Friday RDP: Coffee
I like to say I’m a social drinker when it comes to coffee. My favorite is espresso, and I have such weakness for its aroma. The taste must not be bitter or harsh as it goes down the throat and lands warm in one’s belly. It’s not unlike a fine brandy that goes down smooth and velvety but then can burn a hole in your stomach when
it hits bottom.
Lately, tea sits better in my stomach. Black English tea with oatmeal cakes for breakfast is part of my morning ritual and green tea infused with fruits for during the day. Sometimes, an herbal tea gets me through the night. When I’m visiting with a coffee drinker, however, I can’t resist the smell, the heavenly fragrance of a good cup of coffee; the intoxicating aroma of espresso does make me a bit tipsy, and I struggle with the temptation knowing I will regret it later.
Although you can get a great coffee smell and of course good coffee from the single cup pods, I prefer an authentic espresso maker. To be clear, I’m not talking about the big digitalized models that take up half one’s counter space; I’m speaking of a small pot on the stove top. It brews coffee by passing boiling water pressurized by steam through ground coffee. I’ve concluded, that the secret to both good tea and coffee is in the boiling water – a hot running boil. Sometimes if I’m feeling really daring, I will have my espresso with milk, steamed and made foamy with a handheld frother. I know I’m going to lie awake thinking about it tonight, then I can say “ I couldn’t sleep last night because of the coffee.”
Seriously though, besides the physical pleasure from the coffee, I also have an emotional attachment. I don’t have to taste the coffee to feel I’m at my mother’s or grandmother’s kitchen table feeling safe and loved. When we were young, we would have a cup of hot milk with a couple of drops of coffee. We felt so grown up when we were able to participate in having a “café con leche” with the elders.
Many years later when I lived alone in an apartment building in an old mill city in New England, there lived an older gentleman at the end of the hall near the exit door. Every morning as I set out to go to work, I would be assaulted with the smell of freshly brewed espresso. I knew he was making it like my grandmother and I was often tempted to knock on the door and invite myself in. He didn’t seem like a friendly fellow; I wonder what would have happened if we were to share a cup of coffee and a piece of warm homemade bread with real butter. What stories would he have to tell? What stories would we have in common?
What’s your relationship with coffee? Is it just a way to make it through the day? Does the smell of coffee connect you with a memory of a loved one? An old friend perhaps?
My first week at #RagTag Daily Prompt. #coffee
This was fun! Is the format OK? Not sure about pingbacks.