Starbucks Series: Southern California

Starbucks I’ve Known: Orange County

The Starbucks in parts of southern California are in a completely differently galaxy from those on the east coast. In truth, the whole area near the southern border seems to comprise an alternate, somewhat distant corner of the Milky Way.

There is a strangeness to the southern California landscape, and by extension, to its everyday living. Most businesses are located in one of a zillion malls that dot the desert- some of which are themed like tacky Disney parks. But once in a while you may happen upon the remnants of a faux western town, a place that actually served as a sort of outpost for the no-there-there crowd, but has long since been converted into a strip of souvenir shops. The shops feature random “antiques” sitting in the windows, like an old Schwinn bike, or a typewriter, perhaps a jar of Ovaltine, all intended to lure you into buying some jelly beans, a funny greeting card, who knows what.

In such a town you cannot purchase groceries but there are a couple of sidewalks, a few restaurants, and also several pizza places- usually part of a chain- that specialize in tasteless, cardboard crust and a variety of unlikely toppings that really do not go with pizza, even fake pizza; and yet these places always seem insanely busy and crowded. In addition, there will be a simulacrum of an “old fashioned ice cream parlor” with cracked, red vinyl booths, possibly a juke box and/or a gum ball machine. There could very well be a college nearby and of course a Starbucks; sometimes you will find even two within the few blocks that comprise “the town.”

The plastic, shrink wrapped Starbucks brownies turn out to be ambrosia of the gods next to the stale little hunks of concrete in the old fashioned ice cream parlor. The Starbucks is not the only place to get coffee. The other lone option is an egregiously pretentiousoverly overpriced, teeny-tiny, hole in the wall of a trendy, gourmet coffee shop, with hand polished beans that promise brewed nirvana straight from the jungles of Coffee Exotica Heaven and can deliver this.  But there is no place for you to sit and quietly drink your mocha latte Americano- only a couple of uncomfortable, rock hard bench-like things, though I did have an unbelievable thing called "flat brown." So the Starbucks is where many people go.

And it is there, in one of those two somewhat disparate representatives of the chain- though each with the comforting familiarity and aroma of hot, bitter coffee wafting through the place- that you just may find yourself rubbing elbows with tourists, retired locals and the occasional homeless person, or, depending on which place you choose, Young Republicans.

You know they exist, sometimes In profusion out there, although many of them, being young,  are not yet completely cognizant of their assigned place in the universe of realpolitik; they would prefer to perceive themselves as cool millennials. They also tend to lean toward the candy store Starbucks.

So having tried the more “traditional” Starbucks in town, the one so cleverly embedded in the lobby of the old bank building and peopled mainly by local semi-retirees and tourists, I finally opted for the smaller, more kitschy café, the one that is brighter and feels like a candy store. Actually, it is quite near to the more serious bank Starbucks, but I did not feel like crossing the street as I had finally succumbed to the lethargy of way too much happy ultra violet and was in dire need of a cappuccino with a double shot of espresso. And maybe some irony too. 

It’s usually quite warm or incredibly hot in southern California, so it was no surprise to find the only other customer a student from the nearby college who seemed to be channeling mid-century modern in some way. She was wearing pink California-colored shorts and a school t-shirt. From the little, rather tres chic bag on her shoulder, a beaded accessory in a style a tad formal and incongruous to the casual beach attire- as if she couldn’t decide whether she was a student or a debutante- she proceeded to extract a small, gold rimmed compact- yes, a compact with a powder puff, a la the 1940’s.   She then did what one would expect with a little gold compact (even if you have only seen this in the movies)-  she dabbed her face in the little mirror, checked her lipstick and fluffed out her blond hair. 

This happened in a Starbucks in southern California. She snapped the compact shut and neatly replaced it in the little bag before digging into the grande-mocha-double-frappucino-lattecino with a sprinkle of M&Ms, lots of froth and a few generous dollops of mindless optimism.

(Next week, The Outer Borough Starbucks. . . .)