Here's a funnier one.

Ironically, I personally don't drink either...

The strange dark liquid in the glass pot caught her eye. She had seen Mr.—Jonathan, she had seen him drink from it in the mornings.

Curiosity overwhelmed her.

Fetching one of the mugs from the cabinet, she poured herself some. It was still warm, which from her observations was a good sign. It smelled strange as she brought it to her face.

She did not immediately notice Ka—Clark walking in from outside. Nor did she immediately notice the way he stiffened, the way he started to speak in a warning tone.

But it was too late.

"Kara, wait!"

no

No, no, no, NO.

Mistake, MISTAKE!

ABORT, ABORT!

The door was closer than the sink.

When Clark rejoined her, he rubbed at her back, then peered over the porch railing.

"Well, you didn't throw up much."

Kara spat a few words at him.

"You're lucky Ma isn't near, and that she doesn't speak Kryptonian. I think I've picked up enough to know what that meant."

Kara moaned as she straightened up, taking the offered napkin.

"Why does your father drink poison?"

"It's called coffee, and it's perfectly safe to drink."

Kara shot a look over the railing at the mess, then gave Clark a gimlet eye.

"Okay, maybe not the way Pa takes his. Here, let me help."

oOo

Clark did not help. They had tried sugar, cream, both at once, different amounts of either, but it did not work.

Martha came in near the end, and Clark had explained the situation. The older woman sighed.

"Honestly, it's probably psychosomatic at this point. She drank some of Jonathan's coffee, and now anything with a similar taste is going to cause a reaction."

"Why does he drink that toxin?" Kara moaned as she poured the most recent attempt down the sink.

"Coffee in general, it can be nice in the morning. Real stimulating, wakes you up. Coffee's got a long and popular history, you know. There are several different types depending on how the beans it comes from are roasted and prepared, and some people have a favorite type. That's not getting into the different additions and ways of serving."

"No, I understand that," Kara said, "Clark explained a few things about where it comes from. Euphorix had a similar drink. My question is why Jonathan drinks it like that."

"Ah," Martha hummed, "Kara, I've known Jonathan almost twice as long as you've been alive and I still couldn't tell you."

oOo

As Martha had said, coffee had a long history. It was a very popular Earth drink. And since this planet was her home, Kara felt like she had to at least try to understand it.

(Clark had said she had a very competitive nature. It was working against her now.)

Her head thumped to the table. She knew she was getting stared at from the other patrons of the shop, but she did not care.

Weeks of this, multiple varieties and additions, and nothing had worked. Dark roast, French roast, cold brew, iced, espresso, mocha, frappe, Irish, con leche, so many ways and nothing! And while Clark had not said anything, she knew he was getting tired of her borrowing his credit card.

She tilted her head and glared at her cup.

"I hate you."

Naturally, the cup did not respond.

(It was mocking her.)

The shop door dinged, and a familiar voice pierced the air.

"Kara?"

"Hello, Lois," Kara said, not picking her head up.

She could feel the look Lois was giving her. She saw a hand pick up her cup.

"Still trying?"

Kara groaned.

"What's all this, then?" came a snooty voice.

"Clark told me about this. Kara had a bad experience with his father's coffee, but she's determined to find something good about it."

The resulting hum made Kara look up. She recognized the woman from the Kent cook-out.

"Cat Grant, was it not?"

"Yes, and you're Kent's recently discovered sister."

"Cousin."

"Not from what I was watching, but fine."

Cat Grant sat down across from her.

"Talk to me. What are you liking and what are you not?"

And Kara was soon cajoled into describing her journey with coffee. The downs, the slight ups, the downs, the strange parts, had she mentioned the downs? Cat Grant had not done more than ask a few questions, then a light seemed to go off in her eyes.

"You liked the nutty parts, you said?"

"Yes, but the bitterness overshadowed it for me."

"Maybe since you know you're drinking coffee, your tongue is more sensitive to the bitterness," Lois mused.

"Or something," Kara said with a flat look, "Martha said something similar, and I am starting to agree with her. Perhaps this is psychosomatic at this point, and my mouth rebels at the mere thought of coffee."

Cat Grant stood up.

"I have an idea. Bear with me."

She went over to the counter and spoke with the workers. After a few minutes, she returned with a strange green drink.

"You're lucky you picked this place. They make a good cup of this."

She set it before Kara and stood back to wait. With great reluctance, Kara took a sip.

DING

A mellow sweetness, a nutty taste, a slight bitterness that was more a background than a part of it.

(Sweet merciful Rao, where has this been the whole time?!)

"I think she likes it," Lois said with a laugh as Kara practically inhaled the liquid.

"What is this?"

"Matcha," Cat Grant replied, "Coffee isn't doing it for you, so I suggest tea."

"What is this tea? Tell me everything."

Cat Grant smiled.

"Oh, we're going to have some fun, you and I."

oOo

Weeks later, Kara sat on the porch of the Kent farmhouse, enjoying the calm of the early morning and sipping at a cup of cinnamon tea. Cat Grant had been a good teacher, and Kara an eager student. There was now a small basket on the kitchen counter filled with jars of leaves and bags of tea, as well as several types of additives. Cloves, dried berries, nutmeg, peppercorns, citrus peel, and more. There was even a small jar of carefully preserved matcha powder that Kara had resolved to use for special occasions.

(Good matcha was strangely hard to find. Shame, it was easily her favorite)

She had a 'bucket list' of various teas she'd like to try one day, and a loyalty card to a shop in Metropolis that Cat Grant had shown her, one that was a veritable treasure trove to the newly-confirmed tea drinker.

She took a sip of her tea, the flavor tickling her tongue in a way that coffee never had.

Admitting defeat had never tasted so good.