The Best Coffee is also a quantum theft, because "Best" is subjective.
Think about it, you wake up in the morning, groggy as fuck, you go into the kitchen to make some of your favourite coffee, but it's gone. You could have sworn that you just bought it not last weekend, but it's gone. So you bathe and dress and go into work angry and grumpy, because some asshole stole your goddamn fucking coffee.
You beeline to the breakroom to pour yourself a cup or three of the complimentary black gold that one of your coworkers brought in. It's pretty good, it's not -your- favourite, but it does it's job so you can do yours. On your way out, day enlightened, you're greeted by the vicious stare of one of your fellows, as he eyeballs you, willing an Optic Blast. He demands to know where you got that coffee. Oh, it's the guy who bought it, but before you have a chance to answer, he grabs your mug and tries to gulp it down, only for nothing to come out. He opens his eyes, and the interior of your mug is bone dry. You glance back into the breakroom, the pot is empty, the machine is off, and the pot looks like it's drying by the sink. What the hell? Your coffee not only disappeared in front of you, but actively un-brewed itself?
THAT, my friends, is Carmen Sandiego.