A day after receiving a cortado that had a touch too much milk in it (with more or less the consistency of a semi-dry cappuccino) I return to the cafe and order a cortado "with just a touch less milk than usual." The barista behind the register rolls her eyes dramatically. (I didn't know baristas did that anymore.) (A real throwback to the days of video store clerks and the I.T. department.) I wait. (I wait for the dry cortado.) A bearded barista (baristo?) calls my name. As I approach he fixes me with a pitying if baleful grimace and instructs, "Next time you want a cortado with less milk, ask for a macchiato." The last time I was in this coffee shop it sported a clean white pine IKEA feel. The renamed cafe in its place has a rustico, reclaimed wood Restoration Hardware feel. Recently I gave up drinking coffee. I try to drink tea now. (The cortado/macchiato/dry-cappuccino was destined for wifey.)
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