He hates wasting milk.
That’s the first thing Andre tells me before the cafe opens. We are behind the espresso machine. He’s wearing a red apron and I forgot mine, forgot that I had to bring my own on my first day of training.
He’s not pleased.
“Are you going to forget when Lou-from-next-d00r brings a friend, and she orders a cappuccino with skim and you foam 2%? Are you going to forget when you hand her that mistake and she takes a sip and knows at once that you made it wrong? Can Lou-from-next-door trust you to remember what I tell you? Because he trusts me. He’s trusted me for a couple of years now and Lou brings people here because we don’t forget. And when Lou brings people here we make more money, which means we can stay open, which means my little girl can stay in private school. Which means she can take Latin as a fifth grader if she wants.
“We don’t write it down,” he says.
I nod.
“We don’t have paper cups with little boxes and cute shorthand. We don’t draw smiley faces. I tell you the order and you make it, exactly as the guest spoke it.”
I nod again.
“We don’t write it down.”
He shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose. Soon he is pouring milk into a small metal pitcher, placing it before me. “Steam that for me,” he says.
“For which drink?”
“You decide.”
I steam him milk for a latte, leaving a hint of foam on the top.
“It’s not ready,” he says. He hasn’t even seen it.
“Are you sure? It looks pretty smooth.”
“Smooth?” He’s laughing. “Kid, don’t come in here and say smooth like you’ve been saying that about steamed milk for the last 20 years.”
“How do you know it’s not ready?”
“I can hear it.”
“What’s it sound like?” I ask. He thinks I’m mocking.
“Squeal’s all wrong.”
“The squeal?”
“You’re not ready,” he says. “You’re not ready to learn. Come back in ten years when life’s had you by the nuts. Then maybe you’ll listen.”
“Don,” I said, my face as earnest as I could make it. “I’m ready now. Teach me.”
He crossed his arms and leaned into the counter. “Two espressos, a latte with skim, a bone-dry cappuccino, a breve, and a double-Americano. Repeat those back to me.”
“Two espressos, a latte with skim, a dry cappuccino, a breve, and a double-Americano.”
“No,” he says. “Maybe if you’d brought the apron.”
