A Soviet themed cafeteria has opened near my house. At least, I assume it's a Soviet theme since the countertops look like Constructivist experiments, the baristas all resemble inmates of the most wretched gulag and it takes about five years for them to make your drink.
I ordered a demitasse of burnt hickory topped with potato vodka foam, apparently; although I'm pretty sure I'd asked for a regular black coffee. My mistake, I'm sure. Comrade consumers should not question authority, as I discovered to my chagrin while trying to complain.