Tasting with my ego

On campus, I had my first espressos. Doubles, with cream.

I was the only one drinking those, said the barista. That gave me great pride, and my ego loved that.

Years later I went back to that coffee shop and had my Espresso con Panna. It still tasted the same: It tasted burnt and bitter. The cream made it marginally better.

My ego loved that too. Loved that I knew better. Loved that I knew what a proper espresso should be.

I would like to believe that I grew out of tasting with my ego. Deep down I know I did not.

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