Fog in the Mountain

 This was no ordinary London Fog, no, no. From 4,038 feet above sea level, in an embarrassingly sweat-soaked golf shirt, I found myself in line to purchase a Fog from a small cafe inside the main building on top of Grouse Mountain. I had just completed the Grouse Grind (very successfully might I add) and couldn't think of a better beverage to cool myself down and impress a friend's boyfriend of whom I was meeting for the first time. 

The cafe itself was more of a counter than a cafe, really. There was a limited selection of other traditional cafe beverages (None of which I cared for, naturally) along with six drawings of mountain-dwelling species with unhinged names - a grizzly bear named something like Goeff, and a Deer named Daisy, if my memory serves me right. I doubt these were the animals' actual names. The first-letter-animal-name-pairing would certainly lead to a troubling middle school experience. 

Aside from the Cafe's relatively 'chill' decor, I ordered my Fog after pushing and shoving my way through the no people there to do the same. There was an unnecessary 5 server team (which would likely severely hurt that company's bottom line, with the raising of the minimum wage and all). Of the 5, 0/5 showed any enthusiasm whatsoever. It's fine though, I knew I wasn't paying for a performance. 

Little did I know, after six minutes of waiting and talking trees with Mr. Forestry, my Fog was waiting quietly for me behind a blind corner. Sure, I saw the rather massive "pick up here" sign, but my spoiled rear assumed they'd call me. Oh well. 

The Fog itself was disappointing, to say the least. The drink was too hot, on the watery side, and lacked the essential subtlety of the tea and sweet flavouring. I knew after the first sip I'd have to drink it quicker than I would normally like, there was nothing at all to savour. 

4/10 Fog.