"OKIES DON'T QUIT," screamed a red T-shirt on a man at the cafe. He was wrestling a kid who wanted a cinnamon roll he wasn't going to get, not today.
"Hartmann Honey," of course, I said to Isaiah behind the bar. No dad in tow, I could treat myself accordingly.
The Hartmann is a treat, I think. Isaiah does not think so much.
It might not be the best coffee to ever be roasted at DoubleShot, but it's pretty typical - handled with care from lot to pot, a flavor profile unlike any other.
I drank down two cups, then took home a pound of Tanzania Songea Peaberry. Take that.