The origin of fine coffee culture coffee is not worth showing off.

In domestic TV series, as soon as the life of rich people is shown, there will be a secret palace-style private club, in which the owner must be drinking coffee while quietly talking about his exotic coffee beans collected at a high price from all over the world. There is such a scene in a police drama: my police officers go to a private club to follow up the case clues, and the hostess proudly serves a glass of Kopi Luwak. My public security personnel, of course, have seen the world. They immediately said the name, origin and production process of this cup of coffee, and gave an accurate description of the strange aroma. The hostess was shocked on the spot. What I've always wondered is how Kopi Luwak became the most expensive coffee in the world. The coffee beans used to make it were obviously the excrement that civet cats could not digest after eating coffee pulp. It was disgusting to think about it, but it seemed that anyone who said it was not good to drink was a country bumpkin. It can be seen that coffee is a plant with many twists.

Coffee's provenance is not much to boast about. It was discovered by Ethiopian goats who scoured the mountains in search of fodder. More twisted is that those countries that make world famous coffee (such as Nestle, UCC, Grant, etc.), almost no coffee trees grow, but these countries earn money from the people of the world by selling coffee, and those who provide coffee beans to them are located in the "World Coffee Belt"(25 degrees north latitude to 30 degrees south latitude).

The friends who came back from Paris were most impressed by the cafes in the Latin Quarter on the Left Bank. I heard them express their envy more than once-you know, the café on the Left Bank is not a Starbucks, you sit down in the chair that Sartre or Camus once sat in, and it is there that George Sang charmed Musset with a long cigarette! I have read a book by a French writer called Cafe de la Jeunesse, in which the story takes place in a cafe called Conte in the Latin Quarter near the Luxembourg Park. The book reads: "I looked up the meaning of 'prodigal' in the dictionary. It refers to a person who is wandering, homeless, unrestrained, and carefree. This definition is very suitable for these men and women who often come and go to Kong Dai." The key is this last sentence: "Everyone is on the left bank, most of them are under the protection of literature and art." What a fascinating state of life! Every time I read this, I can't resist the idea of opening a cafe. But the history of coffee and coffee shops is bloody. A book on coffee history says that in the distant dark 16th century, coffee was regarded as alien as pagans. Conservative theologians in Arabia destroyed all coffee beans in public on Mecca Street. The Ottoman prime minister even ordered a coffee shop owner to be sewn into a leather bag and thrown into the Bosphorus.

In real life, there are always people who like to tweet: lazy winter afternoon, warm sunlight through the French window. I sat in a classic-style cafe, picked up a cup of absolutely no tears Irish coffee, to miss a person and a good period. But in fact, the blogger is sitting in a cramped office with no windows, and it's basically a cheap three-in-one. They knew better than anyone else that the Left Bank belonged to the Left Bank and Starbucks belonged to Starbucks.