Nuthin good in indiana – ‘cept nate the finger’S home bar. On to our snowy Cincy bash with barista-poet jon lewis.
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UPDATE FROM A NON-MOBILE DEVICE: did we mention the severe storm advisory blanketing cincinnati for the exact time of our scheduled arrival? assuming this blog or the barista-poet himself doesn’t crash-out en route, a massive, drifty snow-in makes a weekend holed up with one of the country’s most enlightened and decorated baristi sound all the more perfect.
if only the blog children would stop running these endless schnoz gushers …
meanwhile, alterra’s orgy, err, organic yirgacheffe, which was probably most definitely not intended to be pulled as spro, is nonetheless educating us on nate the finger’s home spro bar, leaving a popping, tangy currant spritzer aftertaste in our 8-oz. capp mug.
this fresh on the heels of tangling, for days, with metropolis’ radically downdosed redline on the blogbrother’s home bar — tasty golden flax-sweets, mostly — all of which has left us staggering under the weight of new and far-out spro tactiles and yet uber-ready for something mellifluously burnt syrup like.
now we race the storm.
IRRESISTABLE FINAL UPDATE: some people’s coffee jaunts are so unbelievably tony and high end. which is fine, really, but still … *sniff*