My friend Michael (I can use his real name because I know at least 75 Michaels) checked into Chick-fil-A on Facebook last week and wrote a status declaring his undying love for their new Frosted Coffee.
There were two possibilities — either someone had hacked into his account, or he had lost his ever loving mind. I mean, really? For someone to actually take the time to publicly announce to the world that they are at Chick-fil-A drinking coffee? Of all places? That seems troubling. Sorry, Michael.
Yet my curiosity was piqued because, you see, Michael is Italian. He knows from good coffee. I respect and value his opinions on all things café noir. Especially because we have this diner that we all love because the food and the diner ambience is fantastic but the coffee is absolute shit. Michael is so offended that he brings his own coffee to the diner so as not to have to drink the shitty diner coffee, and his dedication to high quality java has inspired me to do the same.
This is what I believe: life is too short to drink bad coffee.
Here’s what else I believe: you should have at least one good friend in your life who is always ready to make you a perfect cup of coffee. That friend for me is Michael’s wife. I know I can always go to their house and get a fine cup of exquisitely brewed, mocha-dark, fine ass coffee and that they will always have half and half and raw sugar just how I need it, rather than some watery, acidic store brand garbage out of a nineteen year old Mr. Coffee, served with a side of International Delights and a packet of Splenda.
My friends are Italian, which I already mentioned. You need to have Italian friends because they will never settle for sub-standard coffee under any circumstances and they will always feed you well, and you need people like this in your life. I do anyway.
So when Michael went so far as to post on Facebook that Chick-fil-A had a caffeinated beverage that was good enough for him to announce it on social media, I had to question him.
His response: “Imagine coffee, ice cream, and Chick-fil-A getting it on in a 3 way. Yes, it’s that good.”
First rule of Victoria: If you ever compare food to sex I am immediately going to want to eat whatever it is you are describing. You could compare liver and onions to missionary and I’d be like, I could really go for some liver and onions right about now. It’s kind of an issue.
There are, however, a few problems with his analogy, but we’ll get to that in a minute.
I began to want Frosted Coffee. But not with an intense burning desire by any means. I wasn’t quite ready for the three-way just yet, in other words. I simply wanted more information and was thinking about Frosted Coffee in the back of my mind like, yeah, that would be cool. I might like it, but I don’t really know if I’m totally into that sort of thing. I tend to prefer my coffee more exclusive, as in not usually blended with my ice cream and certainly not with Chick-fil-A anywhere near the whole scene.
I like my coffee unadulterated. Just me and the coffee, intimately. I may well be one of the only people on earth who doesn’t like any sort of Frappucino, Frappe, caramel drizzled, whipped cream on top foolishness. Because that is a milkshake, not a cup of coffee.
And that is simply not my kind of kink.
For many years I was in a committed relationship with iced lattes, but then we broke up (it was amicable) because I fell wildly in love with Starbucks Cold Brew. Cold Brew and I are currently in a monogamous relationship because I like consistency and predictability and I know the Cold Brew is always going to deliver my caffeine fast and hard the way I like it.
But sometimes you have to try something new.
I decided to do some “research” first, and I visited Chick-fil-A’s website where Frosted Coffee began to flirt with me.
“bet your coffee pot can’t do this” it read.
It was like Frosted Coffee was sending me a mildly flirty, suggestive text, complete with lower case letters and no punctuation.
O rly, Frosted Coffee? Ur right. My coffee pot CAN’T do a lot of things. Just what exactly are you referring to?
Then I went a little deeper into the Chick-fil-A site and turns out, Chick-fil-A is just as cray as you suspected. They have a whole page dedicated to coffee and it’s like a creepy dating site (I am not making this up) where you can take a quiz to see which of their coffee farmers is your best match. Huh? I don’t know. I like coffee and all, but probably not enough to be the American mail order bride to some South American coffee farmer from a high mountain peak in the Andes. I think I’d rather not know, except I took the quiz and apparently I am the soul mate of a dude named Franco Garbanzo (as in chick pea). On the plus side, my future esposo actually lives in Costa Rica and I’ve always wanted to go there and I love sloths, so there’s that…
Franco, te amo, bebe. Tienes mi corazon, mi amor.
Chick-fil-A even has a hashtag for its coffee. I kid you not. A hashtag. #coffeewithastory Like people (me naturally) are going to take the time to come up with some kind of inspiring story having to do with Chick-fil-A coffee and post it to social and fucking hashtag that shit. I can see it now. #coffeewithastory #soblessed #friends #coffeeloveandlight #Christiancoffee
How about this: #givemeafuckingbreakwithyourcoffeehashtaggingohmyfreakinggod
I have to tell you. I don’t really care if my coffee has a story. I just want it to be good. Are we clear here? That said, I kind of got to wondering what kind of story my coffee might have.
Did my coffee get its MFA in Creative Nonfiction at the New School?
Or was it more like a my coffee dropped out of high school, traveled the world barefoot, had mystical visions on ayahuasca in the Amazon rainforest, got shot in the shoulder by a drug dealer and is now a yoga teacher kind of a story?
I like both options. For the record.
But enough of all this nonsense. I decided I had to go for it.
My order was easy. Give me the Frosted Coffee.
I want it inside me now.
This is where things got a little…surprising.
See, I had this plan that since I was drinking ice cream, that I was going to attempt to create balance in my Universe here by purposely not ordering whipped cream and cherry on top. Like that would make a difference, I know, but in my head it made a huge difference. Except, Chick-fil-A did not even offer that as an option. Frosted coffee doesn’t come with whipped cream and a cherry. Period. I guess you could order it if you wanted, but somehow that feels wrong. Like if you pull some shit like that, the people at the drive-thru window might have to use their safe word or something. Like asking for whipped cream and a cherry on top of Frosted Coffee is just taking it a step too far. You have crossed the line here, okay? Calm the fuck down and go take a shower.
So here I am trying to drive a car and drink Frosted Coffee at the same time.
I did not have high hopes for this thing. Remember, coffee milkshake concoctions are generally cloying and wussy and not at all my type. Remember how I said that?
Appearances can be deceiving as hell.
There have been a few times in my romantic life where I have totally misread someone, where I thought a guy was maybe not all that hot, was definitely not my type, was probably a little emasculated and wasn’t going to do it for me at all and would probably be one of those poor souls who asks if they can kiss you and then sends you poorly worded love letters for weeks after. Except. Except he turns out to be the greatest lay of your entire life, and has your toes curling while you scream out his name so that for weeks after it is YOU penning the poorly worded, largely unsent, thank God, love letters while weeping about how much you love him and wondering why he isn’t calling you. That ever happen to you? Yup.
Okay, THAT is Frosted Coffee.
It’s not sweet. It’s not cloying. Frosted Coffee isn’t clingy or needy or sappy. It doesn’t contain caramel or weird flavorings, is not a milkshake, and it doesn’t try to be a dessert. Because it isn’t. Because Frosted Coffee don’t play, people.
Frosted Coffee got all the game. All of it.
Cold Brew WHO?
Remember when I said I was trying to drive? I got distracted. By delicious.
“Back seat, windows up, that’s the way you like to…”
Frosted Coffee is like a Ludacris song. “I wanna li-li-li-lick you from yo head to yo toes…”
I honestly couldn’t believe that something this good came from Chick-fil-A. Remember my friend’s analogy about the threesome between coffee, ice cream and Chick-fil-A? Well initially that didn’t work for me because I understood coffee and ice cream getting it on. Those two have had a booty call going on for years, but add Chick-fil-A to the mix and well, I pictured some pearl clutching religious fanatic messing up the whole thing hollering about sin and redemption and how wrong this mashup was in the eyes of the Lord Almighty.
I came to realize that sometimes it’s those quiet ones you have to look out for.
“My chick bad, my chick good, my chick do stuff yo chick wish she could.”
It’s like that, y’all.
I always wondered why Mormons couldn’t drink coffee. This is why.
Fifty Shades of Coffee, yo.
I can’t stop thinking about it. It was so perfectly balanced, so not sweet, so thick and rich and creamy and suckable. I just wanted it in my mouth.
Oh my God, I need to stop.
Here’s the problem. A small Frosted Coffee has 240 calories. That said, I was able to exercise enough control over myself to only drink half of it, but that was really hard. I wanted it all. I started making bargains with God, like if I could have it again I would go to yoga twice a day and eat the Superfood Salad with Kale instead of waffle fries for the rest of my life.
It’s like that boy that you know is such a bad choice and is awful for you, but he makes you do all the bad things, willingly, but you know you have to stop because this just will not end well if you continue like this. Only, in the case of the boy, someone will end up with a restraining order, whereas in the case of Frosted Coffee, someone will end up with diabetes.
Here’s the second problem. I forgot that it had caffeine. Frosted Coffee has plenty of caffeine, but in my head I think I only believe in caffeine’s existence if my drink tastes like kerosene and this tasted so good that I didn’t realize it and a half hour later I turned into Cornholio.
Are you threatening me?
Please threaten me to drink more Frosted Coffee. I want it. I need it. I’m desperately in love with it. At least I think I am. I think it might actually be lust or infatuation, but I can’t get Frosted Coffee out of my head. All I think about is how much I want it. I am already conspiring ways to get more of it. Same day, next week? Please? How about today? Too soon? Am I being too needy? Have I caught too many feels?
In conclusion. Frosted Coffee? Hell fucking yes, Chick-fil-A. You did me right. You gave it to me like I wanted. Like I needed. You were strong and stiff, slow and deep with the right amount of sweetness to cover the bitterness. You kept it simple – vanilla ice cream, coffee, nothing else. You were like my darkest fantasies made manifest. You are my Alabama Affogato.
So true, my love, my coffee pot most definitely can’t do what you do.