Well-read and Caffeinated: 10 Ideal Coffee/Tea and Book Pairings

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Today’s Special: An iced Nutella latte with my blog and a side of Plato’s Republic

It is a truth universally acknowledged that all readers in possession of a good book are in want of a delicious beverage to sip. But why settle for just any latte? In my opinion, books and coffee are like fine wine and cheese; you must pair them properly so as to derive the fullest enjoyment from both. I do not have a great deal of experience in pairing wine and cheese, but I certainly know how to create the perfect book and beverage combination. Use your favorite book to choose your next drink or use your favorite drink to pick your next read. Either way, I’m sure you will enjoy these well-read and caffeinated combos.

  1. Anne of Green Gables & Raspberry Herbal Tea
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Raspberry cordial didn’t work out so well…we will stick with tea.

This sweet pair will make you dream of a simpler time. The warm yet fruity flavor of this tea reflects the loving yet spunky characters. Besides, Anne always wanted to try raspberry cordial and a hot raspberry tea fits well with this classic comfort read.

2. Little Women & Lavender Latte

It’s a drink that’s bold like Jo, sweet like Beth, refined like Meg, and artsy like Amy. Drink it hot or cold, but savor its multi-layered flavor as you dig into this thick book with more than one fascinating heroine!

3. Gone with the Wind & Dark Roast with Hints of Cocoa 

 

 

This coffee is a shocking as this book was to its original audience and as strong and bitter as its famous lovers, Scarlett and Rhett. Still, it also has the sweetness of Melanie in its chocolate undertones.

4. Sherlock Holmes & A London Fog

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Sherlock’s other favorite tea has eyeballs in it. It was an experiment. 

Nothing says mystery or England quite like this tea and Sherlock Holmes! The smoothness of the vanilla matches Sherlock’s wit and the base, Earl Grey tea, is as dark as, well, a London fog! Besides, with just enough caffeine, this will help you stay up all night to solve the case.

5. Edgar Allan Poe & Decaf 

Nothing says horror like decaffeinated coffee. Why is that even a thing?

Okay, actually I would pair Mr. Poe’s writings with a Cappuccino because his poetry is surprisingly delicate like foam, though his short stories are as jolting as the straight espresso that lurks below.

6. Ray Bradbury’s Short stories & a Caffe Americano with Hazelnut Syrupimages-1.jpg

No doubt Bradbury’s stories are perfect midnight-reading tales, so in order to stay up reading these deliciously creepy stories by one of America’s most influential authors, enjoy a caffe americano with plenty of espresso and some hazelnut syrup to fully enjoy his more nutty stories.

7. Pride and Prejudice & Mint Green Tea

It might be bitter at first, but just like the relationship of Darcy and Elizabeth, it will sweeten over time. This refreshing drink parallels the honest sass of Jane Austen and is as sure to be a good match for this book as Jane was for Bingley. Add sugar or fruity syrups according to your taste, for this book is also darling and romantic.

8. The Chronicles of Narnia & English Breakfast Tea with Cream and Sugar

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C.S. Lewis once said “You can never find a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” I’m 98% sure, being the epitome of the British author, Mr. Lewis was thinking of English breakfast tea when he said this and, based off the whimsy of his stories, I suspect he (and perhaps Mr. Tumnus!) added cream and sugar to his drinks.

9. Anna Karenina & Latte Machiatto 

Deceptively sweet, like the book’s title character, this drink has a foundation of espresso followed by a layer of milk. Be sure to load this beverage with an extra shot since this book is nearly 1000 pages of incredible insight and you’ll want to power through large bits at once.

10. The Divine Comedy and Cafe Freddo

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Cafe fredd0+Cathedral+ Dante=a truly Divine Comedy (Pun #3!)

Decaffeinated coffee is my Inferno, so instead go for cafe freddo, which is espresso shaken with ice and vanilla and served in a wine glass. This elegant beverage and Dante’s beautiful poetry make for a match made in Paradise. (Sorry, could not resist a second Dante pun.) This drink is as Italian as this trilogy and guaranteed to be a favorite!

I enjoyed writing this and hope you liked reading it! Let me know if you try any of these combinations and/or what you think. Thanks for reading!

-Ryanne

 

Italian Lessons

Okay, so the title of this post is a bit misleading. To clarify, I have not taken lessons in speaking Italian and, if I’m being completely honest, my Italian speaking abilities consists of basic greetings, “grazie”, and apologetically smiling and batting my eyes. Oh, and I got pretty good at ordering coffee and gelato.

But anyway, back to the title. Last year, after I returned from a trip to Europe, I wrote about the lessons I learned as a traveller while there: https://abookishcharm.wordpress.com/2015/07/16/a-europe-state-of-mind/ 

Having just returned from a couple weeks in Italy, I figured I would do something similar. However, instead of just travel tips, the following are life lessons which I learned from my time in Italy.

1. Show some gumption. 

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This suitcase was only lost twice on my way there. Oh, the things it must have seen! The places it has been! 
In one of my stories, a character goes on a trip despite being terrified of airplanes, ruined plans, and -shudder- strangers. The important thing is that she goes anyway. Sound familiar? I have the same fears and, after cancelled flights, nighttime desert drives, lost luggage, and generally dashed expectations, I was on the verge of giving up my adventure and going home. But then I remembered a character by the name of Paige O’Connor. A character I had invented, no less. Oddly enough, I was inspired by my own character to show some gumption and get on the plane. Granted, I got off the plane an hour later when it was cancelled. But still.

2. Sometimes not knowing is good.

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I got pretty good at reading Italian menus (I mean, most pasta has Italian names anyway), but sometimes I would just guess and order something at random. It really pays to not be a picky eater. I had the most amazing pasta with mussels because of this. I didn’t even know I liked mussels and probably would not have ordered them had I known that’s what that dish was. But I did and I found a new food I enjoy. Win win!

3. Don’t be half-hearted in anything.

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Most adorable cup of coffee award goes to the above! 
Sure, Italians may not be the most punctual. (I became familiar with the idea of an “Italian 8am” as being somewhere around 8:15 or later.) But I will say that they give their all once they arrive. Every detail in the city where I was was intentional, from the grandest paintings and statues in the Duomo (Cathedral) to the tiniest designs on the top of a cheap cappuccino. Once a barista carried my coffee three feet to my table even though I was more than happy to take it myself because making the coffee was only half of the job.

4. Don’t be typical.

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Me doing my best to look like I belong in Cremona…
The most embarrassing moments I had were when people knew I was American. It made me feel so obnoxious. But it helped that I was not in the usual tourist hotspots for the majority of my trip. I stayed mainly in Cremona, the most adorable little city I’ve ever seen. Despite being the violin-making capitol of the world, it is off the beaten path and thus has more of the spirit of Italy than commercialized Milan or even Verona. I had a much more enjoyable time learning to live in this unique place than touring in the usual destinations and I think this “road less travelled” philosophy extends to life beyond travel as well.

5. Music is at least 25% setting.

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With gelato and a view like this, what music wouldn’t sound good?
I was in Cremona to study classical music, which was nice, but I loved listening to a street performer play Adele on his violin just as much as the concerts I attended. I’m usually not a fan of pop, but with the bustle of cafes, the sun’s setting light reflecting on the cathedral, and the taste of gelato fresh on my tongue, I enjoyed the slightly-pitchy rendition of Adele just as much as the polished performances I had been listening to all week.

6. Shoes are always a good idea. 

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Two facts: 1) Italy produces the cutest shoes I have ever seen and 2) Italy is geographically shaped like a boot. Coincidence? I think not. Actually, I’m pretty sure that this is legitimate evidence for Intelligent Design.

7. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. 

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Look who came to explore Italy with me for the last couple days!
I never seem to realize how much I love my family until I’m alone, stressed out, and far away. At this point, even a brief call from my dad or snapchat from my mom (I know, she’s hip) means the world to me. And distance seems to make me only remember only the good things about good old Gilbert, AZ and all who live there. There truly is no place like home…especially when you are away from home.

8. Blessings really do come in disguise.

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Trying to look as vogue as this statue of Stradivari
Before leaving, I said it would be my nightmare to lose my luggage since I hate shopping and had been careful to pack cute hair/makeup stuff. But, alas, when my bag did end up getting lost- and, with it, my cosmetics, hair stuff, and outfits, I had to let this go. And, you know what? I found out a couple magical things: my natural “boho-homeless” hair isn’t bad, a little lipstick goes a long way, and shopping is fun when you can make the airport pay for everything. I might even try to lose my bag again when I head to Rome in a few months!

9. Make your own opportunities.

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Performing my composition “Untuned” for the second time.
I found myself slightly bored at times during my time at the music academy (that’s the downside to learning my music in advance I guess), so after wallowing for a bit, I realized that moping would not solve anything and decided to make some new opportunities to keep myself occupied. It ended up being amazing! I met so many wonderful musicians/professors and was given the chance to study composition and even write and premier my own piece! (Check out the link for a video of the first performance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dj8KdhZpWNs)

10. Inspiration is out there!

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Being all artsy and creative and stuff.

Maybe my brain was just in a heightened state from all the travel stress. Or maybe it was all the Italian espresso I was drinking. Either way, I could not seem to escape the ideas for poems, stories, and compositions that were thick in the air in Cremona. I had to carry several notebooks with me at once just in case I needed to catch an idea like a Pokemon.

11. Simplicity is beautiful. And delicious.

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Yum yum yum yum yum
Italy is without a doubt the land of food. Everything I ate was beyond delicious, but, unlike America, the meals did not need to be supersized to be good. The portions were smaller than here and made with minimal ingredients, but because everything was so fresh and only whole foods were used, the food in Italy was unbeatable. I ate a tomato here in AZ today and it tasted like disappointment in comparison.

12. Why rush and devour? Savor.

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I like my espresso like I like my vacations. Chill.
I mentioned already the concept of an “Italian 8am,” but it actually is a pretty solid idea. I like schedules and maximizing my use of time, but I learned to take more time to savor things from meals to coffee to commuting during my stay in Cremona. Having to walk everywhere taught me to slow down and enjoy my surroundings, the slow process of dining out taught me to truly taste my food as I ate it, and the tiny coffee sizes forced me to value every sip. As a quick, busy person, this was freeing.

 

I’m sure I will have to update this post with more lessons as I continue to recover from jet lag and, as such, remember more and more of my trip. For now, though, this will have to work.

Ciao!

Ryanne 🙂

 

Writing Victories

Just had to brag a little bit:

Today marks the two-year birthday of my baby novel. On this day in 2014, I was inspired to write a book about a quirky little town that I stumbled upon and, to my delight, today I reached the word count required for my manuscript to qualify as a legitimate novel! And, to make matters even better (though admittedly a little bittersweet), I wrote my first death scene! This is quite a milestone in my life as a writer, so I thought I would write a little tribute here and publish one of my favorite scenes just to celebrate the occasion. Read on, if you’d like, to discover one chapter of Cobbly Nob.

 

Warning: the following chapter will be slightly confusing without any context, but nobody will probably read this far into this blog post anyway. (Let’s be honest.)

The Tea Scandal

Paige awoke to a light tapping on her bedroom door.

“Paige? You awake, honey?”

“Yes,” Paige croaked. She cleared her throat. “Yes, Mrs. Ellis!”

“We’re about to open for brunch; you’ve slept the morning away!”

“Oh!” Paige glanced at her phone. It was indeed past 10 o’clock. But if she had slept so long, why was her head pounding so mercilessly against her skull? Waking from a nightmare at the witching hour and banging her head on the ceiling had probably not done her any favors, but what she wanted more than anything was a strong cup of coffee.

“We saved you some breakfast, if you’d like!” continued Mrs. Ellis.

“And tea!” shouted Miss Linda from down the stairs in the kitchen.

“I’m up!” Paige sprung up, careful to mind her head, and promptly sat back down as the blood rushed from her head and her vision faded.

She threw on some clothes, tossed her hair up, and swiped some mascara on her pale lashes with the mechanical efficiency she had mastered during her senior year of high school during which she had had to get up at 5 o’clock and be at school within half an hour in order to take all of her electives.

She was greeted with “Good mornings” from Mrs. Ellis and Miss Linda, who she had taken to calling “the Hens” in her mind, as they fluttered about the kitchen. A plate of waffles waited at the counter for her, but she could hardly enjoy them in all of their syrupy, buttery goodness for the throbbing of her head.

“More tea, honey?” asked Miss Linda. Paige was not sure whether she was asking if she would like honey with her tea or whether the stiff “Grey Hen” was warming up to her enough to use a pet name.

“Yes, thank you.” Miss Linda poured her yet another – it was her third that morning alone- generous cup of tea and then allowed a thick stream of fresh honey to drip into it from the honeypot. So much for terms of endearment, thought Paige, sipping her tea and scalding her tongue.

Her head ached worse than it had only moments ago. Each morning at breakfast, one of the Hens would set a hearty plate of waffles or pancakes with bacon (or, more commonly in accordance with Southern hospitality and love of good vittles, both) and, with it, a steaming cup of tea. And Paige never seemed able to escape the humid kitchen, with its many delicious smells weaving together in a tapestry of scent she could feel on her skin, without having to swallow a second helping of some dish and at least two additional cups of tea. She suspected the Hens were trying to fatten her up, having overheard Mrs. Ellis worry that their guest was “as thin as a rail” although, despite being tall and lanky, she was quite average sized.

Despite these overwhelming servings of the best home-cooked meals she had ever eaten (she felt a bit like Scarlett O’Hara, enjoying the plenty of the Antebellum days), her head continued to throb with a pounding that crescendoed every moment. Four cups of tea and she was forced to recognize one undeniable truth: she needed coffee and only coffee. Strong, thick, black coffee bitter enough to jolt her awake and cure the throbbing.

“Coffee?” said Miss Linda when Paige mentioned it. Her angular face adopted an insulted look. “I’m afraid we do not have any.” She whisked away with her teapot with the same air of disappointment that Miss Dinah had displayed when she spoke of dog-people. Apparently to Miss Linda, coffee-drinkers were in the same category of offenders.

After that, Paige learned her lesson and for three more mornings did her best to savor the sweet tartness of the tea at breakfast and ignore the sharp ache in her skull throughout the rest of the day. She spent the afternoons of two of these days at the Blue Bookstore with Aunt Mary. However, sorting through the stuffy and poorly-lit aisles, filled with the wonder of books though they were, did nothing to help her plight. It was not until the fourth day- her fifth full day in Cobbly Nob- that Paige remembered the coffee shop, the Sock Monkey Cafe and Modern Art Gallery, that she had seen downtown. Henceforth it became her sole mission in life to visit that hallowed cafe and suddenly the cartoonish image of the Sock Monkey on the sign no longer seemed tacky but a sainted portrait.

“Morning! More tea?” a cheerful voice greeted her. Paige looked up from her book, Wuthering Heights, and was relieved to see Mrs. Ellis’s motherly face beaming down at her. How she was so energetic without coffee, Paige did not know, but she was glad at least that Miss Linda was not the one serving her breakfast this time, for it meant she could probably get away with only two cups of tea without upsetting her hosts.

She downed a plate of scrambled eggs so fluffy they were like pillows for the ham that nestled among them, flipped her book closed and tossed it into her messenger bag, and walked briskly out the door and down the road before the second kettle of tea could whistle at her to drink it.

Every two steps seemed to beat in time with her thoughts: “Cof-fee. Cof-fee.”

And then, there it was, in front of her, the cheesy red smile of the Sock Monkey on the sign. She pushed the door and prayed that it was open. It was. As she crossed the threshold, the dry, nutty scent of coffee grounds greeted her. She inhaled deeply- Oh, bliss! – and then marched up to the counter.

“A coffee please,” she said decisively, not even glancing at the menu and barely glancing at the barista. “Black.”

“Well you certainly know what you want,” laughed the employee behind the counter. He was the same young man who had said hello on her first day there, the day of her trip to Kat Kingdom. “You sure you don’t want some cream? Maybe make it a frappe?”

“No,” said Paige, annoyed. Honestly, just because she was a teenage girl did not mean she liked those frilly milkshakes wannabes. “Black.”

“Coming right up.” He did not dare laugh again, but Paige saw a twinkle in his eyes- which she also noticed were exceptionally brown…The color of a macchiato, she thought- as he took her money and handed her her fifteen cents change. She took a seat at the bar and withdrew Wuthering Heights from her bag.

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same,” declared Catherine from the pages of the gothic novel. Paige, headache lulled to a dull groaning by the coffee-scented air, was captured by the passionate scene unfolding in the words of Emily Bronte. The decorations and sounds of the coffee shop, a quirky combination of Mardi-Gras and hipster chic, were forgotten.

“He does not know what being in love is?” wondered the hysterical heroine.

“No, he does not,” murmured Paige with a cynical smile. The love affair of Heathcliff and Catherine had never seemed to her as authentic as that of Anne and Gilbert, Elizabeth and Darcy, or even- reluctant as she was to admit it- Rhett and Scarlett. It was too…dramatic.

“Who does not what?” asked a tenor voice. She looked up and blinked, eyes adjusting from the black and white of the page to the reds and greens, golds and blues of the cafe. The boy from behind the counter slid a large mug, the face of the Sock Monkey printed on its side, under her nose.

“One moment,” she said. She lifted the mug to her lips and gulped at the coffee, wincing as she scalded her mouth, but swallowing anyway and sighing in satisfaction. “Bless coffee.”

The boy smiled at her, a silly half-grin that made his macchiato eyes light up. She was reminded of the twinkle lights she had seen him hanging the day before. “Who does not what?”

“Oh, sorry,” she looked down at her book. “I was talking to my book- I mean- myself.”

“What book?” Without waiting for her answer, he lifted the cover from the counter and scanned the title. He nodded. “Emily Bronte. Good choice.”

“You’ve read it?” she looked back up at him, more seriously now. After all, meeting someone who likes one of your favorite books is having a book recommend a person.

The boy nodded. “Literature course, senior year.”

“Nice,” Paige said. She took a more cautious sip of coffee and turned back to her novel.

“So who doesn’t what?” asked the young man.

“What?”

“You never answered my question except to say it was about your book.”

“Oh,” said Paige. “Heathcliff. He does not know how to love. His affair with Catherine is not love, but a futile passion as he projects his ideals of the perfect other onto her.”

“You sound just like my literature teacher.” The laughter was in his eyes again and Paige could not help watching it- it was so…she could not think of the word…refreshing? No. That wasn’t quite it. He noticed her gaze and she blinked, blushed, and tried once more to return to her book.

“So you agree with the teachers that Heathcliff was not really in love with Catherine?” he pressed.

“Yes,” she said, not allowing herself to look up again, her cheeks still hot, though she could not tell why exactly. Perhaps it was the coffee.

“Okay then…” he exaggerated a shrug and turned away. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Paige nodded, sipped her coffee, and reached blindly into her bag for a pen to highlight Catherine’s impassioned speech. Her fingers knew where to look: she always kept her favorite purple pen in the smallest inside pouch that was meant for a cell phone, but was rarely used for this purpose. Where was her phone anyway? Oh well. She’d find it later. Her hand found the pocket, stretched out from use, but it did not find the pen. She carefully lay the book face down with its covers splayed so her spot would not be lost, wincing as she did so at the crackling of its poor contorted spine. She looked in her bag. No pen.

“Stink it,” she muttered.

“Come again?” The boy looked up from where he was scribbling in a notepad the order of another customer.

“Nothing…actually, could I borrow a pen?” Paige asked, noticing the neat row of exactly eleven pens in his apron pocket.

“I’m afraid I don’t have an extra, but I can grab one from the kitchen.”

“Um…” said Paige, quirking an eyebrow at the collection neatly clipped into his apron.

“Oh these pens?” Mark followed her gaze. “These are mine, but I suppose I could lend one to you…”

“If you don’t mind terribly,” replied Paige with some sarcasm.

“Well I do mind, but not terribly I suppose.” He ran his finger along the tops of the pens, hovered over one in particular that to Paige was identical to the others, and carefully withdrew it without messing up the regimented lines of the others. He handed it to her and watched from across the counter as she drew a straight line underneath Catherine’s speech.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

“Thanks,” he said as she handed back the pen after drawing a large, bold question mark beside the passage. “Why the question mark?”

“Because I don’t understand it. That’s the point of a question mark, isn’t it?”

“What don’t you understand?” he asked, ignoring her sarcasm.

“This quote, but I’ll figure it out if I keep reading.”

“Read this book before?”

“Once.”

“Depressing choice for a reread, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I like it,” Paige said, tilting her nose a tad higher and meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t good,” the boy’s eyes stared back into hers and seemed to laugh at her. “Just so…Gothic.”

Paige blinked. “It isn’t as Gothic as Frankenstein.”

“It has all the elements.”

“Meh,” said Paige.

“He knows the elements of gothic literature? Who even is this guy?” she thought. “And does he look a bit like Josh Groban…focus, Paige.” She imagined Scarlett O’Hara rolling her eyes and forced herself to focus.

“The ghost?” continued the boy.

“A dream,” said Paige, bored.

“The castle?”

“Not actually a castle.”

“Alright then. I’ll agree that Frankenstein is more Gothic, and add that it is a better study than Emily Bronte’s replica.”

“Replica!” Paige nearly spit out her coffee and closed the book.

“Yeah,” he said, casually flicking away the dripped coffee with a rag. “Emily’s writing is almost indistinguishable from her sister’s. Slip a chapter of Jane Eyre into Wuthering Heights and I wouldn’t even notice the difference. The female authors of that era tend to be so…the same. Poorly-worded statement, perhaps, but I think I am justified in saying that Mary Shelley broke the standard, especially considering her writing predates the identical Bronte triplets…er…sisters.” He grinned mischievously and Paige could tell he was relishing annoying her. Well, she relished a debate too.

“There may a family resemblance between the writing styles. So what? They lived and wrote at the same time, in the same family! Emily, however, was a one-hit wonder and Wuthering Heights is far more profound than Jane Eyre.” (Sorry Jane, thought Paige, wincing as a beloved character blinked back imaginary tears in her mind.)

“Oh is it?”

“Yes. The resolution for Jane Eyre was too neat. Sure, Rochester lost an arm, but everything was too happy, too unrealistic. On the other hand, Emily’s novel ends ambiguously, which offers a much richer study on not only its story but the world beyond its covers.”

“Interesting, but I believe we were talking about Frankenstein-”

“Oh don’t even get me started on that book, with Victor’s trembling and fevers always ruining the action. The only character development was a worsening of nerves. Mrs. Bennet of Pride and Prejudice might as well have played the role.”

“Let’s not drag poor Mrs. Bennet into this,” laughed the boy. “You really have no mercy on her poor nerves.” He said this in his best imitation of the nagging woman. And then Paige found herself laughing too.

“Sorry, I get a little intense about books,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee and nearly choking again as she laughed.

“Clearly,” said the boy, but he was smiling. He held out a hand. “Mark Turner.”

“Paige O’Connor.”

“Paige,” he repeated. “Fitting name for a bookworm.”

“Indeed.” He was still holding her hand. Blushing, she pulled it away and they both turned to their tasks: her to her book and him to his cleaning. She was quickly immersed in the chapter again and when she finished her coffee and looked away from the page, Mark was gone, but beside her was a single pen resting on a napkin, which bore a note in cramped writing:

For your annotations. I’d like to hear what insights you come up with. Also, not all love (in literature) is fake; you just have to find it. -Mark.

Paige bit her lip in thought, but also to keep from smiling, and slipped the napkin and pen into her bag. When she reached the Wild Plum, her smile had not yet faded as she replayed the conversation with Mark in her mind. Why did she feel so silly? It was ridiculous, but she could see Scarlett smiling slyly in her mind… 

Her smile faded upon entering the tea house.

“You!” said Miss Linda, in what could only be considered an angry squawk. “Where were you? Is that…” she inhaled deeply “coffee that I smell?”

“Oh, yeah…” Paige said. “I stopped by the Sock Monkey for a cup.”

“Well I suppose you won’t be wanting any of the tea I just brewed then.” It was not a question, so Paige just stared back apologetically until Miss Linda clucked sorrowfully and retreated to the kitchen.

The next morning at breakfast, no tea was offered. Rather, Miss Linda, without a word, set down a tin cup of room-temperature water. Paige fought the urge to laugh and looked toward Mrs. Ellis, always such a cheerful sight in the morning as she fried bacon and picked lovingly on her husband’s manners, but caught herself at the equally serious expression on the “Red Hen’s” face. Suddenly her plans to return to the Sock Monkey, both with the purpose of finding coffee and meeting Mark again, were dismissed from her mind as impossible.

 

What’s your Coffee PersonaLatte?

In the midst of the craziness of the past few months, I have observed that college changes people. For some, they might challenge their former political ideologies or decide to go by their middle name or cut off their hair or switch majors a record number of times. However, the most common change seems to be that college converts many into coffee drinkers. For those who have not yet turned into regulars at campus coffee shops, give it time.

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Now, you might think that a coffee drinker is a coffee drinker, but in the wise words of Mr. Dwight Schrute, “False.” Just as there are many different coffee creations, there are many different personalities that turn these creations into their regular orders. For instance……..

  1. Frappuccino: These frilly drinks are about as uncoffee as coffee can be. Those that drink them tend to like saying that they enjoy coffee, but really, they just like milkshakes. Frappuccino Fans are generally bubbly and extroverted; they enjoy trying new things and meeting new people just as they enjoy sampling new blends. Their fun drink reflects their fun personality, but the extra sugar on top of the caffeine might make this a bit overwhelming for the calmer cafe customers. 6-Fan-Flavor-Frappuccino-beverages_horizontal-hires
  2. Caffe Americano: Ironically, these are not the most patriotic coffee drinkers. They tend to be pretty hipster and probably liked this drink before Starbucks served it. Since it is a beverage composed of espresso and water only, these people prefer simple living and honesty without the foam of excess and shallow talk.  Their strong opinions match the strong bitterness of their drink.download
  3. Macchiato: These people are a diverse bunch. Not as hipster as the Americanos and not as mainstream as the frappuccinos, the macchiato drinkers tend to have more balance in their lives. They know how to satisfy their sweet tooth with layers of syrup and thus how to enjoy life, but they also know the importance of both strong shots of espresso and hard work. Those who go for the double shot of espresso tend to lean toward the more serious side of the macchiato spectrum. images
  4. Mocha: These people are often shy or at least introverted, as implied by the fact that they hide the taste of coffee behind a thick layer of chocolate flavor. They are also very warm individuals who make good listeners and know how to enjoy quiet relaxing times. They might not be very outgoing at first, but often have creative ideas that they will share when comfortable. images (1)
  5. Caffe Latte: These are similar to the macchiato drinkers, but less knowledgeable about the ways of the caffeinated world. They are generally hard-working individuals who need a boost of caffeine, but do not know their other coffee options and thus go for the most obvious choice. The number of espresso shots tends to correlate to their degree of work, but this is not always the case. Those who go for plain lattes favor more simple living and are prone to intense focus when working. Flavored latte lovers are more inclined to get distracted (I mean, look at all those syrup options!) but are redeemed in that they are able to sometimes set aside work and use their caffeine boost to go have fun. images (3)
  6. Cappuccino: This is a popular choice in Europe and thus those who order it regularly tend to be, or at least aspire to be, well-traveled. They also like to sound classy because, come on, “cappuccino” is a pretty fancy word and sounds amazing in a British accent. Cappuccino drinkers are driven people who know their goals just as they know their coffee order. Extra foam? They will answer yes or no without a hesitation. images (4)
  7. Espresso: These people are scary. They are so busy and focused that they literally cannot take time for a full cup of coffee, but squish all the caffeine into a tiny little shot. If they could put it in pill form they probably would. Don’t mess with a person who drinks straight espresso shots. On the other hand, maybe these individuals are not terribly intimidating…there is the chance that they just like the confidence boost of drinking from a tiny cup and pretending to be a giant. espresso
  8. Coffee: Plain, simple, unembellished, strong black coffee. This is how I drink mine every morning and I can affirm that those who lean toward plain coffee are focused and ambitious individuals; they know what they want and are willing to work hard to achieve it, even if it makes for a bitter brew. Still, with the magic of K-Cups, they can enjoy different flavors easily and therefore can be quite imaginative individuals who like to switch it up a bit now and then, although overall they are very habitual as a cup of joe accompanies their breakfast every morning.images (2)

(Seriously, where does the phrase “cup of joe” come from? What kind of coffee-drinker was Joe? I’m assuming he was a plain coffee kind of guy.) Anyway, what kind of PersonaLatte are you?