Have I ever told you my coffee story?

Hmmm…maybe I should start with my morning story.  This morning, like many Montrealers, I saw my metro coming in and ran down the stairs to catch it.  I was nowhere near, and it was most likely that I would miss this metro, and have to wait 3 minutes to catch the next one.

THREE WHOLE MINUTES.  I can’t wait that long.  I am a very busy and important person.

So, I decided to skip stairs.  Which I have never done before, at least going down stairs.  And, although I started well, my eyes miscounted and I fell…down the stairs.  In my skirt.  I landed awkwardly on my hip.  That will leave a bruise.

The good people of Montreal picked me up, dusted me off, and set me back on my feet.  And they all had to wait another 3 minutes for the next train.  I wish I could bake them cookies.  I wish I could explain how grateful I was, but I was pretty embarrassed.  And I couldn’t understand their Québécois, which sometimes just sounds like “tsp speh dsss”.

Oh yeah, the coffee story.  So I am from Seattle, and as a good Seattleite, used to drink coffee with LOTS of milk and full of flavors.  So, you can imagine that I consumed plenty of vanilla lattes, caramel macchiatos, peppermint mochas, and creme brulee with extra caramel.  At one point I spent more money on coffee than food.  Of course, like a good Seattle girl, I drank Starbucks, but I really preferred Tully’s coffee.  And then Seattle’s Best Coffee.  And then Nordstrom coffee.  And I loved Uptown Espresso (home of the foam!).  Etc. etc.

And then I met my coffee snob husband, who made fun of my paper cups and plastic lids and was horrified by the amount of milk in my drinks, and simply disgusted by the flavors.  And then I moved to Brussels, Belgium, where NO Starbucks existed (there are now 2 at the airport) and where people drink coffee that tastes…like coffee.

Which is where I learned that I don’t like the taste of coffee.

Blech…it is bitter and the taste stays in your mouth forever.  So I am a dedicated tea drinker.

But today, after sprawling on the subway floor and flashing friendly Montrealers, I decided to get myself a Starbucks coffee, in one of their great holiday flavors.  So I went across the street from my office and ended up with a “pain d’epice” latte.  Gingerbread…yummy.  Tastes NOTHING like coffee.

But as I was paying, I noticed a sign for a latte “lait de poule”, and I couldn’t figure out what it was.  Chicken milk?  Gross.  Can you guess what it is?

Give up?  I am not sure if people in France or other francophone countries drink this, but if they do, I don’t think they refer to it as this.  It is EGGNOG.  An eggnog latte is referred to as chicken milk latte.  Barf.