I really should have done some research before the trip but it didn't happen and, anyway, we were pretty much resort-bound so maybe it wouldn't have mattered.

This was the first real vacation my family has gone on since my daughter was born. We picked an all-inclusive resort because we didn't want to do anything other than sit by some water and chase the not-quite-one year old around.

The resort was great with one fairly sizable caveat: the food was a downer. Now, over the course of the trip we were able to develop strategies to score halfway edible meals. Unfortunately, I was unable to score any decent coffee.

The resort, Memories Splash Punta Cana for the curious, didn't lack for coffee opportunities: there was pre-ground coffee in the room, coffee and espresso at every restaurant, and two dedicated coffee bars. The problem was that they were all uniformly awful.

The afternoon we arrived, we'd had a long travel day so, while we settled into the room, I gave the pre-ground coffee a go in the supplied mini coffee maker.

I followed the instructions to the letter but, in the cup, the resulting brew was tough sledding. Only a couple of sugars and a packet of creamer later, could I manage to down a single serving. I hate creamer.

The next morning, we hit up the buffet and eagerly accepted two coffees from one of the waitstaff. Let me tell you, that was the most intense cup of Cafe Bustelo I've ever had-- that's exactly what it tastes like once my tastebuds recovered from their initial shock-- Bustelo amped up to 11, maybe 12. Filling half the cup with milk barely dented the inky blackness. This was real Death Wish coffee.

There were still the coffee bars, right? I hugged tight a last chickpea-sized remnant of hope exactly until I saw the super automatic espresso machine squatting with malice upon the counter. The chickpea of hope was smashed into a hummus of despair. I was not disappointed.

A button was pressed. A small to-go cup was filled with superheated milk and bubble bath and then drizzled with some sort of hot brown juice. I did not hear any grinding, automatic or otherwise, so I can only assume that the cup I accepted was filled with the efflux of some infernal pod. I added a hefty amount of sugar and took a donut to console me.

And so began my daily drinking dance with devil.

There was one interesting wrinkle: the restaurants used a slightly different and slightly less-bad machine than the coffee bars.

It wasn't much of an improvement but it was something.

What did I expect? I don't know. I hoped that I'd see some regional coffee flavor-- maybe some Moka Pot action-- but it wasn't there in any form that I could see. I guess it's downside of the all-inclusive system that looks to the lowest common denominator and the cheapest, least-skill-dependent, option.

My last gasp effort came at the airport. First, I stepped into the duty free shop with an eye towards some local coffee.

Hey's there's the Santo Domingo-- just like from our hotel room! And another offering from proud parent corporation, Induban! And some others! But no roast dates and nothing roasted any lighter than charcoal black. I just couldn't bring myself to buy anything. Was I doomed?

As we entered a giant hanger-like warehouse that housed the departure gates, I noticed a Segafredo shop set in the middle of the space and, after depositing the wife, baby, and luggage, I wandered over.

The menu looked normal enough, a couple of oddities (the Shakerato? Americano with hot water on the side?) aside. I put in an order for a latte and an Americano for the wife.

I watched the barista work and immediately noticed a problem. Look at the grinder. The doser is already filled with ground coffee, ground up who knows how long ago. My hopes were dashed before the coffee even arrived. But arrive it did:

However good or bad you think it looks, it tasted worse. I think my wife managed to down about a quarter of her drink before she consigned it to the trash.

I own a Hario Skerton grinder, reasonably travel friendly, but I don't own any mobile coffee-brewing solutions. I don't own an Aeropress. I'm not sure what I expected as far as coffee options go-- I didn't get around to thinking about it much-- but, if I knew before I left what I know now, I would have bought an Aeropress, packed up the Hario, and grabbed a bag of beans for the trip. But I didn't know and I paid the price. I should've done some research.