It was morning, my journey away from home officially beginning. An entire day was ahead of me, with the prospect of new experiences and moments awaiting.
It was not meant to be, not yet at least.
For you see, coffee was the lifeblood of this trip and of home. It allowed me to walk ever farther distances to experience even greater culinary delights. It was my duty to experience not just the finer choices in dining, but the affordable fuel to achieve it. As such, my next stop would take me to a coffee place that I would hope provide a solid pitstop for my escapades. Steel stools and black wood surrounded the place, with halogen bulbs strung next to the menu and an immediate understanding that this place was meant for the college student. It was only moments from when I entered (coming across from the adjacent museum) that I heard the crowd of young men and women conversing about the subjects of their studies: the sociological impacts of current events, financing in the city, and literary analysis. Snippets of conversation attempted to slip to my ears, but were fought to a standstill by my gaze at the coffee I had just ordered.
The Black and White Mocha; A great Mocha achieves balance with coffee, offering a sweeter sampling then the Latte or Frappuccino while at the same time more difficult to get right. Too sweet, and your met with a slightly bitter imitation of Hot Chocolate, but with the sad realization that no miniature marshmallow’s will slide onto your palate. Too little, however, and the bitter mess can only be described as melted down chocolate instead of a complete drink. This drink was a test not just for the place as a whole, but on a new form of mochas yet to be experienced. Chances were high for a delectable drink, the top adorned with a creamy maple leaf pattern, but I was determined to remain impartial. I brought the slightly foaming drink to my lips and sipped.
The effect was instantaneous. A flash of flavors swam through me; the white chocolate as if I had partaken in a few Lindor Truffles, but joined with a school of dark chocolates, notes of seventy percent attempting to attach to the fins of the truffle titans. Meanwhile, the coffee quietly stirred at the bottom of the mochas oceanic profile, its bitterness slightly hinted, but inescapable as the tectonic plates beneath our feet. I gasped, the vapors of the chocolate sea parting as a hot mist from my lips.
I ordered the same thing, every morning, every afternoon and once or twice in the evenings each day.
The taste haunts me to this very day. I must, however, persevere! More must be uncovered, more must be written of the cavalcade of cuisines that I bore witness to and experienced. The next journey will come in due time.
Writing in C Major 