“I’ll have a grande iced coffee, sweetened with two pumps caramel, one pump Chai, room for cream.”
That’s not coffee, that’s desert. A sugary, milky desert, crème brulee in liquid form. It’s no wonder Americans are fat and getting fatter. The amount of empty calories consumed in a quick Starbucks, Caribou or local mud house run are astronomical.
And when it comes to Joe, I'm a superfreak.
If studied in a chemical lab, science may determine I'm composed of approximately 10% coffee, the rest bone and muscle and fat. I love coffee. A hot and steamy mug to burn off a morning hangover, foamy latte with a whisper of nutmeg or the sweaty grip of an iced coffee in summer. But I want coffee, no macchiato-with-whip-cherry-on-top. Toppings on coffee? Toppings piled so high they require a specially engineered dome lid? The latte is my “fancy” and always with soy milk. Often it’s a meal, grabbed and consumed while running errands of after the gym, a late morning belly filler and breakfast replacement. Iced coffee I splash with cream, turning it a light mocha color, sort of the brown to toffee Beyonce sports via airbrushing in those controversial new L’Oreal ads.