Tuesday, April 3, 2012
C is for Coffee
What I really want to talk about is coffee. Deep, murky, steaming delicious bean. And please, I don't need to know that you like the scent of it, but don't like to drink it - that's like loving the feel of silk, but not wanting to wear it. Ridiculous. And I don't need to know that you're strictly a tea drinker - it just doesn't compare. I'm not a snob - you can drink whatever you'd like - but pretending you understand the world of a coffee freak when you don't drink the stuff yourself is like... like... pretending you know how it feels to be a mantis shrimp.
Coffee... mmm-hmmm. Sounds good right about now. To me, it sounds good right about any now. Someone asked the other day when my love affair - I refuse to call it an addiction - with coffee began. You may be a little shocked, dismayed even, to find out that it began when I was a toddler and at the hands of my beloved maternal grandmother.
Seriously. I can remember sitting at the table in the highchair and having Grandma hand me coffee. Of course, it was a cup filled with mostly milk, probably two teaspoons of sugar, and a couple of tablespoons of coffee, but it was the best stuff I'd ever had in my young life. That was way back when the way to make coffee was a stove-top percolator. That was some densely satisfying stuff, and I would beg for it whenever opportunity presented itself. Of course, my parents were bean freaks too - our house was never without coffee at the ready - so it was no big deal for their children to want the stuff.
Hey. Don't judge. Those were different times. Plus, at 5'6" today, it's safe to assume that it didn't stunt my growth... and if it did, that's fine with me. I really didn't want to be 6'3" anyway.
Now I take my coffee black, and the stronger the better. For close to five decades coffee has been the one constant in my life through absolutely everything and everywhere I've been. So it shall remain the stuff my life is built upon.