A Grain of Salt

Why Hath Thou Forsaken Me?

I really like yogurt.  It's my breakfast / snack of choice.  I've always enjoyed Dannon most.  probably because it was the family brand.  My parents' friend actually worked for Dannon also, so  we all sorts of Dannon paraphenalia in the house - spare boxes, workshirts, etc.  I also liked Dannon's flavors best. 

I don't like overly sweet things, so the Dannon coffee yogurt was my choice.   No other coffee yogurt really came close - usually people need to sweeten it with to make some kind of some mochachino machismo.   Cherry yogurt was a distanct second when I was younger now it's vanilla because it's less gooey.  I still like cherry though. 

My faith in Dannon is being tested mightily

First, the bizarre decision to cut two ounces out of the standard size, making the 6 oz a standard.  Hardly a breakfast anymore, it barely suffices as a snack.  Two ozs make a difference just ask ___ (insert drug-addled celebrity or reference here).    I wrote an angry letter - no response.  Colombo made its brand identity (33% more than Dannon!) based on the demise of the Dannon 8.

[Unrelated note: yogurt portions seem generally smaller in the UK.  Yet, Greek yogurt seems to be sold in bigger servings here in the US.  Why?!?]

Second, more recently, I have found it increasingly difficult to find my coffee yogurt. It was never that easy to get one, but now it's become virtually extinct near my office.   Where has it gone? 

Give me back my yogurt, bastards! 

Phil's Coffee, San Francisco

Catherine here, with a double posting. First up, Phil's coffee, in Gateway market on 24th and Folsom in San Francisco. I went there, on the recommendation of Salt contributor Andy Gass (one half of the acclaimed musical duo, the Jew-grass Boys) and oh boy, was it good. Phil's like a doctor, writing out prescriptions for people's morning caffeine depending on their moods and personalities. "Sometimes I just know," he told me, when I asked him how he decided whether a customer should have, say, the Ether blend or his signature Tesora (that's Italian for treasure). "I can feel it."

For me, he chose Tesora, a large, with a splash of his signature heavy cream. "I touch it with love and passion," he told me about the cream as he grabbed a half gallon carton, held it closed with his fingers and shook it.  He added it to my coffee--which he brews by the cup, not pot. He sprinkled in a packet of Splenda (I'm diabetic, yo), tossed in a sprig of mint, and "flipped" the coffee--that is, stirred it with an up-down motion until it achieved the perfect color (what he described as resembling "a brown paper bag" and, in a more poetic moment, "the color of the desert").

It was like, ridiculous how nice and friendly Phil was to his customers, and vice versa. One woman had brought her parents in from Ohio to try his coffee. Another had come directly from the airport to Phil's. "I just talked to some friends on the phone," he told me. "They said, 'What are you doing?' and I said, 'I'm having the best cup of coffee in the world and I'll see you in an hour.'" One guy even demonstrated his affection for Phil by doing yo-yo tricks.

But the Phil's experience was perhaps best summarized by the aforementioned Andy, who said that on a recent weekday morning, he overheard the following exchange:

CUSTOMER: This is an amazing cup of coffee.

PHIL: I know. I make love to it.

Check it out.