This is my poison of the moment: iced espresso. And not even homemade. I recently discovered that the bar at Treviso train station sells three kinds of iced coffee to go, each delicious in its own way and no doubt full of hidden sugar but hell, who ever heard of a comfort food that isn’t packed with calories.
So yesterday, when Mr F had to return to Treviso for a CAT scan, I had the foresight to take with me an insulated freezer bag which I filled under the bemused gaze of the gum-chewing cashier. I got five espressos and one capuccino, just in case Mr F ever wipes that smirk off his face and is tempted to try one.
Personally I could live on them. With maybe a few Italian cherries as a side-order. This is a very good year for cherries. One thing I know: it’s too darned hot, too darned humid to cook. We’re having one of those find-the-remote-control-for-the-a/c-or-shoot-me weeks and I already bit off two heads today. In fact if one more tourist had clobbered me with a backpack before we reached my boat stop I believe I’d have run amok. Too much caffeine, maybe.