Story by Nathaniel Ogren // @nathanielogren // he/him
Design by Maju Marinho// @majusaccount // she/they
I circle the block a few times before finally giving up and resigning myself to a spot along a residential street about four blocks from the coffee shop. Try Hard Coffee on East 11th Street usually closes by 3 p.m., but tonight it is open and throbbing with energy. A DJ in the corner spins vinyl records. Bartenders on the back patio shake up Negronis and crack beers. I hear somewhere there are tacos, but I never find out where. Packing this tiny cafe from end to end are baristas, ready to compete in tonight’s event: Thursday Night Throwdown.
The throwdowns are quarterly latte art competitions held by and for baristas. They come from shops from all over the city to ply their trade, show off their skills and have the chance to win honor and glory for themselves and their shop as well as the cheesy WWE belt that gets passed from winner to winner.
It’s hard for people outside the coffee world to understand just how big a deal these events are. When most customers get a drink with a flower or heart in it, they smile, take a picture and the art is gone in just a few sips. But it takes years of consistent practice to get all of the variables just right in order to pour great latte art. So when throwdowns come around, all these baristas are finally surrounded by others who understand just how amazing what they’re doing is. It’s a scary and exhilarating feeling. I know because I go to and compete at these events myself.
While I am by no means a latte art master (I have never even come close to laying my hands on that most prized of plastic belts), I have been working in coffee for four years and have steadily improved my craft.
Since the age of sixteen, I’ve operated in two very different spaces throughout the week: school Monday through Friday, and the coffee shop on the weekend. Having a foot in both worlds has not only made it clear to me how fortunate I am to be getting an education and studying what I love, but also shown me how wrong so many peoples’ views on service industry workers are.
Coffee workers, despite being integral parts of the communities in which they ply their trade, are paid a nationwide average of $13.52 an hour. While this totals out to an annual sum far above poverty, ask anyone in the service industry and they will tell you it does not feel like it. Coffee work and hospitality work in general are very often deemed “low skill”. This is due in part to the fact that Barista jobs can be acquired without a college degree or certification, which leads people to assume that they are wealthier and more skilled than Baristas and service workers at large.
We feel these assumptions behind the bar. When you ask someone how their day is and they look blankly past you and begin rattling off an order. When people share knowing looks in our directions. When we are treated as invisible despite standing in front of them ready to serve.
This is not to throw a pity party for baristas or myself. Many of the people we serve are incredibly kind and gracious and support us with their patronage and by tipping well. Being a barista allows you to facilitate wonderful human moments: First dates, old friends catching up, a mother’s few moments to herself in the morning, a couples daily walk. Providing an ingredient for this recipe of humanness is a humbling thing, and it’s why so many of us choose and stay in the profession.
But we are underpaid. We are overworked. We are ignored and disrespected. Society decided our work is not terribly valuable or skillful.
And yet…
A few times a year on Thursday nights, coffee workers from around the city come together to take pride in what we do. We commune with one another and make art. We take the skills we have honed, born of pride and love and countless hours and make something beautiful out of the way we make ends meet. We bond over the shared struggle of shitty tippers and Sunday morning rushes and the pride we take in our artistry and skill. We step up to the espresso machine, pull the lever on the steam wand, and feel the heat rise from the pitcher in our hands. We tilt the cup just so, set the crema and lower the spout. And then all of the sudden the canvas of the cup transforms. The painting emerges and the finished product looks just a little bit like a “fuck you” to every shitty customer who thinks they could do what we do.
