I wish I could say to you, dear friend, that I spent my college years drinking coffee, or even tea, in a rather sophisticated manner at some off-beat coffee house and reading the “great works of literature” cover to cover. But, alas, that was not to be. No, I was the Coca-cola, Mountain Dew guzzling Cliff Note reader. (Although, now, I find myself going back and actually reading the “great works” to see what I missed out on.) The closest I came to sipping a hot beverage was the cinnamon spiced cider my mother always served us during the holidays.