doomsday_disco
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Everything posted by doomsday_disco
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A snowy, chilled pomegranate slurry.
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Pomegranate Popcorn.
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Pomegranate Molasses.
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Pomegranate Loukoumi and Champagne.
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Pomegranate Candy Canes.
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Pomegranate and Smoked Cacao.
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Pomegranate and Scarlet Chypre.
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Pomegranate and Red Rose.
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And a drop of wildflower honey.
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Pomegranate and Pistachio Cream.
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Pomegranate and Cathedral Incense.
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Pomegranate and Burning Leaves.
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Pomegranate and Black Pine.
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Pomegranate and Black Fig.
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Dust-soft vellum, cracked leather, and yellowed pages exhaling their ghost of vanillin, a triple shot of espresso, and a deft swirl of warm, velvety microfoam.
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My Lolo used to make these every Sunday. A swirl of nostalgia: cold, creamy coffee ice cream melting into a fizz of root beer, turning effervescent bubbles into caramelized satin.
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Freshly roasted coffee beans releasing their dark, velvety warmth amongst ribbons of molten caramel and a haze of deliciously radiant golden amber.
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The perfume of French Quarter mornings: rich chicory coffee, earthy and bittersweet, drifting through the powdered-sugar clouds of warm beignets dusted to luminosity.
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Soothing, warm and quietly radiant: espresso kissed with honey, swirled into warm steamed milk, and crowned with a dusting of cinnamon.
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After thirty years of reluctantly drinking coffee, Ted has become a bean aficionado thanks to a local shop called the Head Nut. Recently, we bought French vanilla and bourbon chocolate beans from them and ever since that day, Ted has been hooked. Of course, Ted’s morning coffee is the breakfast beverage equivalent to a cozy hug: a slow-simmered swirl of brown sugar melting into steamed milk, wrapped around the soothing, sweet warmth of vanilla-infused espresso.
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The inky bite of black coffee rising in gusts of steam, softened by the warm-gold glow of buttered crust and sugared apples.
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Espresso poured over lush condensed milk and a bright thread of lemon, sweetened with Licor 43 and finished with a dusting of warm cinnamon.
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The scent of a too-big mug of coffee at your favorite all-night diner after the clubs let out: a slow ribbon of clove smoke, the warm fry-oil haze that clings to everything, and a fleeting gust of maple syrup drifting through the booths.
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Black leather flecked with remnants of a gloopy food court cinnamon bun.