Alas, there is nothing to do but tell you that I was once a very sweet, kind, caring person (for the most part...we all have our moments). So amiable and benevolent, in fact, that I deemed it my duty to be philanthropic. At the tender age of fifteen, I gave up my Saturday’s to volunteer at my local hospital.
Yes, I would wake up at 8:30 every Saturday morning and be dropped off at the Gazebo Gift Shop where I worked the morning shift. While my peers slept the day away, I chatted amicably with my "coworkers" - women old enough to be my grandmother. And because these elderly women weren’t too quick on their feet, it fell upon me to run the snack counter in the back of the shop.
It was there, in the Gazebo Gift Shop at Sharon Hospital (over ten years ago, gah!) that I had my first encounter with coffee snobbery.
The kitchen at the gift shop was certainly no great shakes. We had the standards: bagels, sandwiches, muffins, juice…and java. I made one pot each of regular and decaf, then poured the brew into thermoses. And these thermoses lasted pretty much the whole day.
It was there, in the Gazebo Gift Shop at Sharon Hospital (over ten years ago, gah!) that I had my first encounter with coffee snobbery.
The kitchen at the gift shop was certainly no great shakes. We had the standards: bagels, sandwiches, muffins, juice…and java. I made one pot each of regular and decaf, then poured the brew into thermoses. And these thermoses lasted pretty much the whole day.
One day, just before my shift was over, a woman asked for a cup of coffee. She wanted to know how long it’d been sitting there and I shrugged. Seriously? Coffee was coffee, after all. I handed it to her, she walked away, sipped, and marched right back, demanding I make a new pot. The nerve! Begrudgingly I did so. And now I understand why.
Knowing what I know now, it’s hard to believe that was ever so naïve about a cup of café.
My relationship with joe really took off when I started high school. I’d make Dunkin’s Hazelnut at home and add International’s French Vanilla creamer. Delish! We’ve been pretty serious since then. But I, unfortunately, have become that woman in the Gazebo Gift Shop demanding fresh coffee.
OK, well not demanding. Never demanding. But most sheepishly, passive aggressively trying to get the freshest pot, for sure. I even let people go in front of me if I see that the pot it almost at bare bottom. Because there is nothing worse than old coffee, I tell ya. Nothing. (Alright, well perhaps going to the corner bodega at 3am to find they ran out of Snickers Ice Cream bars is worse.)
For reals, though, freshly brewed coffee is…there are no words. It’s splendiferously smile inducing. Love, love, love it!
By the same token, stale, bitter, burnt java is ferooooociously frown inducing. Hate, hate, hate it. Ruins my whole day. Awful! And Dunkin’s is by far the most absurd, obscene culprit of them all. I don’t understand how they get away with serving customers that watery brown sludge. It tastes like burning toxicity. Like you’re drinking poison. Oh, I’m sorry, do you have a tube running from the bathroom? Probably.
I find that the sludgiest Dunkin coffee comes from the vats. Sure, sure, this is New York City and they do get slammed with out-the-door lines every morning. But why can’t they simply make pots instead of putting it in those thermos-like vats? Trust me, I wouldn’t go to DD’s if it weren’t for their hazelnut and French vanilla hot coffee and their coconut (don’t judge) iced coffee - I hate how Starb’s has only the flavor pumps. They jade the coffee flavor even further.
Dunkin and their stale vats of dirty, flavored water aren't singularly guilty, though. Practically every coffee shop, diner, restaurant, and cart is culpable of serving burnt coffee. They all leave pots on the warmers, sizzling and frying away. Boiling and thickening down to a sepia colored slop.
My relationship with joe really took off when I started high school. I’d make Dunkin’s Hazelnut at home and add International’s French Vanilla creamer. Delish! We’ve been pretty serious since then. But I, unfortunately, have become that woman in the Gazebo Gift Shop demanding fresh coffee.OK, well not demanding. Never demanding. But most sheepishly, passive aggressively trying to get the freshest pot, for sure. I even let people go in front of me if I see that the pot it almost at bare bottom. Because there is nothing worse than old coffee, I tell ya. Nothing. (Alright, well perhaps going to the corner bodega at 3am to find they ran out of Snickers Ice Cream bars is worse.)
For reals, though, freshly brewed coffee is…there are no words. It’s splendiferously smile inducing. Love, love, love it!
By the same token, stale, bitter, burnt java is ferooooociously frown inducing. Hate, hate, hate it. Ruins my whole day. Awful! And Dunkin’s is by far the most absurd, obscene culprit of them all. I don’t understand how they get away with serving customers that watery brown sludge. It tastes like burning toxicity. Like you’re drinking poison. Oh, I’m sorry, do you have a tube running from the bathroom? Probably.
I find that the sludgiest Dunkin coffee comes from the vats. Sure, sure, this is New York City and they do get slammed with out-the-door lines every morning. But why can’t they simply make pots instead of putting it in those thermos-like vats? Trust me, I wouldn’t go to DD’s if it weren’t for their hazelnut and French vanilla hot coffee and their coconut (don’t judge) iced coffee - I hate how Starb’s has only the flavor pumps. They jade the coffee flavor even further.Dunkin and their stale vats of dirty, flavored water aren't singularly guilty, though. Practically every coffee shop, diner, restaurant, and cart is culpable of serving burnt coffee. They all leave pots on the warmers, sizzling and frying away. Boiling and thickening down to a sepia colored slop.
All decoction delinquents - stale, bitter, and burnt - are equally virulent. They all leave a coating on my tongue, a burning in my throat, and give me a very acute case of heartburn.
Even though I detest every sip of mutilated java, I haven't the heart to dump it down the drain. Nor can I demand a fresh pot - scarred as I am by that woman demanding one of me when I was but fifteen years old.
Even though I detest every sip of mutilated java, I haven't the heart to dump it down the drain. Nor can I demand a fresh pot - scarred as I am by that woman demanding one of me when I was but fifteen years old.
So I beg thee, dearest coffee shops: make a fresh pot. If the consistency of the coffee is turning to stale sludge, if it has been boiling on the burner for far too long, please. Please just make a fresh pot.
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