A hot cup of snobbery

Have you ever thought about your taste in coffee? Probably not much, but consider now what kind of coffee you order and whether you can actually tell the difference between different shops, or indeed between the heavy handed descriptions of the rainforest the beans were loving ripped from? Even if you think you are in fact a Baristafficionadette (add it to your dictionary, judgemental bastard) and accept your caffeine habit confidently in good humour, I think it’s still possible to be surprised by how much a snooty culture can sink into your personality without you realising it.

I happened upon my snootier side after arriving in a new country, thinking that pretty much everything would be culturally the same in this modern world of ours. I was wrong. The whole place seemed to sell this brown stuff with pond scum on top that it was calling cappuccino. Prior to arriving I had heard rumours but I thought they were exaggerated. I thought, “This can’t be true” and laughed it off as the boring and snooty judgements of smarmy Australians who think too highly of themselves. Naturally though, my true colours would be revealed as I sipped my first British mud-bean-brew. I started to morph; my face was overcome by a ratty beard, my top button inexplicably did itself up with no tie to cover it, my pants became skinny and my perfect eyesight wanted framing. After I’d stopped wincing at that “coffee” in England I saw myself for what I truly was, the scum on top of that British cappuccino. I was a snooty arse wannabe hipster.

This was a shocking revelation to me. I had taken such care to avoid becoming such a lowly form of life and yet I had still failed horribly. How could this have happened, did I really have this little control over my life? This of course beggared another question. Am I still changing? As I write this down I’ll have had about my 8th daily cup of delicious tea on a saucer, so the answer is yes. For the weak minded, like myself, the world around you will influence you quickly, bend your mind, make you say “move along, move along.” This will happen without your knowledge whether you work for worthwhile experiences to change yourself by or not. So sitting around and thinking “I’ll never become a coffee snooting hipster!” while chugging back another latte out of a Toby jug on Lonsdale St will certainly not do anything toward that end.

Now I am a tea drinking coffee snob in a land without my now precious distilled rainforest injustice elixir. I shall soon be wearing a top hat and wonky teeth! I imagine that if I were to travel somewhere with decent coffee, like Italy for instance, It would go something like this;

IMG_1898[1]

I actually drew this terrible cartoon on the back of an envelope, proving that I have no personality.

The truth of the matter is of course that if you worry much about how the things in and around your life are molding you as a person then you will miss out on actually experiencing your life. Everyone is molded by whatever experiences they have and worrying about it is just another fear standing in the way of your pursuing what you want in life.

Lol, I totally made you think this article had a serious side didn’t I. Well joke’s on you. I just write bad jokes. Why don’t you critique my lack of confidence over a macchiato.

-W

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3 thoughts on “A hot cup of snobbery

  1. If my meal is a disappointment, I’ll just grit my teeth and clean my plate as I’ve been taught to do. But beware, baristas, if you bring me my coffee leukwarm. I like my coffee extra hot, that’s about as snobby as I can get.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Ah yes, the classic hot coffee snob. You are the kind of person the Barista truly fears. When a clammy waiter, as pale as a ghost, runs up to tell them “they want it heaps hotter Miss, you gotta make the coffee hotter eh.”

      The Barista trembles. Now they have to push their skills to the edge, heating the drink further and further, wailing “but ze milk! It iz BURNING!!!”

      You see, the true price for your desired cuppa is the fear inspired in its maker. Like a roman emperor you assign them their gladiatorial task and sit back, waiting to be entertained. Welcome to the high society of coffee snobs Marymtf ;D

      Like

  2. I’m not a coffee snob mself (except I like it strong, anything else can be fixed with milk and sugar) and I think I’m that way because of the years of trauma caused by the grand dame of coffee snobbery, my dearest Mama. If she deigns to order a cappuccino (which she generally refers to as a crappuccino), once it’s delivered to the table she’ll get her spoon and part the froth from the side of the cup rim to inspect the coffee and “see whether the tide is out”, which is usually is (meaning not enough coffee and too much froth) or “if the cow was busting” (meaning too much milk to the coffee ratio). She never orders a latte because she sarcastically “likes a bit of coffee with her milk”. She too is an extra hot kinda gal and will always, ALWAYS send a coffee back until they get it juuuuuust mouth scaldingly right. These days her order for coffee is a strong long black with a little jug of froth milk on the side so that she can pour just the right amount of milk and froth to her liking because the “imbecilaristas” just can’t get it right. Years of trauma I tells ya…

    Liked by 1 person

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