AKA the honeymoon is ON.
  1. First time I hear about PHILZ is from my son.
    He's at a summer camp at Stanford. When I pick him up on his final day he says we have to try PHILZ - that his dad, my ex, discovered it and there's an iced coffee with mint that he's crazy about now. Mint mojito or something.
  2. Ex husband's favorite? No thank you.
    Even though I mildly enjoyed the sip of this minty iced coffee, I felt all "oh your dad is so obsessed with coffee and whatever is new. It's not THAT special."
  3. Next time I tried it I was at the Santa Monica Library. Which has a cool cafe in it.
    But very bad coffee. So I left my cozy chair in th reading area in search of a Starbucks. Ok, ok not my fave, but I know how to make them make the coffee that I like. (Grande Blonde pour-over with room please). I headed down the street and low and behold - PHILZ.
  4. OK, everyone is talking about this place now and my ex is constantly buying the kids coffee from there and now they are all addicted. So fine, I'll. try it again.
  5. I walk in, and guess what? No lattes. No cappuccinos. No macchiatos. No Mistos. You can't sweeten your own coffee you can't add your own milk or cream either.
  6. You have to tell them how you want it and pray that they get it right. And you have to wait a good long time for that coffee because they only do four orders at a time. And guess what learning all that does?
    It pisses me right the hell off. Like Big-Time pissed off. Like, You fucking precious hipsters. Like, You caffeinated holier-than-thou 32 year old posers. And all you stupid ass customers, I want to slap each of you in your smug pretentious dick face. Coffee elitism, really? Each of you is buying into this ridiculous notion of some fucking transcendent experience.
  7. I walked out. I didn't have the time to wait and I didn't have the mental real estate for this inanity.
  8. Even the names of the coffee blends drove me crazy. Dancing Waters, New Manhatten, Code 33, Fuck You.
  9. Months went by. My teens kept coming home with Philz cups. I started feeling like this was like me not getting Snapchat. Was I too old to appreciate PHILZ? Was this just another Baby Boomer rant of mine? Should I give it another try?
  10. I didn't. I refused.
  11. And then one of my dearest Besties who is not in the Boomer category but a Gen X gal, @readjulia and her husband @SleuthChris (whom I would also categorize as a Bestie by association and plus he's fucking awesome just like dear Julia is) visited.
  12. They said that they were a PHILZ fancouple and that they would be bringing 10 POUNDS of "Tesoro blend" beans back to Michegan with them.
  13. Well, @readjulia is the one that turned me on to List App, so maybe I had to re-think my whole perspective on PHILZ. Maybe.
  14. Then Chris brought some Tesoro beans to the house and we ground then up in my Japanese coffee grinder and made coffee in my French Press.
    My Japanese coffee grinder was given to my by my Japanese boyfriend who is the best and most thoughtful boyfriend any girl could ever have. And he's a foodie and a very thorough researcher so I trust him on why he chose this particular grinder for me. And he's not on list app so I'm not trying to kiss his ass here. He's really all that. And more.
  15. And it was the FUCKING BOMB.
    It was really the best cup of coffee I've had since the coffee I had last summer in Munich of all places - a special secret blend of Dalymayer coffee that was pure bliss. We even went to the Dalmayer coffee source and they wouldn't reveal the blend. But Tesoro was just as good.
  17. As a parting gift, Chris and Julia bought me a pound and a half of Tesoro beans.
  18. I now drink PHILZ every day. But I make it my way, in my own home.
    Because I don't suffer Fools or Hipsters gladly.
  19. And let's not forget that "Phil" means Love.
  20. Let's actually never forget that. PHILZ COFFEE IS A CUP OF LOVE