Starbucks

I suppose living in Colombia spoiled me. It developed my coffee tastebuds and fulfilled my need for a good fuel-driven caffeine beverage. So, when I arrived in Korea I was less than impressed by the dirty water they served with such pride called "coppee". It wasn't even mud. I could have handled mud, but not a soup. I scoffed at the idea of drinking that horrible liquid for the next six weeks, and thus my mission began.

Even upon my return to Canada, Starbucks couldn't compare with Colombian coffee, but here in Korea, it is heaven-sent. I found a Starbucks in Seoul and felt like I should fall down upon my knees at the door of the coffee temple. I placed my order of an Americano and the barrista started to walk over to the prebrewed machines. I cringed. "No...this machine," I said pointing frantically to the espresso machine. She understood and I breathed a sigh of relief. She then looked at me, "cold coffee?" Oh my god, please don't mess with coffee in this way. I want it hot, I want it to burn my tastebuds so I can tolerate the crap you serve in this country, I want it to burn the whole way down. "No, hot." The barrista smiled and started to make my coffee. I sighed and took my Americano outside, holding the cup and its precious contents to the street to sip and watch life go by.