The Nespresso Experience

Last week, I went shopping in Brussels with my grandmother. After spending some money on the ‘Boulevard de Waterloo’, we ended up at the Nespresso shop. At first we were a little lost. It was coffee everywhere (*duuh!*). We wandered around between the coffee machines, looking for the most suitable piece of equipment. Until we discovered the second floor, and this magical place is where our real trip began. Before I go on, you should know I myself am already a Nespresso adherent . But my grandmother, not quite so convinced, just wanted to ‘look around’. Well I should also tell you: that escalated quickly. But we will get back to that later.

So once upstairs we were immediately drawn to the amazing scent of coffee (a.k.a. my favorite drug). And it kept on getting better: we could not only smell, but also sample our coffee of choice. High on roasted coffee beans my grandmother embedded herself in one of the seats and went somewhat crazy. She was determined to buy this masterly device! Honestly, how could we not? We were being treated like royals! Even though this royal was wearing a new pair of ripped jeans with holes that, tragically, seemed to expand every five minutes (since this is not really my style, I decided to return them. But that is another story!). So I felt a little out of place among all these suited up people.  A friendly bilingual (highly appreciated in Belgium!) young gentleman helped us and dear old granny ended up buying a Nespresso coffee machine and no less than 60 coffee capsules. All this while the rips in my jeans kept expanding by the way. I would have been scared to end up with no pants at all, but this royal treatment made me hopeful that this place would even have a solution for customers who ended up pantless (yes, that amount of royalness)! Ultimately, even I did not go home empty-handed: the fine gentleman – who assured me that it was not protocol – gave me two cups of the new flavors (Cauca and Santander) to try at home. Thanks again kind stranger (wild guess: Eduardo? No? That is the name I will remember you by anyway.)

Tired but satisfied we were ready for our journey home, with bag and baggage. The sun was shining, life was good. Still on our royal high, we let the escalator take us to the underground subway station. Where we, sadly, went back to reality as we were josteled by the crowd.


The Nespresso experience briefly worded: Yes, I could live there … with my new husband George Clooney.


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