Abstract

I love cafés. It’s where academic life meets passion. The noise and tumult veils the soul from the world and enables deeper concentration than a large, wellappointed office affords. There’s just one problem: I hate coffee. The aroma gives me a headache. The bitter taste makes my facial muscles contract. My ideal coffee recipe would be: take a quarter teaspoon of coffee from the large round red container (the one that replaced the blue container as a symbol of Zionism), add a bit of milk and fill to the brim with boiling water.