Coffee and I do not get along.
It took me years of trial and error to discover that I like my hot coffee much like I like my hot tea: Black with a shot of sugar. I always thought I would like coffee with milk or cream, like a coffee shake. (Apologies to those of you outside of New England who have zero idea what a coffee shake might be.) Mostly, though, I stay far, far away from hot coffee.
On the flipside, when I see people add milk to hot tea, it turns my stomach. Why in the name of Lady Gray would you ever ruin a decent cup of tea with dairy products? What in the wide, wide world of tea leaves would possess anyone to commit such a treasonous, heathen act? Tea should be served neat with a dollop of local honey stirred into it. If honey is unavailable, then the first thing you do is look down your nose at your hosts. The second thing you do is demand to see the sugar jar. Iced tea is for Southerners and large front porches, both of which I sorely lack, therefore I don't drink the stuff unless my hot tea goes cold.
Iced coffee is a year-round staple. Again, apologies to anyone outside of New England who doesn't understand that when it is 10 degrees below zero with a wind chill of -60 degrees and the snot is frozen in your scarf-covered nose and you haven't had feeling in your fingers or toes since October, the only sane drink is a tall iced coffee with a shot of extra ice. Iced coffee is the sole time anything remotely dairy should be added, and I lean toward caramel cream.
That being said, I really am a hot tea drinker. Every once in a while, though, I get to jonesing for an iced coffee. And by "jonesing," I mean that if I don't have it instantly, heads are going to roll and the entire day will end in ruins. This is when coffee teases me most.
A Monday or two ago, I made myself an iced coffee. Just a wee one, though, because I knew I'd be having tea later at my desk. I mixed it up just the way I like it -- 2/3 coffee, 1/3 creamer, and a decent spoonful of sugar. Top that with more ice than a frozen margarita, and life is perfect. Perfect, until I dump the entire contents of the cup all over my desk, laptop, and onto the floor.
Coffee down!
I try the same on Friday of this week. I mix the coffee exactly the way I like it, drive to work, walk in with a colleague, shuffle through the long hallways to my classroom, and . . .
Where's my iced coffee?
Luckily for all people involved in my day - meetings and classes alike - the coffee is in my car and not on my kitchen counter. I trudge back outside, backpack still on, ignoring people who wonder where I am going.
Is everything all right? Are you leaving? What happened?
Coffee happened.
One of these good, fine days I might learn my lesson. I should stick to my cup of hot tea and stop trying to pose as a crossover drinker. If I know me, and I do know me, this strategy will work for a couple of weeks. Then, without warning, I'll be jonesing for iced coffee again because, hey, when it comes right down to it, I am a born-and-bred New Englander.
