The man ahead of me in the Starbucks queue the other day ordered something called a "tall, skinny latte, with an extra shot". Of course, they knew exactly what he meant. He was speaking their language, literally. But when it came to my turn I held my nerve and, as usual, asked for a "small black coffee", inviting the inevitable demands for clarification, writes Frank McNally
I know it's petty, but I am a Starbuck-speak refusenik. I like the cafés themselves. It's just that I draw the line at using a dialect in which sizes start at "tall" and work their way up. In any case, although the word "small" has no equivalent in American, the assistants usually pick up my meaning. It sometimes requires sign language and pointing, but eventually they give me a coffee in the least large mug available.
I sometimes wonder what would have happened if the English had not oppressed the American colonies with the tea tax and the East India Company monopoly, thereby provoking rebels to dump three ship-loads of tea into Boston Harbour - an event that in turn provoked the Coercive Acts and hastened the war of independence.
But they did, and that war began - 232 years ago today - with the battles of Lexington and Concord: the original "shot heard around the world". Although it was a different kind of shot he wanted, the man in front of me in the Starbucks queue was echoing that event. Because after the Boston Tea Party, drinking coffee became a patriotic duty for Americans, who would eventually spread their fervour to the rest of the planet.
Today, the revolution continues in Starbucks outlets and their imitators worldwide. You only have to look at the cafés' menu board to see the favoured status enjoyed by coffee and the contrasting marginalisation of that once-proud drink, tea.
Starbucks pours huge amounts of creative energy into its core product. From the chain's signature "frappuccino" to its caramel macchiato, coffee is fetishised in endless variations and seasonal specials. A crack author of romantic fiction could not compete with the genre's vocabulary of sexy adjectives, as consenting adult customers are tempted with such options as the "iced half-caf triple grande cinnamon non-fat whipped cream latte" and more.
Meanwhile, the beverage that finished on the revolution's losing side occupies a small isolation-cell area of the menu. Ask for a simple "tea" in Starbucks and they stigmatise you by not even requiring further information. They just give you a no-frills tea-bag in a mug of hot water. As you hand over €2-plus in return, you get an inkling of how the Boston colonists felt about the tax.
These days, the front line in the coffee wars is China. Like every other globalised brand, Starbucks is trying to break in there. And for once, success is not a foregone conclusion.
Facing the largest army of tea drinkers on the planet, Starbucks could have done what other brands do and adapt to local taste. In fact, competing tea-house chains are already springing up in China, using Starbucks-style décor but promoting the local product. It's a war for civilisation, in a way. If the forces of tea win in China, coffee may be forced into a global retreat. But for now, Starbucks is gambling that an affluent new generation there will equate coffee with progress and adapt accordingly.
That's what happened in Ireland, more or less. I could be wrong, but I'm fairly sure that coffee was unheard of in this country - certainly in the part where I grew up - until about 1975. Then, for a while, it became a mark of upward mobility. If you drank coffee, you probably had a bidet too. Gradually the practice gained such mass respectability that it no longer said anything about you, although even today it can have a certain macho cachet. Coffee drinkers are from Mars, mostly. Tea (and decaf frappuccino) drinkers are from Venus.
The truth is, I don't go to Starbucks for either. I don't even like coffee: it's just a joyless addiction, a fact underlined by the first cup each morning, which is always the day's best. For me, a good café is mainly a place to talk, or if you're on your own, to read.
Ideally your table should be beside a large window, through which you can gaze thoughtfully from time to time on to an interesting street scene. And although there's a lot to be said for silence, some tasteful jazz music in the background - at exactly the right volume - can also add to the experience. In such a scenario, the mug of coffee, half-drunk and going cold in front of you, is just your admission ticket.
It was the genius of the Starbucks founders that they managed to provide this ideal. Their big idea was that the café was a "third place" - a neutral refuge between office and home. Each outlet is supposed to look like an old-fashioned village store, with crowded shelves, chalk-written signs, and assistants in aprons. Compulsory fittings range from lounge furniture to high ceilings, and of course ubiquitous sockets for recharging phones and laptops.
The Starbucks approach to café design has raised the standard, even for Chinese teahouses. Unfortunately it is now under pressure from its own success.
Queues, partly caused by the ever-increasing complexity of coffee orders, are now the norm in the big outlets. Shareholder pressure to increase sales has seen more and more mediocre food added to the original concept. And with mobile telephony turning everywhere into the office, the "third place" risks losing its atmosphere. In a leaked internal memo, the Starbucks chairman recently lamented the tension between the chain's rapid expansion and its wish to continue acting like a small company. With 13,000 outlets and counting, you can see his problem.