For much of my youth hot drinks were really just a delivery system for sugar. At least two mounded teaspoons would go into a cup of tea and a “milky coffee” from the local caff would not be ready until multiple sprinkled sachets of the white stuff had been lobbed in. Obviously, I eventually grew out of all this.
Or, at least, I was socially shamed to the degree that my culturally inherited sweet tooth — it’s telling that the Yoruba words for “delicious” and “sweet” are one and the same — became something that I recognised as a sign of unsophisticated infantilism.
