"Ah, you mean you can't very well take less."

As the March Hare said, you really can't take less than nothing. After ten days research, I have concluded that you can also not take less of a serving of French coffee, which is practically nothing itself.

I thought that France was the country of café. Right? When we see artsy black and white photographs of Paris, one out of three depicts a couple philosophizing over café au laits. Steam rising out of porcelain cups, the coffee almost always steals the show.

"Where is this coffee?" I ask. It is not in my shop downstairs. It is not in the school cafeteria. It is not really in Show Gourmand, and it could not possibly be in the automatic coffee machines that sit silently around campus.

In fact, the "coffee" I have received here is unlike any coffee I know. I'm beginning to doubt it even is coffee. It comes in little round packets that resemble tea bags. It goes into cups one eighth the size of a small New York coffee. Ergo, as I am sure you can infer, it comes in servings that are one eighth the size of New York servings.

"Silly girl, it must be espresso!" you exclaim. I thought of that. And it's not. This substance masquarading as coffee provides no relief from the grogginess of morning. It offers no espresso jolt. It tastes like syrup without sugar (if you can even imagine) and it rarely, if ever, comes with the option of milk.

Honestly, I wonder why anyone would drink it. France's neighbor, Italy, has mastered the coffee art. Why did they not share? And if they tried to share, why did France refuse the gift? Is it a question of national pride?

I've titled this column "Ravens and Writing Desks" after the Mad Hatter's riddle. For like his question and others without answers, the puzzles French culture presents are sometimes bewildering. Why is a raven like a writing desk? Why do the French insist on giving me bad coffee? The answer to both remains the same: I don't know.

Just because I don't know, however, doesn't mean that I didn't solve the problem. I'm in business school. I focus on identifying and solving problems. So, I pinpointed the problem: lack of acceptable coffee. Then I bought a coffee maker and some Lavazza coffee. It, too, comes in little teacoffee bags, but it's got to be better than the alien darkness that pervades the area.

Hopefully, I have ended this mad coffee party. No more miniture cups. No more pretending that I can handle this un-coffee. Tomorrow morning will be different. I hope. I've never really made coffee before.