HAMBURG, SIMON, STARBUCKS, AND THE SEARCH FOR THE BEST CUP OF COFFEE

Here’s the thing. The best coffee I ever had was at the Hamburg airport, Germany, waiting for a flight. I’ve been chasing that taste ever since but never found it again.

My friend Simon, born in a sophisticated European city, was a man of taste. Gourmet food, wine, and coffee — he knew them all. The man could pick the best wine for the right occasion, knew his sausages and smoked fish, his croissants and cakes, and he picked his coffee beans like a man choosing soldiers for battle. He’d go from shop to shop in the city every weekend, handpicking food only the most discerning would understand. Me? I was used to Army Joe. Anything not boiled down to sludge or thin as tea was once good enough.

That was before I met Simon. I liked the guy. He was soft-spoken, thoughtful, knew his stuff, and had a kind of integrity that’s hard to find. I miss him.

I wonder what he would’ve said about Starbucks. Probably nothing good. He knew how to select blends, grind them, and make a great cup of coffee. God bless men with that kind of passion. I try, but my patience is thin, and I move on. It’s the Army thing in me — some habits stick.

So, when my wife first took me to Starbucks, I thought the café-latte was special — a cup of real coffee. And it was good, though it cost five bucks for a large. I complained, and my wife explained, “It’s the Starbucks…