I take a lot of flak for my love of Starbucks. I've never really understood why the humble Seattle coffee house-gone-global inspires such profound hatred. Its product is no more environmentally damaging than Costa's or Cafe Nero's (neither of which I particularly enjoy) and if you want to hate an American multinational for the sheer hell of it, then surely McDonald's or KFC would be better choices? If in-store signage is to be believed, the beans are reasonably fair trade. Then there's the love to the employees. Admittedly this is a US-specific issue, but one really must commend a company that provides health insurance to its part-time employees.

I've also never really understood the argument that Starbucks hurts local coffee shops. As a terrible caffeine addict, I interact with the sacred bean and its purveyors in a number of different contexts in a given day. If I want to have a meeting in a coffee house, I will almost never chose Starbucks, opting instead for one of the quiet, quirkily-decorated, fully-staffed coffee shops that abound in my neighbourhood. Likewise, I will not dash manically into a quiet cafe en route to the bus stop and demand my daily fix to go. This is the role of Starbucks: efficient, reliable coffee on the run. There is nothing more frustrating for the time-strapped, under-caffeinated commuter than a barista's close (and painstakingly slow) attention to the design possibilities presented by the subtle interplay of foamed milk and chocolate flakes. The morning coffee is like petrol - fill 'er up, as quickly as possible. Starbucks understands this. Their outlet in Victoria Station is beautiful to behold - a perfectly calibrated machine.

Despite Starbucks' many virtues, I may need to reassess my on-going patronage as a result of the horror I encountered upon venturing in today for my morning latte. The old menu board had been replaced by a new one, which included the caloric value of everything on offer. I hate this practice, which I first encountered on a December afternoon in Manhattan. On that occasion I wandered haphazardly, lost, between various branches of Pret-a-Manger and Au Bon Pain, unable to actually order anything. It's not that the calorie information generally changes my order - I figure that if I've been eating/drinking it for months/years (and I do have quite extreme loyalties where convenience food is concerned) without weight gain, full knowledge of the nutritional information is unlikely to alter matters. What bothers me is the breaking of the sacred bond between customer and restaurant, the refusal of the suspension of disbelief that accompanies dining out of one's home. Twice in December, I had occasion to eat exquisite French meals, including glorious desserts. How horrifying to have had these experiences accompanied by nutritional information. Who, in the act of dining out, even for something as minor as coffee, cares? Calorie-counting is for the home, or the grocery store, when debating between breakfast cereals or fresh soups. It is most certainly not for coffee. Do we really need to be told that an Americano is much better for us than a chocolate frappucino with whipped cream and caramel sauce?

I have no objection to the information being made available for those dedicated, for reasons of vanity or health, to extreme calorie counting; Starbucks publishes a brochure with this information and I'm reliably told that there is an app for that. Surely this can suffice? At least until I've had my morning coffee...