On campus, I had my first espressos. Doubles, with cream.
I was the only one drinking those, said the barista. That gave me great pride, and my ego loved that.
Years later I went back to that coffee shop and had my Espresso con Panna. It still tasted the same: It tasted burnt and bitter. The cream made it marginally better.
My ego loved that too. Loved that I knew better. Loved that I knew what a proper espresso should be.
I would like to believe that I grew out of tasting with my ego. Deep down I know I did not.