Iced Raspberry Mochaccino

As far as "i" words go, "iced" is pretty generic, if not completely lame, but it was prominent in my consciousness this past weekend during a very successful, and very hot, folk festival where I was selling my jewelry.

A large coffee establishment, whose name I will not mention but which you can probably guess, and which normally I do not patronize (favoring instead independently owned cafes), had a van at this festival, filled with college-aged people who were making free samples of iced raspberry mochaccinos. These came in little cups, which one young lady filled with the chilled chocolatey coffee liquid before passing them to her colleague who topped them with a squirt whipped cream, followed by a squiggle of raspberry sauce. To complete the preparation, a short green straw was inserted into the cup.

On Saturday, the husband of one of my fellow artists made a run to the van and returned with handfuls of these little caffeinated delights. I had barely slept the night before (not because of pre-show nerves, but because my body goes a bit berserk at certain times of the moon cycle), and this wee cup of colorful cold creamy sweetness gave me the jolt I needed to stay attentive to my many customers. My neighbor at the show shuns caffeine (wise woman!) and offered me hers, so I enjoyed a double portion.

On Sunday, shortly after 12pm, I abandoned my booth and dashed over to the aforementioned van and asked if I could get several samples for the artists nearby.

"Sure, how many do you want?" a young lady asked me.

"How about a tray of them?" I suggested.

"No problem!"

She and her colleague got to work, and within minutes produced a tray of seven mini mochaccinos, which decorated with their straws looked like caffeinated cocktails. Off I went, navigating through the crowds to return to the art festival, where I distributed the loot.

Aah!