Speak: friend—and enter.
This shop is an old, retro ice cream parlor that has been held hostage by upper middle class friendly people. Dawn sprinkles tangerine rays across the black and white aesthetics as children choose from a selection of pastries. I stand behind them, studiously, in my heavy robes and silly hat and wait my turn to invoke my order: a large, iced americano with an extra shot if possible.
At first sniff I do not get much information. Certainly there are no off notes—no burning, no cardboard, no warnings from my nostrils that tell me not to proceed. It is a clean, coffee scent that feels laboratorial. This coffee touched test tubes.
Coffees are like castles and this one has far too many servants with too few things to do. They spend all day bleaching clay floors and airing out the funk. No matter their fervency for cleanliness, though, I get a whisper from outside… an herb garden with sage and rosemary flit by before I’m confronted with porcelain and glass.
| Aroma | 3.2 |
| Taste | 3.9 |
| Ethos | 3.0 |
| Arcana | 3.6 |
This is a very good cup of coffee. It won’t change your understanding of the unknown, but it will not hurt you. Often that is all one needs.