The Fog Blog

Sometimes it's necessary to spill the tea with some tea. Not just any tea though - juicy, sweet, special - just like a good Fog. Where tea is a Toyota Prius, a London Fog is a low-riding 1962 black Corvette with the top down with the wind in your hair as you're blasting toward a sunset in the Midwestern US.  Today the tea was spilled on a warm summer afternoon. Have you been able to tell I've entirely abandoned any timeline on my Fog posts? Time is irrelevant in Fog-world.  There's something incredibly special about having an excited conversation while gently holding a warm drink. It allows you to sit back in your chair, cross your legs, hold your hands, and listen.  Visual examples include (but are not limited to) an older therapist sitting back in their chair, whose eyes are still full of wonder despite having heard it all; a timely old grandperson adjusting their recliner to listen to their six-year-old grandchild talk endlessly about their activities at school; ...

There are as many variations of social situations in which I'd seek a fog as there are stars in the sky. Happy occasions, sad occasions, and most somewhere in between.  What better way to wish a friend 'safe travels' than with a Fog?  Today's beveragino was acquired from one of the more fancy coffee shops I've ever stumbled into, one where Macha Lattes are the most popular drink order and there are six different milk options. 'When in Rome', I thought, and ordered my London Fog with Oat Milk.  Upon arrival, our twin fogs resembled small, plump, cheerful birds. Cute would be the best word to describe them. The hearts drawn with frothed milk were jolly, to say the least.  The fog was delightful, I will say. The oat milk added more creamy depth than the regular bovine product.  We 'cheersed' our fogs and bid adieu once we had taken the final sip.  8/10 Fog.  

There's truly nothing better than the combination of a fog and a friend. If I had to choose two things to bring with me to a desert island, it would be those two things. The fog probably wouldn't do much to help with my rescue from said island - but if the fog was good enough - why would I want to leave? I have a fog, a friend, and a private desert island. Paradise.  This was my first time in Loafe - and my goodness, I love the presentation. The red just popped, and that font? Completely whimsical. If I could sign my name with such finesse, each federal tax form would be a work of art! My only thought, 'loafe'? I can't tell if it's closer to 'loaf', as in bread, or 'loafers', as in fashionable footwear. I do like the mental picture of loafing in loafers with a loaf and a loafe in hand - so I'll let it slide.  The fog within the cup fulfilled my every wish. Sweet, foamy, plentiful. It's the kind of fog that makes you feel the ground a litt...

 This was a special fog. Brand new to this academic realm, I have been excited to explore all the new cafes on campus.  "Why did you get a warm drink?" It's a valid question. It was a hot day, and I was certainly sweating. However - a Fog is more than just its temperature. London fogs should be hot - how else can they warm the stomach as well as the soul? In the case of iced London Fogs, they should be a cardinal sin of baristal concoctions. Like, huh? Ice cubes and tea? It's... disturbing. Tea takes years to be steeped in cold water. So, do you steep the tea warm, and then cool it down? Think of all the energy wasted... and in this economy?  Forgive me. I've found myself on a tangent.  This fog was fun to drink. Though extremely hot, it had all the right elements. What made it even better was that it was hands and feet better than the coffee that partnered it in the order- I smiled through my friend's complaints of her sub-par tar. I drank the fog with no hes...

This fog was, at the beginning, outrageously underwhelming. I took a couple of sips before realizing the expectations I garnered from my walk over were misplaced. My disappointment was noticeable. The first sip of this fog was alarmingly hot and watery, not at all sweet, and entirely disheartening. I had to excuse myself to use the washroom to recover.  I returned empowered, ready to take my fog's destiny into my own hands. I remembered there were three simple syrup stations sitting beside the counter, which, I decided, could be this fog's saving grace. The moral implications that come from my meddling with my Fog's creation are questionable. Who am I, he who writes, he who judges, suddenly throws away his impartiality in the process and changes the outcome? I don't have an answer, but I'll certainly be thinking about it 3am tonight.  So, throwing my moral quandaries into the wind, I gave my fog three good pumps of simple syrup and tottled back to the table. I took ...