Remember Ally McBeal with the cappuccino cup where we were taught how to make love to coffee and enjoy the experience? Well, I had the exact opposite experience yesterday, I wanted to dump my coffee and banish it from the earth forever and forget it ever happened. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
It all started when I met a beautiful swedish girl for dinner. Let's call her, say, Gabrielle. We met at Cofi 11, and after scanning through the menu, I discovered something called strawberry flavored coffee. Out of sheer curiosity (and most of you know, I ain't that curious in life in general) and feeling bold and confident, I ordered this concoction.
When I finally received the mug of coffee, it looked strange, with pink dots on top and on the bottom. Gabrielle took a picture of me and the mug, and then I took one of her and the mug. The conclusion as you can see from the pictures is that to sell coffee, you need someone like a beautiful swede, rather than an unshaven Bangladeshi.
Here's another proof of the pinkness of the coffee.
Besides being lactose intolerant, I have a tremendous aversion to cream floating on top of milk. This is the icky substance that still brings shudders to my childhood memories when we were forcefed glasses of milk.
I eventually conquered my fear, and decided that leaving this spoonful of crap would ruin my evening, so I swallowed it, for old times sake.It tasted as bad as I remembered it from 20 years ago. I think I'll stick to my raspberry sorbet at MoveNPick.
