It’s Friday, noon. A blur of Patagonia vests and Doc Martins snake through the Blue Room doors, each vying for a post-lecture pick-me-up. Sophomore Emma Robertson knows this scene well, and she knows what she wants: the most obnoxious coffee order known to man. Three different flavors (each with a different number of pumps), ice (but not too much), oat milk (she’s allergic to soy and cow’s milk is so ugh), and a special Colombian roast crossbred with cinnamon for an extra kick. She’ll settle for Ethiopian, though.
An advocate for sustainability, she brings her own cappuccino mug to the counter and sets it down in front of the worker who’s praying that their lunch break will come soon. “I’ll have my usual,” she winks.
“Me and the staff here have a special bond. It’s like when artists and collectors come together around something beautiful– we just get each other,” she tells me, as she leans on the counter, waiting for her Frankenstein’s monster. The growing line behind her shifts and squirms. A senior with nothing to lose gets ready to fight for her Lemon Poppy Seed muffin.
While we wait, Emma explains how she developed her palate studying abroad. “Last semester I studied at Universitat de Barthhhhelona for six weeks, and it absolutely changed the way I see café– whoops, sometimes my Spanish slips out when I get really passionate about something. Clearly, you can tell how much I love coffee.”
“Anyway, one day I stumbled into a super cute little cafe during siesta– that’s when we take naps during the day– and the coffee I had there changed my life. I didn’t know which drink was the most authentic, so I asked the barista what he recommended, and he said something about a ‘House Drip?’ Wow. The body was so heavy, mixed with some gentle notes of bergamot and blackcurrant. I actually spilled a little of it on myself, so I could smell it throughout my day,” she winks, again.
Emma’s order actually arrived while she was monologue-ing, and it’s starting to stratify into some messed-up pH strip test: ashy gray transitioning into yellow and finally red? Still, when she finally notices it, Emma delicately stirs the mixture under her nose, muttering something about Golden Raisin and Whiskey. Then, like a snake swallowing a baby bird, she rips off the plastic top and gulps it down. Ice included. No breaths. It’s almost impressive, but the sound makes a visiting high school Senior rethink their decision to enroll at Brown.
Emma’s pupils have expanded in such a way that she can’t make eye contact with the cashier, so she doesn’t pay for her drink. I throw her arm over my shoulder and lead her out of the Blue Room. “Same time next week?” she gurgles.