Older customers were more considerate, having grown up with inferior and quickly soggy paper straws they took care. And once entry was effected, the route was perilous: either down through smothering cream, or into a bruising welter of ice cubes into which they were jammed repeatedly, cruelly, to make the drink longer and colder. Human lips were gentle, thoughtful, persuasive these straws were too stout to be hurt by teeth. Through the flat lids of iced coffees, now sharply scored with a cross, they were expected to do the same. For with them too came a domed plastic lid, the Hill of Destiny, surmounting a steep pile of cream through which straws had to plunge to do their duty. Yet for each of those straws, the Frappuccino® and its successors posed a serious test of character. Green straws marched in, along with whipped cream and caramel drizzle, as emblems of summer and self-indulgence. They began their service not when Starbucks was founded, in 1971, but when it introduced the Caramel Frappuccino® almost three decades later. But it was never as elegant, as dramatic or so much fun.įun was why green straws had been conceived at all. Some did, ignoring the eager straws standing ready. All these folk could have quaffed their Frappuccino® Blended Beverage or their iced teas directly from the plastic cup, of course. Teenagers needed them to socialise, tired shoppers to wind down, children to amuse themselves. Rather than pumping up the customer with hot high-octane espressos or Americanos, winding him up for the drudgery of the working day, they cooled him with less caffeine and more play. Yet this did not concern them, because they had a higher calling: to refresh human beings. Their nearest relatives were not delicate grasses, but single-use plastic stirrers. They had never been blowing crop-stems rippling in the summer wind, entwined with convolvulus and heartsease. Shepherds could not pipe a ditty on them, and poets could not use them as metaphors for the unsubstantiality of life. At best, they might compose a mat they would have made poor bedding in barns. You could not thatch a cottage roof with them, or weave a hat. Of course, the straws had long since left their rustic ancestors behind. But despite all that they were doomed to disappear by 2020, for not being green enough. It was darker than the leaves of spring, lighter than the Washington forests and the logo of the company, yet fresh, viridian, straight from the palette of a Monet or a Van Gogh. Released from that confinement, springing up ready, they stood straight, stiff and tall as a stalk of wheat, with no disfiguring articulations for they never quailed or bent. Their tight white wrapping carried not only English words but a stylish French inscription, Pas recommandé pour utiliser dans les boissons chaudes. IN THE LONG history of pipe-assisted drinking-beginning with the gold beer-sipping tubes of the Sumerians-Starbucks’s plastic straws knew they were a cut above the rest. Farewell to Starbucks' green straws Say goodbye to the unsung heroes of the coffee revolution Obituary
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