For the caffeine enthusiasts out there this is no new problem. I’m not writing this for the two cups in the morning pretend friend to coffee culture. Rather a devotion so vicious medicated therapy and a loss of a conventional orifice wouldn’t stymie intake. Granted that if you’re drinking coffee through your arsehole you’d need to re-evaluate things quite drastically. But let’s not beat about here, simply put, some people fuck coffee.
Baran’s, on Greenmarket square is a special place. They phaff about with Lavazza for their ordinary coffees. Which next to Nesspresso has to be the most flavoursome pod based coffee experience, but loses a dash of credibility. It’s coffee by numbers. Given to an untrained barrista there is little scope for up fucking. I prefer the ground per cup OCD approach. Every cup a little challenge, tamped and run and fussed over.
A coffee they do, which I also do there, is their Kurdish coffee. Finely ground and boiled in a little cistern, blended with milk and sugar. As far as coffee goes its just so different to everything else. The overt milkiness gets to me by the second cup but there’s no denying its speciality.
Coffee enthusiasts, get there, Baran’s
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