Chemically Imbalanced (espresso-jogged screeds)

non-telling mediocrity descriptors

lunch hour: mindlessly pulling darker-than-ever shots of decidedly mediocre house blend 2. (tangent: i don’t know why the cypriot buys this stuff. worse, i don’t know why we morbidly plod over to his studio, day after day, in a futile effort to torque something respectable out of his quasi-mediocre e61 box, sporadically mediocre grinder and uber-mediocre tamping setup. this blog is inexplicably drawn to orgies of mediocrity! it’s a mindless slavery to ever-mounting barista challenges!)

BUT. the house blend 2 (tangent: we hesitate to guess what it means when a blending artisan neglects to even concoct an original name for his designs — not once, but twice!) had been substantially tweaked in the roaster, producing (deep breath):

overt aromas of soggy mushroom, notes of calamine lotion and a lingering impression of stale trombone case! not trumpet or saxophone case, mind you, but trombone case. you know, the musty brass smell of an extra long horn. brittle felt. oil rag. and such.

*sigh* it’s not chandler burr, but it’s half-stabbing, imitative, faux-burr-ism! clearly, this blog can do no better than channel sick, mutant forms of much better writers.

p.s. credit where it’s due: the trombone case comes from the cypriot. who was, presumably, inhaling larger-than-usual amounts of studio resin when he came up with that descriptor.