When I was younger, I used to follow my dad to the register at our local café and supervise his order. While most children would longingly glare at the picturesque pastries, creamy carrot cakes and moist, mouth-watering muffins that stood behind the glass counter, I instead would ensure that my dad remembered to change his usual double-shot flat white order to a cappuccino. Why? So that I could indulge in the warm chocolate frothy goodness that sat proudly above the strong coffee beneath. Each spoonful of aerated milk felt like a cloud disintegrating in my mouth, and the mellow hum of espresso that lingered on my tongue excited my taste buds.