French Vanilla and Bacon....together at last
The cravings started. I was barely on my drive to work, but I could feel the gentle tug of sleep nuzzling me to turn around and rejoin its comforting grasp between the sheets of my nightly place of rest. I needed some form of resuscitation. An allegorical defibrillator to bring me back to the land of the living. I needed coffee. Some synapses fired in my brain, recalling advice an old sage once told me. "7-Eleven coffee is freaking awesome", rang in my brain, and I knew exactly where to find one of these awakening havens.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I grew giddy. I had recently acquired a new thermos, and I was anxious to put it through the tests. I stumbled inside, questing to quench my galloping grogginess. I came across a mechanical brew dispenser with five different options. To my right I saw the standard coffee in the standard pots on the standard heating pads. Surely, I couldn't engulf the innards of my new brew holder with regular coffee.
I repositioned myself towards the brew dispensing machine and analyzed the flavor compounds. Hot Chocolate, Mint Truffle, Caramel Enchilada, Berry Busey (has alcohol in it?), and the fan favorite, French Vanilla. Fighting off yet another head bob, I thrust my thermos underneath the designated flavoring of choice, and depressed the green, square button. At three quarters of the way full, I released the button, as instructed by this self-serving machine, and the machine finished my thermos off to a perfect fill. I reattached the lid and made haste to the counter. A small exchange of courtesy and currency for coffee and a lottery ticket occurred. I reinserted myself into my vehicle and continued progress away from my home.
The gentle aroma tickled the cilia in my nasal cavity. I carefully brought the thermos to my lips, the whole while thinking, "mmmmm.... delicious french vanilla." I took a sip. The warmth of the liquid embraced my very soul in these cold winter days, but then each taste bud on my tongue screamed a thousand tears of terror. "What is this fallacy?" I thought to myself. I took another sip. "It can't be!" Yet another slurp of this concoction proved my initial fears. This liquid. This coffee. This abomination to early morning commuters everywhere tasted like liquid bacon. Oh, sure, I know what you're thinking, "bacon flavored coffee? DELICIOUS!" Let me tell you first hand that this is an unholy union that you do not wish to know. Oh sure, there was a hint of French Vanilla, particularly when the demon liquid acclimated to room temperature, but the pungent taste of bacon possesses every flavorical trait. There is no getting pass the bacon. Liquid bacon in a cup. Bacon was not meant to be drunk. Oh God. Oh Bacon. French Vanilla Bacon.
I give French Vanilla Cappuccino from 7-Eleven 3 sugar packets out of 16 ounces.