Category: Thoughts

It wasn’t too long ago I learned about the difference between a long black and an Americano. Initially I was oblivious to the differences, but I knew that I preferred the former for some reason. Turns out, it was the crema present in long black which tickled my fancy. In terms of preparation, it’s water at the bottom and espresso on top vs espresso at the bottom and water on top – that’s it!

However, I seem to have problems ordering it in Malaysia. Here’s an example of what usually happens when I try to order a long black:

“I’ll have a long black.”
“Oh, Americano?”

I’ll say yes because I’m not picky enough to make a fuss about it (I’ll just bitch about it on my blog), and also because they are essentially the same after a few minutes anyway, when the espresso has mixed with the water. Sometimes they have long black on the menu but serve me an Americano anyway.

Since I don’t make my own coffee, I don’t know if it’s much more difficult pouring espresso into a cup of water as opposed to pouring water into a cup of espresso – but something tells me that it isn’t. If it really isn’t that difficult, I don’t see why these baristas aren’t trained to serve long blacks? Is there something I’m missing?

Hot long blacks are the default drink I’ll order when I’m in a cafe. However, under certain conditions I’ll change my order. If it’s extremely hot outside, I’ll get a cold one instead. If I’ve already had enough coffees for the day, I’ll switch to tea. If it’s very late at night, I’ll get an uncaffeinated tea. I judge a cafe based on the quality of the long black they serve. They could have the crappiest food ever, but if they make a good cup of long black, I’ll be back. Also, if you’re a hitman trying to get me, you know what to do.

I discovered long black by chance – I usually ordered Americanos when I first started drinking black coffee because that was what Starbucks served me. It was when I was at a cafe that didn’t have Americano on the menu and only long black was how I found out about the better coffee.

I started drinking coffee thanks to my stint at Ubergizmo. I had to stay up for an event that was happening early in the morning (due to time zones), so I kept myself awake with some instant Nescafe that my mom stocked at home. This was quite late in my life – about five or six years ago? Previously, the only coffee I consumed were ice-blended drinks from Starbucks/Coffee Bean. It was a life changer.

I’ve had coffee from Melbourne, supposedly the best coffee in the world, and I disagree with that title. Also, I don’t understand how something as diverse as coffee can be given a best in the world title when taste is so subjective? And if I disagree with that opinion, I’m wrong. Fuck that shit. If anybody asks me about my favorite coffee, I can answer that in a heartbeat – the Caribbean beans long black from Doiffee. Hands down, best coffee I’ve ever had. Which is why I had it almost every day during my three-month break. That shit is the bomb.

Never expected to write over 500 words on such a trivial subject. What’s your coffee story?

I’m not sure if it’s because of past experiences, but today I reminded myself of my hatred for being in extremely crowded places.

I was walking around Chinatown today, and felt extremely uncomfortable being surrounded by so many people. There was a fear of being pick pocketed, being the victim of a random slashing incident and even being hit by a passing vehicle. It was mostly irrational, and I can’t really explain why I felt that way, but it was just what my mind was going through as I walked through the crowded streets.

If it wasn’t a fear of something bad happening, there was the annoyance of having to slow down my walk when there were too many people standing in my way. I don’t know why people aren’t more considerate in public. Please don’t hog walkways. It’s like people standing on the walking side of escalators, and acting oblivious to people who would like to get to their destinations quicker. Is it so hard to a considerate human being?

Maybe it was because of the weather. The stink of rubbish and sweaty people amplified by the scorching sun wasn’t helping alleviate my irrational thoughts.

I like cities. But I hate crowds. I enjoy KL when everyone’s gone for the holidays. I stand at the back at gigs instead of participating in the mosh pit. I love being by myself. Am I turning into a hermit or a paranoid? Hmm.

Yesterday I was at a drinking party and I wasn’t the one making a fool of myself. It felt strange. Like I knew what it was like to be that guy and I was no longer him. Trying my best to appear sober, while downing more drinks than my body could handle. Talking out of line, loudly, and acting ridiculous.

Younger George wouldn’t say no to that drink. At least that’s what I remembered. Younger George would never say no to any drink. After all, if it had alcohol, it was delicious and bound to be fun. I wonder if there’s a way to measure how many brain cells I’ve had destroyed by drinking past my limit.

Then again, younger George has been through some shit. Fortunately for younger George, he had amazing friends who looked after his drunk ass when he went down. Honestly, those guys are all champs. Younger George didn’t deserve them, but they were there for him anyway.

I remember during my initial days of clubbing – a group of us would have trouble even finishing one bottle of whiskey. Then we got more tolerant and could even do a single bottle between two people. Now I can’t drink that much anymore, also I believe I’m much better at controlling my intake. Because even though it was fun talking about the adventures of younger George, it only seems funny because I was being an idiot – and I came out of my incidents mostly unscathed.

It took a serious car accident to make me realize how stupid I was but in reality, that didn’t need to happen.

Anyway, I still enjoy some alcohol every now and then, but I can go for weeks without a drink. It’s not a necessity in my life. I’m equally happy having conversation over sips of hot coffee or tea, and a cigarette or vape in my other hand. There’s no need for the high of alcohol when you have the company of good friends around you. Younger George would have suggested afternoon drinks instead.

“You’re a shadow of your former self! What happened to you?”

It’s alright, I’m okay with having less ‘fun’ these days – at least my friends and family won’t have to worry about me every time I go out. Also, I won’t have to spend so long shitting out the previous night’s drinks in the toilet or wasting the day nursing a hangover. It’s a win-win situation. Farewell, younger George. It was nice knowing you.