A coffee conversion
For someone who drinks as much coffee as I do, I can’t say it’s something I really love all that much. In fact, coffee is to me what sex with a fan is to a rock star: run-of-the-mill, compulsive, expected and more unthinking habit than anything else.
And then yesterday at Sprout’s I (compulsively) grabbed a cup of their free sample… and instantly saw the culinary skies open to a Choir of Baristas. It was this coffee. It was so good that during one of my X number of trips back for a refill (I honestly lost count, but even if I didn’t, I’d be too embarrassed to admit how many times I refilled my little sample cup), I even skipped sugar and cream.
Considering that, in my universe, the only REAL point to coffee is as a vehicle for (and an excuse to drink!) cream, that’s saying a lot. The coffee wasn’t in my budget this week, but I grabbed a picture of it so I’d remember what it was called. In the meantime, I’ll have to be content with longing dreams of it’s friggin’ amazing taste.
