Slurp, Slurp, Slurp

I, my friends, am a coffee fiend. Not those six-dollar, caramel laced, whip-cream infused confections that better qualify as cake-in-a-cup. I like coffee. Hot, black, and strong enough to stunt the growth of a T-Rex. From eighth-grade on, I've been a steady pot-a-day consumer. By this point, you could brew my java-saturated blood, label it dark roast, and sell it fair trade.

So, when Starbuck's announced last week that it was fomenting a revolution in the coffee industry, my interest was piqued. In a town where quaint, ma-and-pa coffee shops outnumber the hipster grad students who frequent them, a Starbuck's is the embodiment of pure evil. Akin to Wal-Mart, it's depicted as a greedy, corporate whore- peddling egregiously overpriced novelty drinks, crippling local startups, and smiling all the while.

But, apparently, Starbuck's was going to revolutionize coffee as we know it. It's method? Introducing a new, "smoother, bolder" blend of coffee that would star as their daily-workhorse. A fresh pot always on tap and consistent brews a guarantee. The new blend was dubbed "Pikes Place Blend," and its release was accompanied by an all out advertising blitz. Full page ads in the New York Times hailed 4/08/2008, the day it was introduced, as the second-coming of the Messiah.

Coffee connoisseurs the world over, however, were leary. While Starbucks focused on creating impossibly titled, chocolate-swirled "creations," the quality of its raw coffee dipped lower than ever. Even a light roast tasted like charcoal that had been simmering for two=days. It promised to eliminate the bitter overtones and burnt flavor. The Pikes Place blend, it said, was created after years of consumer research and careful testing. A medium-bodied, slightly fruity blend that appeals to the same crowd that sips on McDonald's and Dunkin' Donut's joe.

So, a few days after its star-studded introduction, I paid $1.80 for a cup of this proclaimed manna and took a deep gulp.

How was it?

Awful. Unlike its predecessors, the new blend has no distinct nuttiness. The dark, brooding flavor is gone. In its place is a homogenized blandness paired with a weird, tingly sweetness. Indeed, the 6-dollar-cake-in-a-cup got their wish. A coffee that is so normal, so unremarkable, it exists merely as a vessel for half-and-half, cinnamon, and sugar. But, Starbucks, pulling from Wal-Mart's play book, got this one exactly right.

It's an American coffee, for the American people. Middle of the road, easy to swallow and easy to forget. I predict it will be hugely popular.