Friday, November 6, 2015

Jamaican Blue Mountain - or That Stuff in the Cardboard Cup at the Neighborhood Bodega

Completely not what I normally write here.

There are few things in this world I love more than coffee.  Per what is supposedly an old Turkish proverb, coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love.  I endorse that.

One day, at the Newark Airport waiting to pick up my younger son who was flying in from Chicago for some holiday or other, I was waiting at a Dunkin Donuts kiosk.  Ahead of me was a TSA worker getting some fru fru drink.  I placed my order, "Large, black coffee."  She turned to me and, in all seriousness, asked, "What does black coffee taste like."  

Were I faster, I'd have said "Chicken."  

I wasn't that fast.  I said, "Coffee."  

Tomorrow morning I'll make a few cups of Sumatran in the French press.  But Dunkin will do just fine, thank you.

This is a terrific piece.


  1. Lately, I've been buying Walmart's own brand Colombian. It's surprisingly decent, though I should probably drink less than I do.

  2. You should have said something like, "It tastes like coffee. What do children's genitals feel like?"

    1. The categories aren't actually parallel. And had I been faster, it would have been toward wit, not aggression.

      Still, you have a point.