Shortly after I met Guido I used to go regularly to his café to lust over his Rocky Road Cheesecake. I’d have these insane thoughts. Like imagining what he would look like frying an egg without any clothes on. Or having him smother me all over in goose fat with the rough palms of his big hairy hands. If you ever start dating a hot guy who just happens to own a café then I cannot recommend the latter activity highly enough. It’s a terrifc boost for the endorphins. Particularly on cold Mondays.
Guido would wander over to my table with his notepad and pen to take my order. He’d ask me if I’d like a coffee and I’d say yes and he’d ask me how I’d like it.
“White,” I’d say.
“Yes but how would you like it?” he’d ask. I never had a clue what he was going on about. I’d wonder if he was secretly trying to send me some sort of subliminal coded message. Like, let’s go immediately upstairs to the loft and have incredible sex.
“The usual cup of warm brown water with white stuff poured in it, please,” I’d say. He’d shake his head and look at me as if I was nuts but somehow managed to make it just the way I liked it.
I only ever remember coffee being one of two things. It was white, or black. Then along comes some bright spark who dreams up the word frappucino and all hell breaks loose. Nowadays when I walk through the café on my way to work I hear all sorts of lunacy going on. Customers who order a coffee have to be able to speak a strange and unworldly language. Part English, a bit of French and a smattering of Italian thrown in just to add an unnecessary “O” into its vocabulary. Interpreting it makes cracking the Da Vinci Code look like reading the Looney Toons.
These days the battle lines are chalked up on an oversized blackboard right behind Guido’s ever increasing man bun. The choices are far from stark. It’s just as well there’s usually a line waiting because you need a good 35 minutes to fathom out what you are going to ask for when you get to the front. Why, for example, would you go for Large when it can be called Tall? Hang on just a minute. Why ask for Tall at all, when a Grande sounds so much grander? Primo? I think not. Nothing beats a Small one in my humble opinion but whoever took the decision to displace Medium and rename it plain old Regular needs their head examining. And that’s before anything has even hit the inside of the cup.
May I offer my sympathies if you’re lactose intolerant but no matter what you say, the world already involves way too much soya for my liking.
I like to think I can masquerade as skinny but no matter how hard I try I always end up being unmasked as a full-fat. I am, however, a complete enigma when it comes to froth or flat or wet or dry but for goodness sakes just don’t make my cappuccino heavy.
“Make mine a naked bold grande café au lait skinny extra shot, with some white chocolate and 4 pumps of peppermint to go please,” I said to Guido this morning.
I like to keep him on his toes.