Some views of coffee shop operators on coffee and coffee shops

As soon as the lives of the rich are shown in domestic TV dramas, there will be a secret palace-style private clubhouse in which the owner must be drinking coffee while quietly talking about the exotic coffee beans he has collected from all over the world. There is such a passage in a police and gangster play: my public security officer went to a private club to follow the clues of the case, and the hostess arrogantly brought a cup of Kopi Luwak. Of course, my public security officer has seen the world, and immediately said the name, origin and craftsmanship of the cup of coffee, and gave an accurate description of the strange aroma, and the hostess was stunned on the spot. What puzzles me is how Kopi Luwak has become the most expensive coffee in the world. The coffee beans used for it are obviously the feces that masked palm civet can't digest after eating coffee pulp. It's disgusting to think about it, but it seems that anyone who wants to say it doesn't taste good is hillbilly. It can be seen that coffee is a kind of multi-twisted plant.

The origin of coffee is not worth showing off. It is found that it is an Ethiopian goat scouring the mountains in search of forage. To make matters worse, those countries that have made world-famous coffee (such as Nestle in the United States, UCC in Japan, Grant in Germany, etc.) can hardly grow coffee trees, but these countries make a lot of money from selling coffee to the people of the world, while the countries that provide them with coffee beans are located in the "world coffee belt" (25 degrees north latitude to 30 degrees south latitude), but one is poorer than the other.

Most of the friends who came back from Paris lamented the cafes in the Latin district of the left bank. I heard them express their envy more than once-you know, the cafe on the left bank is not Starbucks, and sitting down is the chair that Sartre or Camus sat on. George Sang was in the cafe where Musay was fascinated by a long cigarette! I read a book called Youth Cafe written by a French writer. the story takes place in Condai, a cafe in the Latin district near the Luxembourg Park. The book says: "I look up the meaning of 'prodigal son' in the dictionary, referring to people who are adrift, unsettled, bohemian and carefree. This interpretation is very suitable for these men and women who often go in and out of Kongdai. " The key is to see this last sentence: "everyone is on the left bank, and 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 caf é s is bloody. According to a book about the history of coffee, in the distant and dark 16th century, coffee was regarded as alien as a pagan. Conservative Arabian theologians publicly destroyed all coffee beans on Mecca Street. The prime minister of the Ottoman Empire even ordered a cafe owner to be sewn into a purse and thrown into the Bosphorus.

In real life, there are always some people who like to keep talking on Weibo: on a lazy winter afternoon, the warm sun passes through the floor-to-ceiling window. I sat in a classical cafe, picked up a cup of Irish coffee with absolutely no tears, to miss a person and a beautiful period. But in fact, the blogger is sitting in a cramped office with no windows, serving a cheap instant three-in-one. They know better than anyone that the left bank belongs to the left bank and Starbucks belongs to Starbucks.