Why does Starbucks call its coffee sizes short, tall, grande, and venti? What happened to small, medium, large, etc.?
A big Fat Man.
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Why indeed? For centuries, we've had perfectly good words for this. I would hazard that every speaker of English, by the age of 5, has a sound command of the concepts "small," "medium," and "large." (If for some reason you don't, write in and we'll give you a free T-shirt—though, obviously, we can't guarantee it'll fit.)
Granted, things become a tiny bit hazier if a size beyond large is available; though usually this size is known as "extra-large," occasionally one does find variants such as "jumbo," "super-size," and—the mind recoils—"biggie." Even so, one would still have to be pretty fat-witted with drinking of old sack to be confounded by any of these terms.
But pretend for a moment (if you can; I realize it's like trying to imagine what it would be like to be an asteroid) that you've never been to a Starbucks. Quick—which is bigger, tall or grande? Grande or venti? "Short" probably means "small"—but "tall" and "grande" are completely synonymous, and "venti" doesn't mean anything at all unless you happen to speak Italian.
If you absolutely must be pretentious, put them all in Italian—piccolo, media, grande, molto grande. But don't come at us with this idiotic mishmash of English, Italian, and what I strongly suspect they considered at the time to be Spanish. It's an affront to reason—not merely a conflation of languages, but a conflation of adjectives with numbers as well. (Venti means, simply, 20, which is how many ounces Starbucks' extra-large coffee contains.) Better they should print their menu in Esperanto; at least it would be all of a piece.
How does Starbucks explain their decision to unilaterally change the English language? Hard to say—I called them up to ask, but since I was using a new language I just made up myself in which "May I please speak to your media relations department" is pronounced "Se habla wienerschniztel wampum a la mode," I couldn't get through.
I can only assume that, wired to the gills on their own product, they convinced themselves that, somehow, their 16-ounce coffee contained 16 ounces to a greater degree than other coffee shops' 16-ounce coffee and deserved to be honored for such a distinction with a unique name.
Think about that. They're not just saying that their coffee is better—they appear to contend that the specific fluid volume of coffee (say, 12 ounces) they're serving you is somehow brand-distinguishable from other 12-ounce servings. It's like saying a pound of feathers is heavier than a pound of lead. "Our 12 ounces is better than your 12 ounces. It's 12-ouncier!"
Come on, Howard Schultz; I know you're out there. I'm calling you out. Defend, if you can, this vile and baseless assault on the language with which I make what I laughingly call my living. And remember: If my body turns up at the bottom of Puget Sound handcuffed to that of Juan Valdez, the SPD will know where to start the investigation.
Are there any dishes unique to Seattle?
Eating My Way to Civic Pride
Philadelphia has its scrapple, New Orleans has its oysters Rockefeller, and my hometown of St. Louis has its—well, I can't remember what it's called, but I know that it involves a fried egg with chili on it. (And no, I'm not making that up. Even there, it's not too popular.)
I would like very much to believe there is a sandwich, sometimes known as "the Fat Man," which is unique at least to the Northwest region (it's been spotted in Portland as well), partly because I want to claim it for my own and partly because I think it would be unwise to allow it to spread.
In case you're not familiar with the Fat Man (you don't see it too often anymore), it's a cheeseburger featuring, in addition to the standard lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickle: bacon, a slice of ham, a fried egg, and possibly a few other things as well. I have a friend who swears he's been to a place where they put a hot dog on it. Reports of Fat Man sandwiches additionally topped with chicken legs, slices of pizza, or another, smaller, hamburger could not be confirmed at press time.
Anyway, I'm probably dreaming; I'm sure the Fat Man originated in Perth Amboy, N.J., or some other faraway clime. So I leave it to you, dear readers—I understand that upwards of 3 percent of you were actually born in Seattle and may recall some little-remembered native dish that my researches failed to turn up. So go to it: We'll give $10,000 (or more likely a logo pen, depending upon how we're feeling that day) to the reader who comes up with the best example of something no one else in the country besides us is willing to eat.
Wondering what's up with your wife and the pool boy? Write askmaster@seattleweekly.com or Ask Master, Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western Ave., Suite 300, Seattle, WA, 98104.
