My dad is quite the guy. He served quite a few years in the Army, and was used to some incredibly bad coffee. But apparently Starbucks somehow broke him. The last time he visited us in New York, he grabbed some coffee while we were shopping and couldn’t even get half the cup down.
In typical fashion, he grimaced and said something along the lines of “I had to drink pure chicory that was boiled for three days when we were at bivouac, and that tasted better than this crap. This isn’t coffee. It’s molten tar mixed with fake sugar or something. I think I could put black tar opium through a filter and get a better cup of joe.”
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