The Froth Report, and other 50s memories

THE 1950s saw a bohemian revival of coffee bars where philosophy, jazz and the beat movement of Kerouac and Ginsberg were held in high regard, then eased into rock and roll culture as places where aspiring guitar heroes could perform.

The dominating coffee machine of chrome and glass, that hissed and steamed angrily like Stephenson’s Rocket behind a high counter, became part of teenage life. It produced a classic espresso or cappuccino with ease, not that many of the customers would have known the difference between a good or bad brew.

A frothy coffee was exotic 60 years ago and the names of the machines such as Gaggia evoked Italy and enticed a continental drift that had yet to start with package holidays.

Coffee bars had jukeboxes that charged a thruppeny bit to play a record or five plays for a shilling (the equivalent of 5p). Many evolved into live music venues like The Cavern in Liverpool and The Catacombs in Huddersfield where drinks were soft or frothy.

One of the trailblazers was the famous 2i’s Coffee Bar in Soho where a pal and I had the dubious privilege of being served by Wee Willie Harris himself, one of the shooting stars of rock and roll, who sported green hair and spoiled the ambience by feeding the jukebox to put his own record on a mindbending loop. Let’s be fair, he was never very good.

We made our excuses and left and that was about the same time that my coffee bar days morphed into a preference for pubs and beer, and gigs began being played on licensed premises.

I rediscovered the delights of cappuccino in Starbucks in America many years later and have even been served by topless lady baristas at a roadside coffee shack on the outskirts of Seattle. I admit I didn’t just go for the coffee, which was great, but out of curiosity at a West Coast phenomena about which I could write, but found I didn’t know where to look and over-tipped in embarrassment.

On home soil, I have been restricted to getting my favourite caffeine fix in coffee shops, which is inconvenient and infrequent. Until the current lockdown, that is. A nearby cafe in the village supplies a delicious take-away cappuccino and has revived my fervour for the drink, but is too close for fiscal sense: it’s costing me a fortune.

So I looked online at the possibility of buying my own machine and found that one with all the essential