one more time the bureaucrat is going to have to find another fluorescent-lit office complex to work in . It’s no accident that in a bureaucracy getting fired is called ‘termination,’ as in ontological erasure, and the bureaucrat leaves his supervisor’s cubicle duly shaken. That night he and his wife go through their Bauhaus condominium collecting every alarm clock they own, each one of which is electric and digital and extremely precise, and they festoon their bedroom with them, so there are like a dozen timepieces with their digital alarms all set for 0615h. But that night there’s a power failure, and all the clocks lose an hour or just sit there blinking 0000h. over and over, and the bureaucrat still oversleeps the next A.M. He wakes late, lies there for a moment staring at a blinking 0000. He shrieks, clutches his head, throws on wrinkled clothes, ties his shoes in the elevator, shaves in the car, blasting through red lights on the way to the commuter rail. The 0816 train to the City pulls in to the station’s lower level just as the crazed bureaucrat’s car screeches into the station’s parking lot, and the bureaucrat can see the top of the train sitting there idling from across the open lot. This is the very last temporally feasible train: if the bureaucrat misses this train he’ll be late again, and terminated. He hauls into a Handicapped spot and leaves the car there at a crazy angle, vaults the turnstile, and takes the stairs down to the platform seven at a time, sweaty and bug-eyed. People scream and dive out of his way. As he careers down the long stairway he keeps his crazed eyes on the open doors of the 0816 train, willing them to stay open just a little longer. Finally, filmed in a glacial slo-mo, the bureaucrat leaps from the seventh-to-the-bottom step and lunges toward the train’s open doors, and right in mid-lunge smashes headlong into an earnest-faced little kid with thick glasses and a bow-tie and those nerdy little schoolboy-shorts who’s tottering along the platform under a tall armful of carefully wrapped packages. Kerwham, they collide. Bureaucrat and kid both stagger back from the impact. The kid’s packages go flying all over the place. The kid recovers his balance and stands there stunned, glasses and bow-tie askew. The bureaucrat looks frantically from the kid to the litter of packages to the kid to the train’s doors, which are still open. The train thrums. Its interior is fluorescent-lit and filled with employed, ontologically secure bureaucrats. You can hear the station’s PA announcer saying something tinny and garbled about departure. The stream of platform foot-traffic opens around the bureaucrat and the stunned boy and the litter of packages… The film’s bureaucrat’s buggy eyes keep going back and forth between the train’s open doors and the little kid, who’s looking steadily up at him, almost studious, his eyes big and liquid behind the lenses… The bureaucrat’s leaning away, inclined way over toward the train doors, as if his very cells were being pulled that way. But he keeps looking at the kid, the gifts, struggling with himself… The bureaucrat’s eyes suddenly recede back into their normal places in his sockets. He turns from the fluorescent doors and bends to the kid and asks if he’s OK and says it’ll all be OK. He cleans the kid’s spectacles with his pocket handkerchief, picks the kid’s packages up. About halfway through the packages the PA issues something final and the train’s doors close with a pressurized hiss. The bureaucrat gently loads the kid back up with packages, neatens them. The train pulls out. The bureaucrat watches the train pull out, expressionless. It’s anybody’s guess what he’s thinking. He straightens the kid’s bow-tie , kneeling down the way adults do when they’re ministering to a child, and tells him he’s sorry about the impact and that it’s OK. He turns to go. The platform’s mostly empty now. Now the strange moment. The kid cranes his neck around the packages and looks up at the guy as he starts to walk away: ‘Mister?’ the kid says. ‘Are you Jesus?’ ‘Don’t I wish,’ the ex-bureaucrat says over his shoulder, walking away, as the kid shifts the packages and frees one little hand to wave Bye at the guy’s topcoat’s back as the camera, revealed now as mounted on the 0816’ s rear, recedes from the platform and picks up speed."

              David Foster Wallace Infinite Jest, pp. 687-689, Little, Brown and Company

(For those who are wandering whether I'm reading Infinite Jest right now: Yes, I'm reading Infinite Jest right now.)

Quote of the Week: What Did I Tell You? People Just Don’t Want to Work!!!



Lazy_worker-150"An employee at the Yotel and the Soho Grand started several fires allegedly because he wanted to make the 'hotels less popular' and lighten his workload."

From the Despicable-and-Lowbrow quadrant of The Approval Matrix page in New York Magazine


What Do Bosses Know About Their Employees?


1297457573478_ORIGINALWell, it varies from one boss to another, but one thing I can tell you for sure –nobody should ever expect a boss to bother learning who his subordinates are.  I mean as people. 

Yes, some overzealous HR pros in large companies paw through whatever material is made public by the social networking in pursuit of dirt, but  that's just "fact-finding" and gossip-mongering.  No, I am talking about a genuine human interest. 

In most cases there is none.  Watching all sorts of bosses interact with their employees I frequently wonder whether it registers in their heads that they deal with real people.  I think they subconsciously block this tiny detail out, so that they wouldn't feel guilty for being assholes.  So, how can you expect them to notice anything about your personality, if they see you as a cardboard cutout?  They are blind even to the most obvious manifestations of your existence outside of the workplace. 

You may belong to a weekend fight club and come to work every Monday with poorly covered bruises; or aspire to be the greatest drummer of all times and constantly bang your fingers on hard surfaces to some beats in your head; or know everything there is to know about existentialism and talk about it at length during office parties – none of it will be noticed: they see and hear it, but their minds reject it.  For them, you are still just Steve from Logistics, or Mike from Customer Service, or that girl from Accounting. 

Do I know for a fact that this sort of myopia exists?  Yes, I do.  My position as a financial executive and/or consultant allows me to observe various bosses in close proximity.  Over the years, I've collected a huge body of evidence to support my statements here.  But I can also vouch for their validity based on the incidents that involved me personally.  I'm not going to dwell here on the fact that none of my employers ever learned anything of my true motivations, ethical standards, or even why I work so hard and care so much.  Instead, let me share with you an instance of an inexplicable blindness.

I don't ever shove CFO Techniques into people's faces.  Being a book's author barely has any impact on consulting deals and it definitely has nothing to do with my CFO job.  But people do find out on their own: they connect with me on LinkedIn and see it on my profile, or they Google me, or whatever.  Normal people, not bosses.  A company's owner writes an email to one of his strategic financial partners with a copy to me: "Let me introduce our CFO M.G.  From now on, she is taking over all our M&A negotiations."  Apparently the fact that the three of us were at the same table during a corporate function has slipped his remembrance.  As per usual, I simply ignore it.  The external party doesn't:  "Not only that I've met Marina already, but I also keep her book on my desk."  The boss replies, "Oh yeah, I forgot, I introduced you, guys."  You may think that he deliberately ignored the part about the book, but I swear, he is not that devious – he simply blocked it out, didn't see it at all.    

And that's absolutely Ok.  Attentiveness is not a prerequisite to being a business leader and a jobs creator.  I'll take brilliance and perpetual drive to succeed over tact and personal involvement any day.  And I have to be honest – I'm not quite sure if I personally would've been as aware of people around me and familiar with some aspects of their lives if I weren't such an avid, life-long student of behavioral science.  At the end of the day, one can say that my interest is self-serving. 

Of course, sometimes it hurts just a bit that the people, for whom you work so hard, don't even care to learn who you are, but in the grander scheme of things we should not care – as I always say, every job is just another line on your resume.  Moreover, we should be grateful – we don't really want these people to know too much about us or our vulnerabilities.

That said, however, it is still pretty surprising when bosses are confused about most basic, most superficial facts about employees who worked for them for years.  Sometimes it brings about ludicrous, almost sketch-like dialogues.

A tragedy struck one of my subordinates: her Mom, only 55 years old,  died unexpectedly of a heart attack.  The girl has been with the company longer than me; she was originally hired by the CEO at the time when there were no other executive managers in the company at all – just owners and staffers.  The CEO shuffles into my office to reflect on the unfairness of life.

She said, "You know, it's so cruel: Shen's parents were the first-generation immigrants -  worked so hard to provide for the children!  And now, the kids are all grown up, married, educated - it was a time for her Mom to finally enjoy her life, and then this happened.  Just terrible!"

I listened to all that and agreed, "Yes, it's totally fucked up.  With respect to her Mom, it was Shen who was the first-generation immigrant.  Her parents got divorced when she was a little girl.  Shen came here 13 years ago with her farther and she didn't see her Mom for 8 years.  They missed each other terribly.  The girl was able to bring the mother here only after she herself came of age and became a US citizen.  They were together for only 5 years.  The Mom still worked 7 days a week to support herself, and now she is gone."

And here you have it, ladies and gentlemen: a boss's "reality" vs. truth.            

Quote of the Day: Truth from Behind the Mask


“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person.  Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.”

                                                                            Oscar Wilde