Do you mind, asshole?
There is something wrong with people.
Some sort of cognitive breakdown that occurs when some people get in public.
Specifically, it has to do with cell phones and videos.
Get a headset, bluetooth or old school plug in, take your pick.
The Starbucks is not a familiar one.
Its one of those “Sort of” Starbucks thats inside a Barnes and Noble book store.
They have the logo, but they are B & N people.
Its like a crack dealer that sells more ice cream out of the back of the ice cream truck than weed.
You know their heart is not in it.
To deal the beans, you have to understand the beans.
If you ever want to talk coffee beans, go to the Coffee Bean and ask the cashier about their Costa Rican brew.
The education is worthwhile, I can assure you.
Starbuck’s people know there stuff as well.
But my B&N brew tasted a little off, I asked the cashier what kind of roast it was?
She looked confused and then, looked at me with a straight face:
I take my addiction seriously and I expect my dealer to as well.
But enough of that.
Time to visit The Family.
Holidays with my family is a lot like swimming in a tank with trained sharks.
When it goes well, everything is fine.
But never forget that the whole crowd can turn on you in an instant.
But, and this is the really important part, these are my people.
That unruly mob I mentioned that might chew up the unsuspecting and spit them out?
I am one of them.
I am the peasant with the pitchfork and the torch, screaming “Burn her, she’s a witch!”
In a manner of speaking.
Morning after Thanksgiving.
I noticed something pretty significant last night.
I used to be a severe turk-aholic.
Turkey, God’s gift to the pilgrims.
I used to live and breath turkey, but only on Thanksgiving.
Now? Not so much.
Now its the wine and desert.
Last night was a delightful Riesling paired with a dish without a name.
“Chocolate Crack” comes close, but not quite.
Let me describe the taste bud-gasm in detail.
A layer of chocolate.
A layer of marshmallow infused with cinnamon whiskey.
A later of caramel.
Another layer of chocolate.
A crumble across the top made of bacon, black pepper and Cayenne powder.
To call it rich is like saying a homeless guy could use some deodorant.
It is not something you wolf down.
It is something you take a small bite of, chewing slowly, discerning all of the different flavors and textures prior to taking a sip of wine to accompany it down your throat.
Just the memory of it has me both aroused and hungry.
And yet, if they sold it in the bakery case at Starbuck’s, I would never by it.
Because it all has to do with time and location.
Like a sandwich made by your mom when you were little, you’ve eaten better since, but they still stand out.
Happy Thanksgiving, hope you all enjoyed your people, I know I did.