If you spend any time at Ace of Spades HQ, you’ll learn about a little fixation a few of the more twisted folks have with cat scat.
I was surprised to find an article in the Chicago Tribune by columnist John Kass about a particular delicacy.
Coffee that’s good to the last dropping
In the post-apocalyptic nightmare to come, I hope somebody saves a copy of this column, to put the blame for the fall of the West right where it belongs: on America’s gourmet coffee fetish, which has led to $10 cups of coffee made from cat poop.
“It doesn’t taste like what you think it tastes like,” Brian Munro, manager and apprentice roast master at Coffee and Tea Unlimited in Minneapolis, said on Wednesday. “And it doesn’t smell. You smell the roasted beans. It’s a very rich cup of coffee. Using a coffee term, it’s got a full body.”
Yes, indeed, Mr. Brew Master.
“It’s roast master, not brew master,” he corrected. “I’m apprentice to the roast master.”
They are not cats, exactly, they’re civets, which is worse. A civet is a 10-pound cat with soft, pudgy hands. They creep through Indonesian and Ethiopian coffee fields at night, eating the fruit, swallowing the beans, as hapless peasants trudge behind them, gingerly collecting the undigested beans, perhaps singing a folk song or two about stupid North Americans, and ship them here, where it sells for $420 a pound.
Holy crap.
