I called one of my dear friends early this afternoon and announced, "Every once and a while I have a moment that reminds me how different I am from everyone else." He laughed as I regaled him with the story of my first trip to the local Brazilian supermarket. It all started when I was in the local American supermarket and discovered they no longer carried my favorite Brazilian coffee. As I wailed and bemoaned this grievous offense over the phone to my dear friend, he tried to convince me that one of the Cuban brands would suffice. There was one problem with this logic. Once you've tried Brazilian coffee, you cannot go back. Just the fact that he could not grasp this fact forced me to drive over to the Brazilian store. I've wanted to stop in since I first noticed it along the edge of the road, but time and--more recently--a fear of running into a certain South American have kept me from wandering the aisles in search of imported delicacies. Today left me wi...