Worshipping At The Church Of The Bean

I have discovered where it is at work...the secret place where the good coffee is. It does exist.

I found my way to the magic portal by smell. It was a heavenly smell. It was wafting through the air and to my nose in a purple, sparkly cloud of stars and seahorses. It was the Lisa Frank of smells.

Have I ever mentioned my psychotic addiction to coffee that DOESN'T put a rotting hole in my gut?

And my inability to properly answer the question "But what IS good coffee?"

"Coffee that doesn't taste like crap," never seems to be a sufficient answer.

I can't define it in positives, but I know what it isn't:

1. You would not be tempted to pave a road with it nor fill in potholes.

2. You would not be tempted to mainline it once your heroin ran out.

3. You would not be tempted to put it in your snow blower once the gas ran out.

4. You would not be tempted to use it as oil in your car.

You would actually lean over the coffee pot and give it a good sniff and if it didn't smell like a 4 alarm fire at a carpet factory, you might actually utter those adventurous words: "Hey, I'll have a cup of that!"