french vanilla cinnamon spice maple hazelnut
This morning in line at Starbucks my olfactories were accosted by a scent I usually associate with Midwest homes and shopping malls, but definitely not with Starbucks. It was one of those pungent, artificial French vanilla, artificial cinnamon, unidentifiable spice, artificial maple hazelnut concoctions that every small town candle, card and coffee shop reeks of these days. It's the scent that has permeated all of my sisters' and Bob's sisters' homes for the past several years now, not just in the bathroom, but in the living room, and even in the kitchen where the natural spice smells should be, though no one seems to catch the irony.
I don't know when the revolution started. Maybe it was when Martha first came to K-Mart or when the Gourmet Bean set up shop along the Jersey turnpike, but they've taken over the middle of America so completely that no one knows any better. More than once, at so-called specialty coffee stores, I've been handed French Vanilla when I've asked for French Roast. More than once, someone I care about has lit one of these candles and then asked me in shear wide-eyed amazement, "Doesn't it smell like I'm baking cookies," leaving me wondering when it was that they last baked real cookies.
So, I looked around the Starbucks to see if I could find the source of the unwelcome smell, and low-and-behold, there was a young woman pacing the parameter of the order line carrying a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup. She had obviously been dragged unwillingly into the Starbucks by her friend whose coffee preference was different from hers.
I know. I know. I'm well aware of the whole corporate menace thing that friends beat me with each time I mention Starbucks. And I am willing to admit that it's a little ridiculousness that there are eight, yes eight, different Starbucks within a five-minute walk from my new place in the Village. But I keep going back there. I can't help but want my maple, cinnamon, vanilla and hazelnut to be real and in my desserts, and my coffee untainted by candle fragrances.
I don't know when the revolution started. Maybe it was when Martha first came to K-Mart or when the Gourmet Bean set up shop along the Jersey turnpike, but they've taken over the middle of America so completely that no one knows any better. More than once, at so-called specialty coffee stores, I've been handed French Vanilla when I've asked for French Roast. More than once, someone I care about has lit one of these candles and then asked me in shear wide-eyed amazement, "Doesn't it smell like I'm baking cookies," leaving me wondering when it was that they last baked real cookies.
So, I looked around the Starbucks to see if I could find the source of the unwelcome smell, and low-and-behold, there was a young woman pacing the parameter of the order line carrying a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup. She had obviously been dragged unwillingly into the Starbucks by her friend whose coffee preference was different from hers.
I know. I know. I'm well aware of the whole corporate menace thing that friends beat me with each time I mention Starbucks. And I am willing to admit that it's a little ridiculousness that there are eight, yes eight, different Starbucks within a five-minute walk from my new place in the Village. But I keep going back there. I can't help but want my maple, cinnamon, vanilla and hazelnut to be real and in my desserts, and my coffee untainted by candle fragrances.
5 Comments:
BLEH! Glad it was you and not me, oh blogger buddy...
The point of no return, for me, came when I realized that not only do people use those damn candles to scent every corner of their homnes and cars but now we have lip gloss, body soap, and even perfume sprays scented like candy, vanilla ice cream and (who would of thunk'it?) cinnamon buns and root beer.
I think I'll stick with my Chanel Allure and NOT start walking around smelling like a Cinn-a-bon!
I am reminded of the first time I had real maple syrup on my pancakes instead of the Mrs. Butterworth I grew up with. Nature is always better.
Good to hear from each of you. I was afraid I'd get a bunch of angry notes from scented-candle lovers everywhere--wrapped in Hallmark paper and tied with a raffia bow.
I remember when people first started the whole potpourri kick. In the beginning, it was still kind of expensive, and not all that hideously strong. I remember seeing some at someone's house that had real rosebuds in it. And some somewhere else that had pieces of dried orange. But soon, giant dogfood bag sized portions were to be had at Wal-Marts everywhere. Dyed and perfumed slivers of wood chips and wierd pieces of styrofoam that smelled like a gas station bathroom deodorizer.
And when did this whole flavored coffee thing happen, anyway? Ack. There was a coffee and tea house I used to go to when I was in grad school in the early 90's. They had all sorts of coffee made from beans from different regions--Sumatran, Kenyan, etc. And one flavored coffee that I would get every once in a while as a treat: Hazelnut. But now, there are vomitous arrays of flavors available: French Vanilla Raspberry and the like.
I have to say, Dunkin Donuts has come out with some of the most disgusting flavors I've seen. The latest one is blueberry.
Blueberry coffee.
Ew.
Oh my! My friends from Europe who already had their doubts about American pallets will completely write us off when they hear about the blueberry coffee!
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