I, like any upstanding North Easterner, drink coffee. I’ve had ‘coffee’ for as long as I can remember. Having been born and raised in Rhode Island, I fondly recall in elementary school “milk time.” The teacher aids would come in to the classroom with a milk crate with little milk cartons and -if your Mom gave you milk money- for 50 cents you could get in the line and buy one. There were inevitably 3 flavors: white, chocolate...and coffee. (Still to this day Autocrat coffee syrup adorns my refrigerator door.) Then throughout highschool when I could drive myself to school I would get up early and get –no matter what season- an Iced Coffee from good ole ‘Bess Eaton.’ And as an Adult where I work now there is a weekly –if not daily- Dunkin Run. This of course is in addition to the coffee pot that’s always on in the kitchen.
However if I’m honest with myself,
and to the world,
I don’t like it as much as I say I do.
Let me rephrase.
First, it never seems to taste as good as it smells,
but mostly because the proportions are never quite right.
Whether if I make it or someone else does there is such a fine line between
the bitter ‘Cowboys-sitting-around-a-fire-drinking-from-tin-cups-using-up-their-supply-of-100lbs-they-bought-at-the-beginning-of-the-Oregon-Trail-2’ coffee without enough sugar
and the sickeningly sweet 'Lollipops-Cherry pie-Cream puffs-Ice Cream-Treacle Tart-and-Allllll-Freeeeeee-Today’ coffee with so much sugar that you can taste the granular glop that pools at the bottom
that I am rarely happy.
So it shows a true addition when you keep coming back for more in hopes of that rare:
best-part-of-waking-up,
time-to-make-the-donuts,
good-to-the-last-drop,
christ-is-the-answer,
my-me-time,
perfect cup-of-Jo(han).
It’s like a corner but with a T.
