Introducing the melon flavored mocha

My friends and I still talk about the grapefruit mocha.

Back in the days of college, typically a time of great experimentation, I uncovered a deep, down, truth about myself.

I really like flavorings.

My love shows itself in many forms, from milk shakes to milk with sugar to candle scents to coffee.

I've loved all things huckleberry-flavored, from syrup to soda to coffee.

I've introduced friends to the joys of caffeinated strawberry beverages.

For months, I pursued my desired size of candle odor, hot buttered rum, finally buckling down to purchase a larger jar, the better to fill my apartment with the succulent aroma.

Perhaps nowhere has this affection been more apparent than in the manifestation of the aforementioned mocha drink.

The scene: A campus coffee stand, me in between classes, eyeing the long line of bottled flavorings, looking to add a little zest to my day.

"Ooh, let's try a grapefruit mocha."

I don't recall the barista's exact response, although if subsequent orders were any similarity, it was probably something along the lines of "Really? You sure? I don't know about this."

Which is kind of cool, since baristas are typically pretty jaded people when it comes to coffee orders, I think. It takes a lot to surprise them. I wear barista amazement like a badge of pride.

The result was something which sounds really gross to those types of people who hate having maple syrup on their scrambled eggs, or are against the taste and smell of feta cheese.

But to someone who lives for such offerings, it was like pure liquid gold. It tasted exactly like a chocolate-covered grapefruit.

I wouldn't shut up about the drink. I waxed rhapsodic to all I knew, and even to strangers. Tragically, my expositions came too late. The flavoring was discontinued, probably due to lack of use.

If only I'd discovered it sooner. If only I'd been more verbose, more convincing. I might be enjoying one now.

Don't just take my word for it. Listen to these ringing endorsements I recall from friends who were driven to sample this odd blend of chocolate and citrus deliciousness.

Friend One: "Well, it didn't suck."

Friend Two: "I finished that one because I care about you, but I'd never drink one, ever again."

See? Ringing endorsements.

Sigh. True genius is never appreciated in its day. Years from now, culinary masters will impart onto their students the wisdom possessed by one tiny person, albeit a large bearded man with an eye for the ladies, and the way he changed the world with a simple drink.

I'd never try one of those pickle-flavored potato chips I see in the stores, though.

That's pretty messed up.