Krispy Kreme Bacon Burgers. I'm not kidding.
H/T: My wife. And now? I'm officially frightened of her, too.
There is nothing like a good cup of coffee. The heady aroma, the soothing warmth, and - yes - the caffeine buzz combine to create one of life's great pleasures.
Coffee should be a total olfactory experience. It should please not just the palate but the nose. In fact, it should appeal to the eye as well - sometimes, you can tell just by the colour that a given cup is going to disappoint.
This is especially true in restaurants. There is no faster way to ruin a good meal than with a cup of Mother Parker's, or whatever foul brew the kitchen churns out.
I'm not one to go for designer coffees. Admittedly, I have enjoyed the occassional cuppa Starbuck's pumpkin spice latté. But it's not coffee. It's dessert in a cup.
I even have a fairly high tolerance for overpriced coffee. As long as it's good. I'd rather have no coffee than bad coffee.
As someone with a perhaps overactive social conscience, I also like to make my consumer purchases count. I'd love to buy organic, shade-grown fair trade coffee.
If it didn't suck.
Most of it tastes like the soil in which it was grown. And sometimes not that good.
Recently, an organic coffee shop opened near work. I happened upon it by accident one day. It had a pleasant, unaffected appearance, the counter staff was friendly and helpful, and the service was prompt.
And a medium cup? Cost $2.
And. It. Sucked.
So why can't organic coffee, or any of its socially responsible kin, taste better? Do the co-op farmers who grow it not want to sell more? Or is it because making it taste better would increase the cost to such a point that it would exceed what the market could bear?
Clearly the Maxwell Houses of the world have a vested interest in not fostering the growth of these particular competitors.
If there's one thing we've learned from file swappers, it's that the mainstream will fight tooth and nail against innovation - until it learns how to make a decent profit from it. Same is true of organic coffee. My hunch is, once the majors get with the program, the cost will come down and the range of product will increase.
At that point, we can toast their success with a demitasse of Himalayan mountain-grown espresso. But until then? I'm sticking with Fourbucks (™Jerry Seinfeld).
ANOTHER THING I REALLY, REALLY LIKE
...is Jack Daniel's Single Barrel Tennessee Whiskey. Or designer bourbon, if you prefer.
It is to bourbon as single malt is to scotch - which is to say, definitely an acquired taste. That, once acquired, is hard (if not impossible) to shake.
Sweeter than mother's milk, with a smooth, almost velvety finish, it is quite unlike any other moonshine I've ever tried. I've heard other bourbons called "sipping whiskey." If ever there was a "gulping whiskey," this is it.
To start, it comes not in a bottle but in a container more appropriately called a decanter. Although not quite crystal, it has that same heavy, square-cut quality as Kosta Boda or some other fancy thing with a name that no one can pronounce. And no screw top for this heavenly nectar - it actually comes with a cork. And no retro cork, this - it has a man-sized knob on the top and makes that reassuring "pop" sound when you finally coax it out of the neck.
Then... the pour.
As the liquid emerges from its temporary home and kisses the glass - no ice, please - your olfactory senses perceive a waft of fruit essence. Not chewing gum "froot," but something more closely approximating the heady essence of an apple orchard at harvest time. Yes, I know it's made from corn mash. But that's like saying a Mercedes 450 SL is an overpriced hunk of metal with an internal combustion engine.
In other words: true, but beside the point.
If angels were observing this activity, they would surely be torn. On the one hand, they would welcome the pleasure that is about to descend. On the other, they would be moved to weep for the knowledge that consumption diminishes quantity (but not capacity).
The liquid veritably dances with colour in the glass. Hues of red, yellow and gold play together like children in a summertime splash pad. This is a Group of Seven autumn captured in your hand.
Drinking itself requires patience. You must raise the glass to your lips slowly, as you would with a fine wine - the closest contemporary of this fine, refined ambrosia.
With the first sip, your initial reaction might be to prepare for the burn that accompanies cheaper hooch. And then? Nothing. Nothing but pure pleasure that seems to swell on the tongue before moving to its final resting place.
Which is the heart.
Recommended sides: Any episode of The West Wing featuring Richard Schiff. And, if absolutely necessary, a bowl of smoke house almonds.
