Coffee With Whipped Cream Quotes

Just the other day, I was in my neighborhood Starbucks, waiting for the post office to open. I was enjoying a chocolatey cafe mocha when it occurred to me that to drink a mocha is to gulp down the entire history of the New World. From the Spanish exportation of Aztec cacao, and the Dutch invention of the chemical process for making cocoa, on down to the capitalist empire of Hershey, PA, and the lifestyle marketing of Seattle's Starbucks, the modern mocha is a bittersweet concoction of imperialism, genocide, invention, and consumerism served with whipped cream on top.

I ordered my favorite drink; vanilla iced blended coffee with whipped cream and caramel sauce on top. The whipped cream and caramel sauce were the best. Usually when no one was watching, I would lick the inside of the lid to get every last drop of the addictive syrup. Once, my dad caught me doing this and started laughing. I'd gotten caramel plastered over my nose. If Colt had ever seen me do this, I would never live it down. Glancing around, I indulged shamelessly and grinned." -Cheyenne

I am used to the whipped-cream-topped drinks Vivi used to bring me, but there is something satisfyingly bracing about drinking coffee this way, hot and bitter.

A whipped cream-laden cup of calories masquerading as coffee. It's always through the women that the men express their agenda. Now she has to cover up so they can feel like they are in power. Religion is a crutch for the weak. An escape. An illusion. A means to get manipulated.

The walls are whipped-cream white; the tiles lemon custard yellow. Even our chairs are licorice red, weeping cotton-candy wisps of stuffing. All the other patrons sketch, write poetry, tap out rhythms on the edge of tables as they sip their coffee. Prague is old, but her streets are dancing.

But even as he reached out to cup he face he heard an angry buzzing, and a huge black bee dive-bombed him from out of nowhere. With an oath, Thomas jumped back, swatting ineffectually at the persistent insect. As his left foot came down he turned his ankle and nearly fell. Alexandria’s hand covered her mouth in horror. Aidan, stop it right now! I cannot imagine what you are accusing me of, Aidan returned innocently from the living room. But I have not done anything. He smiled and moved slowly toward her. Yet. “Marie!” In a panic, Alexandria called out as loudly as she could. Aidan laughed as the housekeeper hurried in. Little coward, run while you can. Though they were half a room apart and Marie was squarely between them, Alexandria felt the brush of his fingers on her skin, her face, her throat. They trailed lower, feather-light, to touch the aching swell of her breast before the sensation was gone. “What is it, Alexandria?” Marie asked, her hands on her hips, glaring at Aidan. He held up a placating hand, laughing. “I am innocent. I was a perfect gentleman to her visitor.” “He spilled Thomas’s coffee, made him sneeze, smeared whipped cream over him, and chased him with a bee,” Alexandria accused. While Marie struggled to keep a straight face, Alexandria delivered a final outrage. “And he was going to wither my flowers.” “Aidan!” Marie reprimanded sharply, but there was laughter in her eyes.

Christmas Peppermint Coffee I can’t have caffeine but I promise it’s just as good without the extra jolt! Ingredients - 8 ounces (225 grams) brewed coffee - 8 ounces (225 grams) chocolate milk, heated until steaming (I use Chocomel) - 1 ounce (28 grams) peppermint syrup - Chocolate syrup - Whipped cream - Crushed peppermint candies Directions Heat chocolate milk until very hot, but not boiling. Add the hot coffee and syrup to the milk and stir. Using a large glass, add chocolate syrup, pour in the mocha and top with whipped topping and crushed candies.

Me brewing up increasingly ridiculous and colorful sweet coffees for Seth to try. Unicorn lattes with sprinkles and peaked whipped cream horns. Chocolate-chocolate-chip mochas with lumps of half-melted Hershey's bars floating in them.

This isn't coffee," I accused immediately as the rich smell of chocolate met my nose, making me almost want to groan. Okay, I totally wanted to groan. Just not in front of him. Fine, I absolutely wanted to groan in front of him. But in a private setting with his hands and mouth all over me. "Figured you needed a pick-me-up." "You told me you wouldn't give me something like this again. Not even if I begged," I reminded him. "Well, it's made with water, not full-fat milk and there is only a tiny bit of whipped cream," he said, casual as could be. Which was why I took a sip as he leaned across the counter toward me, not thinking anything of it. Until he went ahead and added in a voice low enough that only the two of us could hear, "And the next time you beg me for something, Maddy, it's gonna be my cock." I nearly choked to death. And he just casually walked away, wiping the counter.

I walked to the fridge and slipped the desserts and whipped cream inside, taking a deep breath. "What is that?" I asked, not able to place the smell that still somehow made my stomach growl. "Tacos?" I asked, brows drawn together. "Don't insult me," he said with a smile. "Not an insult. I like tacos." "Okay, next time. This time, we're having wet burritos." "What is a wet burrito?" I asked, propping myself up on the counter and watching as he scooped rice and then a supply of cooked veggies and beans onto the tortilla. "Depends on your taste. But in general, a tortilla filled with rice, veggies, meat, beans, and cheese. Then you roll it up, melt some more cheese on top then add some Pica de Gallo, salsa verde, rojo, or habanero- depending on what heat-level you can take." "That sounds too good to be true," I said, meaning it. "It is. And it goes great with the beer I have cooling in the fridge," he told me, rolling up one burrito and putting a mix of shredded cheeses on top before nuking it for a couple seconds and handing me the plate, gesturing toward the supply of salsas. He wasn't trying to sweep me off my feet with some three-course meal, but he cooked me something that made that frappe foodgasm moan sound tame when I had my first bite. "Oh my God." "I know," he agreed, smiling big at my enjoyment. And I realized with a sort of blinding clarity that I literally couldn't remember the last time I felt quite so content. It wasn't that kind of 'high' you get when something goes right or you achieve something after a long time trying; it was deeper. It was soul deep. I felt it into my marrow. "What's that look for?" he asked as he took my plate and put it beside his on the coffee table. Not sure how to explain it and thinking it was perhaps too soon to even if I could, I took a long swig of my beer and shrugged. "What look?" To that, his lips tipped up devilishly. "You really want to do this again?" "Do what?" I asked as he stood suddenly and walked toward the kitchen. He didn't answer me though as I heard some shuffling before he came walking back with the whipped cream. "Do the 'I am going to get what I want out of you by using sex to do it' thing," he explained as he slammed the can down on the coffee table and moved to stand between it and the couch, reaching down and pulling me onto my feet. "Brant..." I said as his fingers teased up under the material of my tee, running across my lower back and inching it off my skin. "Know what?" he asked as his fingers paused to unclasp my bra. "No, what?" I asked, feeling my chest get heavier as desire started to course through my system. "I'm still hungry," he told me, pulling my shirt until I had no choice but to raise up my hands as he pulled off both my shirt and my bra. "Brant, please..'' "Begging won't help you this time," he informed me as his hands whispered down my belly and unfastened my button and zip before yanking the thick material over my butt then down my thighs. I stepped out of the material as his hands pressed into my hips and pushed me back toward the couch. I had barely sat down before he was grabbing for the whipped cream and shaking the can, eyes devilish, smirk downright sinful. "Lay back," he commanded and I automatically moved to do just that. "Unless you want to end it without all the torture and tell me." Tell him what? I had no idea what I was even supposed to tell him anymore and, honestly, even if I did know what... I was pretty sure I wanted every second of a torment that involved him licking things off my body. I jumped slightly as he circled my nipple with the cold whipped cream, an unexpectedly erotic sensation. He covered both nipples and created a line down the center of my belly and completely covered the skin above my sex. I waited for him to move over me, to kiss me, then move down to my chest.

All those songs I used to pretend to understand, all the angsty, heartbroken songs I had heard all my life, they suddenly made so much more sense. "Well, then she probably needs a giant coffee, a huge box of your creations, and some time to nurse her feelings in private, don't you think?" Brantley Dane, local hero, saves girl from sure death brought on by sheer mortification. That'd be his headline. "Come on, sweetheart," he said, moving behind me, casually touching my hip in the process, and going behind counter. "What's your poison? Judging by the situation, I am thinking something cold, mocha or caramel filled and absolutely towering with full fat whipped cream." That was exactly what I wanted. But, broken heart aside, I knew I couldn't let myself drown in sweets. Gaining twenty pounds wasn't going to help anything. There was absolutely no enthusiasm in my voice when I said, "Ah, actually, can I have a large black coffee with one sugar please?" "Not that I'm not turned on as all fuck by a woman who appreciates black coffee," he started, making me jerk back suddenly at the bluntness of that comment and the dose of profanity I wasn't accustomed to hearing in my sleepy hometown. "But if you're only one day into a break-up, you're allowed to have some full fat chocolate concoction to indulge a bit. I promise from here on out I won't make you anything even half as food-gasm-ing as this." He leaned across the counter, getting close enough that I could see golden flecks in his warm brown eyes. "Honey, not even if you beg," he added and, if I wasn't mistaken, there was absolutely some kind of sexually-charged edge to his words. "Say yes," he added, lips tipping up at one corner. "Alright, yes," I agreed, knowing I would love every last drop of whatever he made me and likely punish myself with an extra long run for it too. "Good girl," he said as he turned away. And there was not, was absolutely not some weird fluttering feeling in my belly at that. Nope. That would be completely insane. "Okay, I got you one of everything!" my mother said, coming up beside me and pressing the box into my hands. She even tied it with her signature (and expensive, something I had tried to talk her out of many times over the years when she was struggling financially) satin bow. I smiled at her, knowing that sometimes, there was nothing liked baked goods from your mother after a hard day. I was just lucky enough to have a mother who was a pastry chef. "Thanks, Mom," I said, the words heavy. I wasn't just thanking her for the sweets, but for letting me come home, for not asking questions, for not making it seem like even the slightest inconvenience. She gave me a smile that said she knew exactly what I meant. "You have nothing to thank me for." She meant that too. Coming from a family that, when they found out she was knocked up as a teen, had kicked her out and disowned her, she made it clear all my life that she was always there, no matter what I did with my life, no matter how high I soared, or how low I crashed. Her arms, her heart, and her door were always open for me. "Alright. A large mocha frappe with full fat milk, full fat whipped cream, and both a mocha and caramel drizzle. It's practically dessert masked as coffee," Brantley said, making my attention snap to where he was pushing what was an obnoxiously large frappe with whipped cream that was towering out of the dome that the pink and sage straw stuck out of. "Don't even think about it, sweetheart," he said, shaking his head as I reached for my wallet. "Thank you," I smiled, and found that it was a genuine one as I reached for it and, in a move that was maybe not brilliant on my part, took a sip. And proceeded to let out an almost porn-star worthy groan of pure, delicious pleasure. Judging by the way Brant's smile went a little wicked, his thoughts ran along the same lines as well.

It was right about then that a drink dropped down in front of me on the table, Brant sliding into the open chair to my side. "You know I can't have..." I started, big-eying him so I didn't have to say it. "Raspberry mocha shake with skim milk but full fat whipped cream," he explained, popping the little piece of paper topper off the straw. "Not a damn bit of actual coffee in it," he said, looking disgusted at the very prospect. "Oh, and here," he said, pulling my phone out of his pocket. "You know, you can't pull the 'pregnancy' card every time your phone has an issue and you don't want to go to Verizon." "True," I agreed, taking a long sip of the shake he made and closing my eyes on a sigh. "But I can for the next eight or so months," I concluded, giving him a saucy smile. He chuckled at that, reaching for the piece of paper I had in front of me with the design for the macaron wedding cake. "Macarons, huh?" he asked, looking excited. It didn't matter how many different recipes I came up with, he never seemed to get sick of them. "It's not too soon," he informed me, reading my thoughts as I looked down at the perfect princess cut ring. "It hasn't even been a year," I had insisted, shaking my head. "Sweetheart, I knew this was where we were heading that first time you moaned like a porn star over your break-up frappe." I looked around my mother's and mine and Brant's little shop, feeling it down to my soul: peace. Then I looked over at Brant, feeling it down to my bones: love. And finally, to the plate at the center of the table where Brant and I reached toward simultaneously and grabbed one each: macarons. It was all I would ever need.

The images swirled through her. She needed to bake. Cake. A layered chocolate cake. With vanilla buttercream frosting. The images were as clear as four-color photos from a coffee table book on baking. She could taste the vanilla, butter, and cream whipped into a sugar frosting as if she had spooned it into her mouth. The chocolate smelled so real that a chill of awareness ran along her skin, pooling in her fingertips. She itched to bake.

Three scoops in his bowl, one coffee, one peanut butter, one chocolate. He’d added about four pounds of hot fudge and a metric ton of caramel, just to even the score. Hank had taken one look at it and said, “You’re an idiot.” “You are.” It had been the only appropriate answer, really. “Where’s your whipped cream? Where’s the cherry? Where’re the nuts?” Tox said, “This is a snack, not a sundae, and I got all the nuts I need. Wanna see ‘em?” “You don’t know anything about dessert,” Hank said disgustedly, reaching for the door of the freezer.

What doesn't work is when we adopt some TEMPORARY habits, lose some weight and then pick our previous habits back up. Surprise, surprise. The weight always returns. Live one way, lose weight. Live another way, gain weight. Hhhmmm...how curious. What also doesn't work is lying to yourself about what you ate and then falling into a crying heap on the scale, playing the victim. Poor you. Never mind you ate three biscuits with butter before your dinner even hit the table at Billy Bob's Feed trough last night--it was only a salad. Never mind you gobbled down five handfuls of M&Ms off the receptionist's desk between trips to the break room for a soda--it was diet! Never mind you drove through Coffee Planet on the way to work and downed a 32 oz. Italian-named mocha-choca-ya-ya worth a day's calories in some starving nations--you skipped the whipped cream and said "no thanks" to the Chihuahua-sized muffin. I'm telling you, diets work.

Patty’s Cake with Espresso-Caramel Sauce 7 (1-ounce) squares unsweetened cooking chocolate ¾ cup butter 1½ cups strong coffee ¼ cup bourbon 2 eggs 1 teaspoon vanilla 2 cups cake flour 1½ cups sugar 1 teaspoon baking soda ¼ teaspoon salt Grease and flour two 8½ by 4½-inch loaf pans. Put the chocolate, butter, and coffee in a heavy saucepan with a 4½-quart capacity. Place over low heat, stirring constantly, till chocolate is melted, then stir vigorously till mixture is smooth and thoroughly blended. Set aside to cool for at least 10 minutes. Beat in bourbon, eggs, and vanilla. Sift dry ingredients together and beat into the chocolate mixture till well blended. Divide batter between prepared pans and bake in a 275°F oven 45 to 55 minutes, or until a wooden skewer inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool in pans for 15 minutes, then turn out onto racks to cool completely. Serve with whipped cream, crème fraîche, or Espresso-Caramel Sauce. ESPRESSO-CARAMEL SAUCE 1 cup sugar ⅓ cup water ½ cup heavy (whipping) cream 3 tablespoons espresso Whisk sugar into water and pour into heavy-bottomed saucepan—preferably one with a white or light-colored interior, so you can keep an eye on the color change of the caramel. Stir over medium heat until sugar is completely dissolved, about 1 minute. Increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Do not stir, but wash down sides of pan frequently with a clean brush dipped in water. Meanwhile, heat cream to a simmer in another pan. When sugar begins to caramelize and turn golden around edges of pan, lift pan very carefully and gently swirl mixture to ensure even caramelization. Boil until syrup is a beautiful, deep amber—3 to 4 minutes. Remove from heat and set pan in sink. Slowly pour in hot cream, whisking to combine. Mixture will bubble up and may splatter. You may want to wear glasses to protect your eyes. Stir in espresso and blend until smooth. If mixture starts to harden, return to low heat and whisk until dissolved. While sauce is still warm, strain through fine-mesh strainer. Makes about 1 cup.

Cherry Cream Cheese Surprise Recipe   Ingredients: From Scratch Pie Crust: (8 or 9 inch pie crust) 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon shortening (Crisco) OR 1/3 cup lard 1 cup all-purpose flour ½ teaspoon salt 2 to 3 tablespoons cold water Steps: Cut shortening into flour and salt until particles are the size of small peas.  Sprinkle in water, 1 tablespoon at a time, tossing with a fork until all flour is moistened and pastry almost cleans side of bowl (1 to 2 tablespoons water can be added, if needed.) Gather pastry into a ball.  Flatten the ball on a lightly floured cloth-covered board. (A hard, floured surface will also work.) Roll pastry 2 inches larger than inverted pie plate using floured rolling pin.  (Note: I use a lightly floured spatula to loosen the piecrust from the surface.) Fold pastry into quarters, unfold and ease into lightly greased pie plate, pressing firmly against bottom and sides of plate.  Trim overhang excess and then press fork tines along rim of pie plate.  Cream Cheese Layer: 8 ounces whipped cream cheese ½ cup white sugar ½ tsp. vanilla extract Mix ingredients and spread on the bottom and sides of the piecrust. Mix 1 tablespoon brown sugar and ½ teaspoon cinnamon together and sprinkle over top of cream cheese mixture.   PREHEAT OVEN TO 375 DEGREES. Cherry Pie Filling: 4 cups fresh or frozen cherries, thawed (if frozen, make sure to drain juice after thawing) ¾ cup sugar 3 tbsp cornstarch or Mix ingredients and pour on top of cream cheese/brown sugar and cinnamon mixture. Topping: 2/3 cup packed brown sugar ½ cup all-purpose flour ½ cup oats ¾ teaspoon ground cinnamon ¾ teaspoon ground nutmeg ½ cup margarine or butter, softened Mix ingredients and sprinkle over top of cherry mixture.   Bake 30 minutes at 375 degrees.  *For a quicker, easier version, substitute with a refrigerated (ready-to-bake) pie crust and 2 cans of cherry pie filling. *Serve warm with ice cream…or eat a piece for breakfast with a fresh cup of coffee .

I tweak one of my favorite recipes for chocolate mousse to match Natasha's vague description, using both rum and crème de cacao, along with a dash of coffee, to heighten the chocolate flavor. I'd originally developed the recipe with François Bardon back in Chicago as the filling to his famous chocolate charlotte, a towering confection of velvety chocolate mousse surrounded by fluffy ladyfingers, the whole thing capped off with a billowy layer of whipped cream. But for this version, I streamline the process and adjust the ratios of chocolate, cream, and eggs so that it's more in line with what Natasha's grandmother might have made.

Growing up outside of Philadelphia, I never wanted for diner food, whether it was from Bob's Diner in Roxborough or the Trolley Car Diner in Mount Airy. The food wasn't anything special- eggs and toast, meat loaf and gravy, the omnipresent glass case of pies- but I always found the food comforting and satisfying, served as it was in those old-fashioned, prefabricated stainless steel trolley cars. Whenever we would visit my mom's parents in Canterbury, New Jersey, we'd stop at the Claremont Diner in East Windsor on the way home, and I'd order a fat, fluffy slice of coconut cream pie, which I'd nibble on the whole car ride back to Philly. I'm not sure why I've always found diner food so comforting. Maybe it's the abundance of grease or the utter lack of pretense. Diner food is basic, stick-to-your-ribs fare- carbs, eggs, and meat, all cooked up in plenty of hot fat- served up in an environment dripping with kitsch and nostalgia. Where else are a jug of syrup and a bottomless cup of coffee de rigueur? The point of diner cuisine isn't to astound or impress; it's to fill you up cheaply with basic, down-home food. My menu, however, should astound and impress, which is why I've decided to take up some of the diner foods I remember from my youth and put my own twist on them. So far, this is what I've come up with: Sloe gin fizz cocktails/chocolate egg creams Grilled cheese squares: grappa-soaked grapes and Taleggio/ Asian pears and smoked Gouda "Eggs, Bacon, and Toast": crostini topped with wilted spinach, pancetta, poached egg, and chive pesto Smoky meat loaf with slow-roasted onions and prune ketchup Whipped celery root puree Braised green beans with fire-roasted tomatoes Mini root beer floats Triple coconut cream pie

(1) Butterbeer and Ice Cream Floats Treat yourself with the ultimate mug of happiness. It has practically everything we all die for; cream, ice cream, and butterbeer. It serves as an excellent beverage for the table when there are special celebrations around. It's warming and soothing to the core. It does take a little extra time and is made with many ingredients, but it will be all worth it. Makes: 4 Cooking Time: 10 minutes Duration: 20 minutes Ingredient Checklist: For the Dark Butterscotch Caramel Sauce: 1 cup whole milk 1 3/4 cups dark brown sugar ¼ cup butter ½ cup heavy whipping cream 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 1 teaspoon sea salt 2 tablespoons Scotch whiskey 2 tablespoons molasses For the No-Churn Caramel Coconut Ice Cream: 4 cups whole milk 1 ½ cups sugar 2 cups full-fat coconut milk ¼ cup cornstarch 8 egg yolks 4 tablespoons butter ½ teaspoons salt 2 teaspoons vanilla ¼ cup prepared caramel For the Butterbeer: 1 ½ cups carbonated water 1 teaspoon strong black coffee ¼ teaspoon vanilla extract 3 ½ tablespoons prepared caramel 1 tablespoon whipping cream ½ teaspoons cocoa powder 3 - 4 drops cider vinegar 1 dash salt 1 dash nutmeg 1 dash cinnamon 1 dash ginger HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH How to Cook: For the Caramel: Mix brown sugar with milk, butter, cream, salt and molasses in a saucepan on medium heat. Boil the mixture and stir cook for 10 minutes until it darkens. Stir in bourbon then reduce the heat. Cook for 5 minutes. Add vanilla and mix well. Allow it cool and store in a sealed container. For the No-Churn Coconut Caramel Ice Cream: Beat egg yolks with sugar in a large bowl. Stir in salt, cornstarch, and milk. Transfer the mixture to a cooking pan. Stir cook for 8 minutes on low heat then turns off the heat. Add vanilla, caramel, and butter and mix well. Strain the mixture through the mesh strainer into a container. Refrigerate for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, beat coconut milk until fluffy. Pour the cream into ice cream mixture and mix well. Freeze overnight. For the Butterbeer Floats: Mix all the ingredients for butterbeer except carbonated water at the bottom of a mug. Add a cup of carbonated water and place 2 scoops of coconut ice cream. Serve immediately.

Minutes later the waitress brought back a cup the size of a soup bowl filled with steaming chocolate-flavored coffee and topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Tianna realized she hadn't eaten anything since the bite of muffin early in the morning. She sipped the brew, enjoying the rich, sweet taste, and listened to Serena recite a poem about her demon lover. It made Tianna think more than ever that Serena was some kind of witch or worse. How could she know so much about temptation and choosing between good and evil? The words sent chills through Tianna.

Recipe 1: Hot Chocolate Latte Ingredients: • 4 cups brewed hot coffee • 1 cup half-and-half • 1/4 cup chocolate syrup • 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract • 2 tablespoons sugar Stir everything in a pan over low-medium heat for five minutes or thoroughly heated. Serve with whipped cream!

She knows my body so well, but, then again, I know hers too. I know she loves it when I smack her ass until it’s cherry red. I know she loves it when I’m bottoming out in her while her face is planted in a pillow. I know she likes her clit sucked, her G-spot stroked, her neck bitten and her asshole eaten out. I know that she likes her coffee black and her sundaes with extra whip cream, no cherries, please, because those are disgusting. And to know her is to love her. I can’t imagine my life without her.

No chocolate or ginger cake, Victoria sponge or coffee and walnut cake tastes quite as good as that smudge of raw cake mixture stolen from the bowl. The beaten butter and sugar, eggs and flour have a special temptation all of their own. Cool and whipped till cloud-like, it has a hint of soft-serve vanilla ice cream about it. You can't eat much, of course, not even a full spoonful, only the merest fingertip's worth, a dab, a swoosh. But that is the point. Perhaps it is what makes raw cake mixture irresistible, the fact that it must be taken in precious amounts. Anyone who has dipped into excess knows how your treat soon cloys. We indulge at our peril. I say 'licking the bowl,' but our delight need not be confined to that. Wiping the extra uncooked cake mixture from the spoon or beater with your index finger is just as good. Seasoned with the false premise of waste not, want not, the raw mixture also carries with it the frisson of the illegal. In cookery classes at school in the late 1960s we were allowed to lick the black-treacle spoon but not the one we used for golden syrup, and certainly not one smeared with the vanilla-scented delights of raw cake mixture, so we (by which I mean me and all the girls in the class) developed a way of sneaking some with the deftness of a bunch of serial shoplifters.

He tended toward what Dean called "froofy" coffees mainly because the extra flavors and whipped cream and whatnot hid the fact that the beverage itself tasted like drinking hot sulfur. And for Sam, that wasn't a cute simile, as he'd drunk hot sulfur once, by accident during a job, and he wasn't eager to repeat the experience.

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