The Brewing Of Lot 49


How did Los Angeles, that haven of low-culture and strip mall malaise beat us (San Francisco) to the punch with high-brow coffee? (I jest. L.A. is great if you want to buy human bone jewelry, guzzle incredible garlic sauce, and hang out with famous porn stars in a 24 hour Jewish deli.)

How did not one of the six new cafes that opened  last week on Valencia Street contain even a passing reference to Thomas Pynchon and his mythical post-bugle as featured in The Crying Of Lot 49? (A book that almost made snail mail cool again.)

Carolyn Kellogg ponders Pynchonian coffee without answering any of my questions.

Michael Berger is a barely-published writer and book-seller living in San Francisco. He is one of the founding Corsairs of the Iron Garters Bike Club and is currently pursuing a degree in applied pataphysics. He sometimes eats oatmeal for dinner. More from this author →