“Can I get an iced strawberry matcha with oat milk?”
“An iced caramel latte for me please.”
“Can I get a dirty chai?”
I have absolutely no idea what a dirty chai is (I’m scared to look it up, it sounds wrong to me). I also don’t know what makes a latte different from a cappuccino. But what I do know is how many teaspoons of Bournvita go into a glass of milk, and this ratio is embedded in my brain.
I remember the times when, in school, we were either Team Complan or Team Boost, and then there were kids like me, Team Bournvita (a.k.a. the intellectuals).
Our biggest beverage-related concern was whether the school canteen had Frooti that day and not some off-brand local mango drink and now people are concerned with foam in their coffees. Life was simpler back then—the fanciest drink I knew was probably hot chocolate, made with regular cow’s milk and not some milk alternative we find in the vegan aisles.
I don’t know when this transition happened, but it happened. Drinks are now a reflection of who you are and your identity. Government-issued Aadhaar cards don’t disclose as much about your identity as your drink choice does now. Every single person has upgraded their drink order, except me and a few others who are probably in their late 80’s.
Nowadays, everyone’s drinking matcha. Their Instagram stories are filled with pictures of condensation-covered glasses, pretty green drinks on little cafĂ© tables with a marble finish, and the mandatory Starbucks cup with their name written on it and a smiley at the end. Somehow, even the drinks have become Pinterest worthy. There’s a whole aesthetic to holding a green drink, and I feel like I’m missing the importance of being a teenager in this era.
I genuinely thought matcha was just another kind of tea. I thought it was green powder mixed in hot water, until everyone started drinking it. Now there are strawberry matchas, blueberry matchas, vanilla matchas and probably a matcha for every fruit Santosh uncle sells from his fruit cart at the market every Thursday. It’s about time someone makes a sithapal-flavoured matcha.
And then there’s coffee. Coffee isn’t any easier to understand either. There’s iced Spanish latte, caramel macchiato, cold brew, flat white, mocha, cortado and about eighty-seven other drinks that I can’t spell. Some people know their exact coffee order as if it’s tattooed on their brain. They know it all the way down to the type of milk, the number of espresso shots and the amount of syrup. They don’t even have to look at the menu—they just walk up to the counter and recite it. To me, all of it sounds like a fancy Latin poem. And these are the same people who couldn’t remember their multiples of 7 in third grade.Â
I genuinely don’t understand how people do this. How are you standing there, making eye contact with the barista, confidently asking for three pumps of vanilla, an extra shot of espresso and cold foam, without stuttering ? What if I forget what I was going to say halfway through? What if the barista asks me a follow-up question? I would probably just nod and accept whatever drink they give me at that point, even if it’s just hot water.
Meanwhile, my drink preferences haven’t really moved beyond Bournvita, Boost, Frooti and a good old hot chocolate. If I can drink it while watching my TV and feel like I’m five years old again, even better. That’s my definition of a good life.
Maybe one day I’ll understand the difference between a flat white and a latte. Maybe I’ll even manage to order a coffee without panicking when the barista asks me a follow-up question. Until then, I’ll stick to my childhood classics.Â
Also, can someone tell me what even cold foam is, and how do you make foam cold!?