Coffee Notes
Coffee
Dark brewed, extra hot, a dash of cream - Ahh!
Why do I enjoy it so much? Maybe it’s the way coffee connects life’s moments, even if it’s not as good as caramel turtle candy or a fresh snickerdoodle cookie; those, after all, are better savored with a steaming cup of joe.
Coffee can be charred, burnt, or overcooked. It can be weak and mealy, the worst! Many breakfast joints serve room-temperature, light brown brew in a thick, dark cup. They are not fooling me! My Aunt Betty’s comment on weak coffee was, “I could read the date on a penny at the bottom.” Or in the opposite scenario, Uncle complained that a cuppa was so overcooked it tasted like thick, black oil.
This brings me back to the question -” Why do I enjoy it so much?”
Nostalgia. Yes, the memories unlocked by a fragrant cup linger until the last sip.
Auntie and Uncle’s remarks are not the only views that come to my mind. Grandma often said, “Come sit at the table, I’ll make some coffee.” If the visitor was lucky, there were fresh oatmeal cookies hidden in a big enamel bowl, covered with a clean towel, under the high-board dresser. Conversation, cookies, and a dark brew went hand in hand.
The first steaming cup in Mom’s hands at daybreak, held close for warmth, was perfect for dunking a toasted slice of fresh bread. She always preferred a thin, white tankard so that the dark bread was fit for dunking. Sharing this treat, alone, with her in silence, was a special beginning to any day.
In the late 70s, my brother and I worked together at our shops in Denver’s Larimer Square. The doors opened at 10 a.m., but luckily for us, the Market across the street was always open early. I recall we started every workday with a walk across Larimer Street to buy a fresh cuppa. The cash came out of the till -- the cost of doing business. We spent a few minutes planning the impending day or talking about what we did over the weekend. The shop functioned better after we had our cup of brain juice.
My dad’s morning perk ritual went like this: Fill the glass percolator with water, add coffee to the basket, and place the pot on a stove burner set on high. Run downstairs to shower and, if all went well, the moment he came upstairs, the percolating started. The chocolate coloring dripping into the hot water was a harbinger of goodness. Turn the burner off, get dressed, and then, at last, savor perfectly brewed Folgers.
Sharing java is also social. After all, I wouldn’t have heard these family sayings or experienced these feelings if the coffee hadn’t been shared. Often, sipping earthy, dark caffé is just an opportunity to talk and share the moment. It’s a blessing to gather with friends in the early morning to catch up and unload any troubles. The common ground is set around earthy aromas, rising and opening the senses and heart for listening.
I will never forget the first time some friends took me to an authentic, old-school coffeehouse in north Denver. There was a beatnik reading poetry in the corner, I kid you not, it was the coolest cup of mud I ever drank. In the dark, psychedelic room, I expected some serious drugs, but all they served was coffee, folk music, and poetry.
A date with a handsome young man often included a pot of coffee and a piece of pie at the local Village Inn. And I do mean pot - they left one at the table, aware that two young adults - ok, teenagers - needed time to get to know one another. So many topics of discussion took place about life, favorite songs, movies, and future kids' names, surrounded by the distinct nutty smell of java and sweet apple pie à la mode. The comfort level was high and the price, low.
Our kids, whose names we chose at the Village Inn, don’t drink the caffeinated joe. Straight espresso is rare among the younger set these days. Their go-to drink comes with flavoring by the pump and add-ons I associate with ice cream sundaes.
Why do I enjoy coffee so much? Must be the people I share it with. Hopefully, I will continue making memories with family and friends while sharing a cup of straight-up bean juice, colored perfectly with cream to dark caramel. Whether it’s in a coffee shop or around the kitchen table, my favorite people come together around the cuppa.
Mud brewed dark and hot
Brings back voices of the past
As we share a cup
Bit by bit, that’s all she wrote…