This could be the time to mention that I don’t drink coffee, and that one of my favorite books is Mark Helprin’s “Memoir from an Antproof Case” – which is about a man who is (legitimately) psychopathic about coffee.
And coffee, of course, a drug, a filthy, malodorous poison and entirely destructive addiction, has vanquished the human soul, spoiled innocence, and destroyed childhood. It is virtually omnipotent: I have never convinced anyone, no even one person, not to drink it.
Even in the face of this, I grind beans and make coffee for TG in the morning (Peet’s French Roast). And Starbucks makes rocking hot cocoa – I order a “nonfat, no-whip, no vanilla” – try it, you’ll like it. So I’m – sadly – a victim of coffee culture too. Which means I’ll have to read the blog – and you should, too.