Listen, I get it.
The sun’s out, everything’s nice and warm, and your seasonal depression has evaporated into thin air. Why not swing by the hip new coffee shop on the corner and order an iced coffee or oooh, better yet a cold brew! That stuff is all the rage now isn’t it?
Wrong. I’m fucking dying over here, pal. You need to put down the fucking cold brew and drink some water or we’re going to die.
Yes, I understand that cold brew is steeped longer. And I get that iced coffee is regular coffee but on ice. Your friends were all thrilled by those fascinating anecdotes at brunch last week, and the week before.
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But you know what? None of your Wikipedia knowledge is going to mean shit if you don’t grab a fucking Gatorade and hydrate, for Christ’s sake. Next time you find yourself on the brunch patio, and knowing you it won’t be too fucking long, try choking down your pulled pork benedict with something other than a $6 nitro cold brew.
Believe me, I understand. Speaking as the vocalization of your subconscious, I can say with confidence that your body was 100% fooled the first time you chugged an entire 24 ounce Dunkin Donuts iced coffee like it was fresh, live-giving water straight from the Brita filter. The synapses were firing left and right, and we were ecstatic.
But no, it was that God-awful icy black liquid, and you had enough of it to kill an infant child.
I want you to know: I’m doing this for our own good. You remember how you felt that time you had that canned mocha frappe right before your trial shift behind the bar at Sinclair Libations? That’s the hippest cocktail lounge in the whole city, bucko, and you fucked it up because you couldn’t keep your Goddamn jitters under control.
So please, take the fucking hint. I don’t give a shit what chemical compounds may or may not be present in iced coffee that aren’t in cold brew. I don’t fucking care what the “mouthfeel” difference are, and I pray to God you stop saying that word in front of people.
Put that shit down, or we won’t live to see another hot coffee season. And I know how much you’re looking forward to debuting your new Chemex rig this fall.
Oh, and while I’m at it: no, rosé does not fucking count as a replacement.