3:16 p.m. - 08 January 2003
Coffeepalooza
Mmmm – coffee. Coffeecoffeecoffeecoffee. Our local coffeehouse has just opened a kiosk not twenty feet from the door to our office. I’m in big trouble.
I just had a wonderful mocha, and I picked up one of their little “menus” to keep at my desk for everyone. While looking at it, I discovered that they have something that they call a Crowbar: made just like a mocha, but with two shots of espresso, twice the chocolate, and half-and-half instead of regular milk. I have got to try one. I’m just not sure that my cow-orkers can handle me on that much sugar and caffeine. Hell, I’m not sure I can handle me on that much sugar and caffeine. I’m already typing much quicker that I usually do, although not quite as accurately.
Neither of my parents is a regular coffee drinker, so it was never around when I was growing up. My paternal grandparents lived on the stuff, so it was only when we were visiting them that I even got to smell it. I wasn’t impressed. Even later, I never thought it smelled great. When I was a freshman in college, I got used to the smell – tiny coffeepots were one of the few kitchen appliances allowed in our dorm rooms – but it was never a favorite. I unsuccessfully tried a few of the flavored instant coffees, but the only thing I would willingly drink that tasted like coffee was Kahula.
Finally, one night at a religion department end of year party, the professor – a well-known coffee fiend – offered all of us some coffee at the end of the meal. I’m not sure if it was because the coffee was freshly brewed and likely a high-quality grind, or if it was because I finally figured out how much sugar and cream to add (and trust me, it was a lot), but for the first time, I got it. I understood how people could willingly drink coffee. A few months later, I tried a mocha at a Starbucks because the menu said it contained chocolate and I was a goner.
By junior year, I was a semi-regular coffee drinker. Mostly because I was around coffee drinkers more often (i.e., I hung out in the religion department). Spring term of senior year, my Hebrew classes met in the coffeeshop across the street from campus. It was a perk of making it through the first three semesters, although the professor was highly amused when I showed up for the first class with a hangover. To make matters worse, there was a reporter from the local newspaper present to do a story on places to have breakfast around town. Thank goodness there was not a photographer there, too, because while I sounded sober when the article came out, any picture taken that morning would have ruined the façade.
We were such regulars (twice a week at 10 a.m.) that when the coffeeshop stopped actually being open for business at that time (they decided they weren’t doing enough business to justify serving breakfast), they still let us in and served us. The regular waitress those mornings was actually the girl who lived across the hall from me; she was in my little sister class (two years behind) and was our CA (Community Advisor – what most colleges refer to as an RA). Since my official little sister transferred, and her official big sister turned out as not very good (I don’t remember why), we adopted each other. Which, I just realized, means that I adopted both big and little sisters.
Actually, for graduation, she gave me some Irish Cream coffee – which is what I always ordered, along with a cranberry-orange-walnut muffin when I had the money – and a French press pot. It’s still the only coffee maker we have, since neither one of us is a regular coffee drinker anymore. It makes one cup at a time of the best coffee when I’m in the mood. And I don’t have to worry about making way more coffee than we can drink. Although, I think we’ve got a package of ground Folgers that has moved a couple of times – it was a freebie from the grocery store at one point. Mostly I just buy the little tiny packages that are meant to make one pot, since it will last for quite a while in our house.
And since we bought some wonderful Ghirardelli hot chocolate mix while we were on vacation (made with hot milk and a shot of Godiva liqueur it makes a great bedtime drink), I think it’s time to try my homemade mocha recipe again: freshly brewed coffee over cocoa mix. Guaranteed to keep you awake and buzzed for several hours. I can get a lot of work done when I drink it, although it’s the crash that usually prevents me from consuming it too often. That, and my inherent laziness, which tends to explain a lot.
