Bigshankhank wrote:Coffee should be hot, served in a styrofoam cup truckstop-style, or if you are a pinkies-out kind of guy then in a ceramic mug (either is perfectly acceptable).
You better get that damn pinky out next time I let you drink my mild roasted coffee in the ceramic JavaSpeed mug pattio gave me.
Ah, I see you know the origins of the pinky-extending-maneuver. Jolly good!
Particularly around here ...
Not entirely accurate, though. Both of you.
You extend your pinky to keep that
away from the fine bone-china. Because bone-china back in the day, you couldn't scrub it with a vengeance.
The humble workman, meanwhile, was traditionally at best secondarily concerned about the cleanliness of his hands. His is the honest, simple, heavy, durable mug. Traditionally made from materials that, technically, are ceramics. Practically, more like smooth concrete (back in the day). Stoneware wasn't called stoneware because it was brittle rubbish like that bone china.
While the aristocrats, the gentry, and the aspirational classes who mimic them for no good reason, would only ever have tiny, fearful, nervous, timid sips. And extended their disgusting pinkies while doing so.
The "lower" classes would have an honest, heartfelt, well earned slug. Certainly not out of some vessel that would thus be practically emptied on the spot.
The honest workman's calloused hands, and others working in the same fields, like draftsmen and engineers. Or the sailors who'd tackle the murderous seas to carry what the former needed to work with, or would have made. Their brethren operating the slow but steady narrowboats along the canals that had come before the railroads, endlessly trudging by the side of their trusty draft horses on the towpaths. The carters, carrying the goods where no canals had been dug yet, or the very navvies who would do that digging. And later, the builders of the mighty railways, the engineers and stokers who'd tame the mighty steel beasts that would ride them. Certainly the brave men who conquered the skies a century ago, and their successors, who would fly their Lancasters and Wellingtons into the walls of deadly flak over the enemy's industry of war.
Theirs was the mug. And the mug don't give a fuck about no pinky.
If there were absolutely anything to be afraid of, don't you think I would have worn pants?
I said I have a big stick.