Oof. This past week's been rough. We flew back from the left coast last Tuesday, and I'm still feeling the effects of the time zone shift. At least I choose to believe it's jet lag, and not just that I am OLD now.
(I turned I turned thirty on July 16th. My milestone necessitates changing my Blogger profile, but before I can, I need to figure out how to change it. Since I am OLD like my parents, I am physically incapable of comprehending new technology, which will make this a more difficult undertaking than it should be.)
Okay, so thirty's not OLD. I know lots of folks who are still moving and shaking, and they're way older than me. They're like, thirty-and-a-half.
Anyway, this post wasn't supposed to be a riff on my dotage. This post is about the suckage of organic coffee, and how I think it is partly to blame for my fatigued disorientation over the past week.
We opted against a grocery run before vacation so we could avoid a host of expired foodstuffs upon our return. This had an unfortunate Old Mother Hubbard side-effect, and for complicated reasons relating to commuting convenience and daycare inconvenience, I ended up jaunting to the organic grocery store close to where I work instead of our cheapo local market.
It was a wonderland of obscure brands. There were only, I think, three trademarks of coffee, two of which cost ten bucks a bag. At that price, I figured gold must be mixed in with them thar beans. Since I don't like gold in my coffee (just in my liquor), I opted for the five-dollar brand. Now, I readily admit that I'm a coffee snob when I pick up a jolt at a café, but any Folger's-level flavor will do for my quotidien morning brew. I mean, I'm half asleep when I'm drinking it, so it's more for the caffeine ritual than the flavor. Or so I thought...
I figured paying two dollars more than I normally do meant I was in for a little bit of a treat. I mean, Starbucks costs seven dollars a bag, so this organic stuff had to be somewhere between the best part of wakin' up and the most successful chain of coffeehouses in the country, right?
Can I say YUCK? It tastes like velvet dirt. I mean, I had this perception that organic food is all healthy and pure, and that those qualities translate into ambrosia. Man alive, was I wrong. Here's where my mix of standards kicks my ass, though: my frugal self will NOT allow me to pitch the offending grinds. I will drink this swill 'til I've nothing but an empty cannister for my bacon grease. Maybe my bourgeois taste buds aren't accustomed to the finery that is organic coffee, but I think I can safely say that I'll be jumping back to my Fair Trade cheap stuff once the last all natural ground is percolated.