Only my fourth post, and this one is going to be about coffee again. At this point, that makes this blog 50% caffeine. Just like me.
I'm currently in Paris for a month to study French, and I've just spent the last two weeks in England visiting family and sightseeing. This has me contemplating the cross-cultural natures of the caffeine beast. It's inevitable that, if I spend any amount of time in a country, at some point I'm going to try the coffee. And from country to country, what is considered the norm varies greatly. I find the coffee in Italy to be strong and bitter, in Bali it was dubious. It America it was frequently burnt, but Starbucks offered a form of consistency I came to crave, though they considered a cappuccino a specialty coffee in many cities, and looked at me like I was some kind of racist when I asked for a white coffee at the Smithsonian. A hasty explanation of opposites - black coffee, white coffee - averted further drama there...
When it comes to coffee, the English really know their tea. That's not to say I've never had a good coffee in England, and I am forever pining for an AMT Chai Steamer. That said, the coffee has a tendency to be extremely milky, with a definite lack of oh, I don't know, COFFEE. And I became one of Those People last time I went to Starbucks at Paddington station. I was nearing the end one of the most hellish journeys, having left Australia Wednesday morning and finally arrived in London Friday evening, minus luggage and plus a large sleep debt. But that's another story...
We'd missed out train, and had to wait an hour for the next one out to my relatives' home in the west. To fill some time and, just because we could, we decided to get coffee from Starbucks.
This was a Mistake.
The thing I like about Starbucks it its consistency from country to country. In general, you can rely on it to be entirely drinkable. I've indulged in many a takeaway coffee from there to enjoy on the hour long train ride home. This time, traveling with a friend, I decided to take him to get a coffee in order to share in this joyful experience I'd enjoyed so many times.
And they embarrassed me utterly.
The coffee was burnt, and ironically lacking in milk given English tendency towards milkiness. I hate being one of those people who complain about service, and was really reluctant to say anything, but, with a bit of prodding from my friend, went up to make an ever-so-British complaint; "er, sorry to bother you, but the coffee is a tad burnt and, I mean, surely there must be some mistake on my part - I'm sure..." My stammered and somewhat vanilla epithet was met with horror and two new coffees were made. I was also presented with two coupons for free coffees on my next visit.
Somewhat horrified at myself, I accepted the freshly made new coffees and headed back to my friend so we could sample these made-to-order perfections.
They were burnt too. Worse, in fact.
But enough vanilla and cinnamon can hide a lot of sins. And I Just Couldn't go back Again...
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