Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Speaking Starbucks

I don't like coffee. Never have unless you count my mammaw's, which was as sweet as southern sweet tea and about 75% milk. Ironically, growing up it was my job to make the coffee in the morning. Pretty simple task really. I used a percolator. Put water in the pot, coffee in the basket, and plug it in. Folger's was the brand of choice in the Pope household.

In the "olden days" people made their coffee at home. Picking up coffee on the way to work didn't happen often. When it did, it meant stopping in at the 7-Eleven and buying a cup that probably had been sitting there for a while. Strong stuff to be sure.

Knowing all this means you can understand how overwhelmed I feel in a Starbucks. What's a barista? (Italian for bartender) What size is venti, small...medium...large? Caramel, vanilla, mocha; dark roast, medium roast; Jamaica Blue Mountain, Panama Paso Ancho? Do I want a shot of something in my beverage? Do I want nonfat, whipped cream, an espresso, a latte? Evidently, you can even order hot drinks by temperature. All of this comes at you in rapid staccato at full volume with lots of impatient people waiting in line behind you. It makes me want to run screaming from the place.

Why go to Starbucks you ask. My daughter lives in Seattle and has bought into the local trend that you must go into a Starbucks at least once a day, so we go there often when I visit. Ironically, she also doesn't like coffee. But evidently you can still be a true Seattleite if you have tea or raspberry hot chocolate in your Starbucks cup. She is so patient to walk me through everything each time we go in. Last week, I did it all by myself--a tall, nonfat hot chocolate with a shot of raspberry, hold the whipped cream! She was so proud.

Wait! Wasn't it just yesterday that I heard, "my do it, mommy," and was so proud when she got the hang of drinking from a sippy cup?