*Note- written before the fact (January 18th, 11:30 AM) and updated later
I am making a goal of finding out what strange process goes into the making of coffee here in Spain. Questions will be asked, interrogations will be held. Let me let you in on why I feel so passionately about this topic. When you order a coffee at an exorbitantly high price, expect a cup of roughly the height and volume of a three-year old's fist. The punch on the other hand is a bit stronger than that of a three-year-old's fist. If you've ever been hit by a three-year-old, then you know that this is saying serious things about the oomph going into one of these cups of coffee.
In the United States, if I drink a coffee I am a bit (more) wired (than usual). This is a coffee of about five or six times of the drink to be had here. Yet, it makes me a shaky wreck that is magically fluent in Spanish- or at least has confidence like she is. Sometimes I dance. I wish I were kidding.
Sherlock Holmes would suggest foul play and, following in the footsteps of great intercultural detectives before me, so do I. I am possessed of the opinion that when you order coffee in Spain you are actually just ordering espresso and that they find it hilarious to watch confused Americans jitter around the airport, buying everything that they twitch on.
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