Once you go black, you never go back.

July 11, 2011

I have recently come to the conclusion that I like my coffee black. (Excluding airplane, coffee-cart, and Pike Place coffee, which need to be nuked like no one’s business to be even remotely tolerable.)

At Irving 71, I usually get a little bit of skim. At Marsee where they make you pour milk by yourself I try to do skim; but always put too much in and it sours.  Soon after I came to the conclusion that straight black is my style, I realized that Marsee’s just makes terrible coffee. At Grey Dog, I usually get a little skim as well. One time I was at Blue Kangaroo and all they had was 1/2&1/2. I had recently come up with the idea that to avoid souring my joe with too much milk, I would pour a little into a spoon, and then dribble a little of that little into my coffee, and have the best of both worlds.

Let me just say, my dexterity is awful, and the poor baristas had to help me sop up a lake of cream. My Toddy was essentially white, and when I sat down to take a drink, the dread on my face was palpable. Like, people were stopping to ask me what was wrong. “I DIDN’T ORDER SNOW-JOE, I’M A FAILURE!” When I finally had worked up the courage to take a sip of my concoction, I was surprised. It tasted– like cream. Not sour milk, not half digestible coffee with a hint of something else. Just cream. I mean, the coffee was hiding in there somewhere, but it didn’t ruin my mouth like I’d expected.


It was a happy accident.

At Backspace the other day, they’d run out of plastic cups and poured my coffee in a paper one instead. I couldn’t find the milk table amidst the crowd of hipsters and overpriced art; so I took a sip without. BLISS, I TELL YOU. It was awesome! I think that’s when I realized I actually dislike any sort of foo-foo accoutrement in my java. It’s superfluous. I didn’t realize that I was in it for the aesthetic appeal of a more chocolate brown color. (#COOL STORY BRO.)

In a related, yet equally unimportant story, Peggy Lee and I have the same birthday.


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