Starbucks Coffee vs. Starbucks Coffee

While in P-town this weekend, I decided to ride the rails (lovingly known by Rose City inhabitants as MAX), get myself downtown, and spend my very last dime on a Starbucks latté. I got off the train at Pioneer Courthouse Square (ah! the inexpressible joy I felt at the familiar sight of this brick-inlaid community gathering place filled with all the squawk and beauty of the thronged masses of Portland humanity!) and fairly danced into Starbucks. After waiting in line for an interminable period of time, I was finally served my steaming cup of frothy milk and espresso by an impersonally surly barista. When I checked to make sure it was my order - "This is a half-caf latté, right?" - he looked at me with a mixture of pity and amusement, and speaking very slowly, as though being extra patient with a person with cognitive disabilities, confirmed with clear and careful enunciation, "Yes, this is a half-caf grande latté." Satisfied, I took a sip, savoring the aroma. Yes, I decided, truly this was a cup of coffee one could almost be tempted to sell her soul for.

Skip forward - a day and many tears later, I found myself back in small town exile. Faced with frugality imposed by my dwindling flex dollar account, I resigned myself to the sad knowledge that my Portland latté would be my last espresso for a very long time. Plain coffee would be my fate until I found some way to resurrect my now-dead checking account. And if I wanted to wallow, I'd make it black. But wait! I thought to myself, grasping for any rationalization, shouldn't I compare my fabled Portland taste sensation to a campus Starbucks latté, just in case I was romanticizing just a wee bit? Yes, indeed. That would be the only sensible thing to do. And so, heart racing, I stepped up to the counter and ventured hesitantly, "Um, could I please have a grande decaf latté"? (From a purist standpoint, I was leaving the opportunity for another latté open. After all, can one really, in good conscience, compare a half-caf latté to a decaf one?) And when it was delivered into my open, waiting hands, I realized.... no, it doesn't compare. It just doesn't. Smiling barista notwithstanding.