“you can’t show this to the scrutinizing and anonymous public,” this blog said to itself. “the adroitness void, ‘twould glare like microfoam.”
which is, well, true. solis jake has now posted a photocast of last week’s barista gig, and this blog is mortally chagrined to discover indelibly captured signs of ham-fisted barista bush-leaguery. like a briefly uncleaned steam wand. a sordidly spilled version of the rev. the single worst latte art of the night. portafilters resting on the driptray (for that, there’s a reason). etc.
this blog can only hope you’ve long since ceased to care about events long eclipsed by a near-fortnight. for those still wishing to stockpile fodder with which to needle this blog, well, copy and paste the rss feed into your browser of choice:
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signs of coffee-coupled euro-snobbery, they were everywhere.
the four-grinder smizzack in the house.
we’d name each import, but it wouldn’t mean anything to you, you snobless scrum.
th’ pastuh, ne’er before had he laid them thar eyes on th’ lattee arte.