TO THE OWNER OF THE CAFÉ VERSAILLES FROM AJ—SECOND LETTER

March 27, 2015

Dear Owner of the Café Versailles,

I hope this letter finds you in superlative health. My own health is at an acceptable level but unexceptional for a woman in her fifties. I will not trouble you with particulars. Suffice it to say I have learned over the years that both physical and mental health can benefit if a person takes a holiday or otherwise shifts her routine. Lately I have been feeling like I am in a rut, and of course, that perception can lead to loss of focus, despondency, and symptoms such as joint pain, for, as we all know, the knee bone is connected to the head bone.

I cannot let myself sink, I told myself. I am going to set out on some kind of adventure. Today. But as I am a woman of modest means, I will not be embarking on a cruise, checking into a spa, booking an all-inclusive. My adventure will need to be much less costly and, for that matter, less time-consuming, as I lead a busy life.

I was contemplating what form my adventure might take as I strolled into the Café Versailles shortly after two o’clock today for my customary mid-afternoon pick-me-up. I was about to order my usual small cappuccino, to which I had been looking forward for hours, when I saw a sign on the counter next to the till. The sign, which I had never noticed before, featured a photograph of a long-tailed, furry animal that looked like a cross between a raccoon and a cat. The caption: Ask about our wild civet coffee. So I did.

Your well-informed barista explained that the creature in the picture, the wild civet, consumes the cherries of the coffee plant and either regurgitates or poops out the beans, which are indigestible. The beans are cleaned by stout-hearted people and undergo further processing and, voilà, wild civet coffee. The barista said the effect of the civet’s alimentary enzymes is such that the pooped coffee tastes nutty. Today, alas, none was available at the Versailles. However, the regurgitated variety, which tasted fruity, was on hand, and the barista would be pleased to brew me a cup.

Well, I thought to myself, this may well be the adventure I crave. Yes please, I said.

Then the barista told me the price. Twenty-five dollars. For one little cup of coffee? Yes, but not just any coffee. Exotic ­coffee—coffee that has been lovingly spat up in Thailand by a shaggy-haired creature. Well, at that price, I said, I suppose I can rest assured the beans were cleaned with extreme thoroughness. The barista laughed.

I watched her as she measured out the beans, ground them, and put the coffee on to brew. In a few minutes, it was ready. She poured it into a lovely white ceramic mug.

I found a table and took my first sip. Impossible. Second sip. Same experience. Then I downed the rest. I couldn’t believe it. That coffee was, I can tell you without exaggeration, the blandest I have ever drunk. Completely tasteless.

So while my adventure did not cost me the earth or take a long time, I can’t say it gave me the lift I so desired. I will not ask for a refund but I do think you should reconsider offering your customers wild civet coffee, especially at that fancy price.

And I wish you robust health.

Sincerely,

Ariadne Jensen

p.s. In fairness, I must admit I cannot speak to the pooped kind. I had only the regurgitated.