More dairy-free nonsense today. Oxford station: the camera pans to me, peering through the transparent glass of the Costa cabinet, where bacon rolls and panini sit, tightly wrapped and ready for breakfast.
I’m supposed to be fasting too. Though not from food while I’m having trouble digesting. Nevertheless, the thought’s there in the back of my mind.
“Can I help?” asks the barista. I smile and ask for an americano. She asks me whether I want milk, and I snap back ‘No!’ accidentally. It suddenly occurs to me that I might have come across as an incredulous coffee snob who believes in the purity of the americano not being polluted by milk. There’s no time to explain though. She’s asking if I have a Costa card and I’m finding the app on my phone while simultaneously wondering if I should try adding oat milk back to my diet.
Maybe not on an Oxford day though.
“Anything else?” she says pleasantly, almost as an afterthought. My belly, right on cue, gurgles like a bubbling drain. The bacon rolls are still there. They’re still buttered (or sprayed with that worrying ingredient I found out is called ‘liquid dairy fat’) and they still look like a delicious breakfast. I’m tempted to risk it.
“No thanks,” I say. She hands me my hot coffee. Moments later I’m perched on a cold metal seat with an americano and a banana retrieved from my rucksack. At least, I say to myself, my tummy will be thankful.
No comments:
Post a Comment