Yashi is undertaking a double degree in International Relations/ Environmental Studies and hails from Western Sydney.
Her column is like a Yelp review for things that aren’t restaurants and instead of useful information, it’s incoherent rambling for 800 words and she doesn’t even get promoted to ‘Top Contributor’ status.
I sacrificed my body, and potentially mind, for this pursuit. It was a perilous journey. At least four times I spilt searing hot liquid on exposed skin. I’ve come to the conclusion that my body is horrendously disproportionate and therefore every fall, trip, tumble, slip, and/ or face plant since my birth can be pinned on the fact that my feet are at least three sizes too small for my height. In other, more relevant news, here is the low-down on which caffeinated drink to consume during these tumultuous times we live in. It won’t be helpful in the slightest but I’ve gone through too much to write about anything else.
French Press Coffee
I take it black like they do in the movies. This is probably a bad idea considering my regular order is a small weak soy cap, but here we are.
It’s mysterious. It’s moody. It’s got a-t-t-i-t-u-d-e. It’s the widowed Femme Fatale in a 1950s film noir about the murder of a wealthy businessman on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It wears black lace gloves and lights cigarettes on the ends of ornate cigarette holders without ever actually taking a drag.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the powers to transform me into a seductress dressed in a floor length satin gown. However, I do briefly have the urge to reach for a beret and head to Smiths Alternative for a night of Slam Poetry.
I annoyed my significant other for a while. Intermittently, I would stare at my laptop screen and hope that words would appear of their own volition – they did not.
I would give my productivity level a six out of ten purely because I spent far too long fantasising about what kind of robe I would be wearing and what wine I would be sipping when the police finally crashed through my doors to arrest me for the murder of my husband.
Nescafe Instant Coffee Blend 43
Reminiscent of my high school English teacher’s breath.
I once made the mistake of calling him over to help me understand the underlying social commentary in Blade Runner, and as he leant over my shoulder, I was hit with the rancid stench of the bitter, lifeless brew that is Blend 43. It felt like death itself had entered my nostrils. I was always fearful of asking a question after that, should he decide to make his way over to my table and explain to me in excruciating detail the microcosm and macrocosm within Hamlet. He was a great teacher, he just made terrible beverage choices.
No amount of sugar or milk can make me forget that memory. After finishing about half, I decided that I enjoyed having tastebuds too much and switched to a soothing cup of tea.
A carbonated hellscape of mismanaged time and soul destroying delirium.
Not worthy of a rating. Barely worthy of a review.
Dilmah Extra Strong
Not all heroes wear capes.
The great thing about this tea is you can safely have about ten cups without feeling like you’re about to enter a fifth dimension. It’s comforting, it’s relaxing, it’s easy to brew. It’s just constant cups of happiness that can never disappoint you.
T2 English Breakfast Tea
I find a single packet lying around, and while I brewed myself a cup of Dilmah Extra Strength, I hand a cup of T2 English Breakfast to my significant other. He takes two sips, walks over to the sink, and pours the entirety of the cup down the drain. ‘I’m never putting this in my body again’, he whispers, visibly shaken. His hopes of a mildly caffeinated hour have been thwarted by this new age-y ‘reinvention’ of tea.
I angrily went on T2’s website to see what other dubious concoctions they’ve managed to market and I was so aghast at what I found that I had no choice but to not study for the next two hours.
They charge a ludicrous $14 for 100 grams of black tea with ‘natural and artificial vanilla’. This is known as ‘Melbourne Breakfast’ – not to be mistaken with ‘New York Breakfast’, which is completely different and not at all the same because it’s black tea with natural and artificial vanilla and cinnamon. What a time to be alive.
It’s 2.30am in the morning, there’s not an ounce of caffeine in my body, and I’m wide awake. I’m running on the pure adrenaline of knowing I need to submit this assignment before the 9am deadline. I have learnt the following in the past week: consuming a caffeinated beverage in an attempt to increase productivity is useless – I spent half my time trying to sit still and the other half frantically running to bathroom in one to three minute intervals.