By OmbudsBen
Yesterday Part 1 ended with my newsletter story “Coffee Muggings,” about the misappropriation of coworkers’ coffee cups. Little did I know, that was one of the more peaceful brew-hahas the stimulating bean would initiate for me. This was back in the years B.W. (Before Wife), and for a while I dated a lively young woman, more given to night life than morning’s tranquil pleasures. Still, as I got to know her better and we enjoyed more movies and meals together, we soon were getting a jump on our weekends by waking in the same place, too.
Which is when I made my next caffeine-fueled discovery.
For as extroverted as she was the rest of the day, as much of a dynamo as she could be when we went out evenings, mornings were an introverted affair — it seemed she waged a painful battle with wakefulness. I, on the other hand, happy to have made a new friend and mind alive with the prior evenings events and conversations, would wake ready to quietly say hello and pick up anew.
She might manage an answer or two, but her replies were decidedly monosyllabic, until she finally turned to me, impatiently brushing hair out of her morning face and plaintively whimpered, “It’s not fair! Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee!” before she collapsed face down into her pillow.
Well, that was easily remedied.
So I began making coffee for her, which brought me to the second discovery. After she had visited my place several times, we spent a night at hers, and I woke the next morning, ready for her to begin the coffee ceremony for me. Unfortunately, we had plans to be somewhere, and the demands of the morning were already upon her when she woke.
As I smiled and asked, “Is there any coffee?” she answered, “Yes, it’s downstairs. Why don’t you go make some?”
Which I did, and found mildly amusing, but my women friends shook their heads in warning. And they were right. It was the first whiff of inequity, a sort of coffee-colored blotch on the early relationship, and proved a kind of Rorschach test in reverse. For if some find love reproduced in the ink blots, I saw the opposite. Subsequent events outlined a distinct incompatibility, and we were soon waking apart, a move I’ve since learned was well-advised. And it was coffee that spilled the beans, as it were.
I do not drink coffee first thing in the morning. While it may be starter fluid for some, it is more the oil of my day. I rise and brew a pot for us, deliver a cup to my wife and reserve the rest for my thermos. She wakes slowly, and just as no blossom greets morning suddenly, her transition from somnolence to sentience is never abrupt, either. It seems a gradual emergence, and she takes in her coffee like a flower drinks in sunshine — thirsty flowers, especially. Once she gets started she downs a cuppa far quicker than I, drinking it while it’s still far too hot for normal human consumption. The marines may be known as leathernecks, but gauging from my wife’s ability to down a cup shortly after it stops boiling, the lining of her throat would well qualify for the few and the proud. She leaves me in her dust — or her grounds, perhaps.
My grandfather had a trick for drinking it while hot — he poured a little into his saucer. His wide hands would grip the saucer between thumb and finger and he lifted the disk carefully to his lips, blowing across the thin flat surface of the quickly cooling coffee, and winking at me as if sharing a good trick. I wish I could share a cup with him now, I wish I had a chance to hear him talk about FDR or Ike, the price of crops or telling jokes on his friends. (“What goes va-room, screech! va-room, screech! va-room, screech!? Denny Brighton at a flashing red light.”)
I wish I had a chance to visit my great-aunt Florence’s farmhouse kitchen again, with the smell of its wood stove, the thin-slatted white wainscoting, and her deep, full pantry. Even as a child, I felt transported back in time. I wish I had a chance to taste her coffee again, however thick it was, and however it “stands up” against the latest trendy blend. It could be that a good cup of coffee can be made just as much by the company you have as by the country of its origin.
I bring my thermos in to work with me, and do not pour my own first cup until I’m sitting at my desk. Now is the time I want the mind engaged, to be alert, aware. For me, my cup is still akin to Bobby, the companionable little dog, loyal nigh unto death. I like to recognize my mug, my boon companion, right away. If they ever invented a vessel that wagged its handle in recognition, I’d be a sucker for it. And microwave ovens are a blessing for me. Top it off and warm it up, and back to work I go.
In fact, my faithful cup is cold now. It’s time for a break.
About the author: OmbudsBen once traveled to the island of Java in Indonesia and ordered a “cup of java, please.” His traveling companion was quite amused by the blank stares the request drew, everywhere. While the Javanese are familiar with the term hamburger, and our word catsup comes from their word kecap, if they use slang when ordering a cuppa joe, it does not involve the word java.
Since then, he has met with similar rebuffs involving Vienna sausages, French fries, and Chinese fortune cookies. He found some consolation in a Belgian white ale. You can read more about him by clicking here.
[…] and the poor phantom lost his disappearing act, looking a little bit sheepish. Stay tuned for “Coffee Rorschach – Part 2,” where the author talks about the perils of caffeinated vs. non-caffeinated dating, his […]
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Grandparents and coffee…
Growing up in New Mexico, my cajun grandparents would come twice a year. Once in the spring for a general visit with my dad (and us…their lost grandchildren), and again in the fall to get a load of Mimbres valley apples. With them they always brought their silver coffee perculator and Seaport coffee (roasted in Baton Rouge).http://www.texjoy.com/store/p/190-Between-Roast-13-oz.aspx The smell would fill the house. They made it strong. I drank it with lots of sugar and milk. It was so good.
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Mimbresman, it’s dang near a comfort food!
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In my household, we’re usually coffee egalitarian. Lately I’ve been making it most weekday mornings, since I’m up first. Plus, Jim is drinking tea these days.
I’ve tried to recall gender differences I’ve noticed relative to coffee. Over the years I’ve heard people — men and women, both — say things like, “Don’t ask me that; I haven’t had my coffee yet.” I’ll have to take more notice to see if I detect any gender gap.
About myself I notice that I view coffee as one of life’s great luxuries. Maybe because I make cafe-con-leche, where I heat the milk in a double-boiler, I savor the first sip. It’s more like dessert than a fix for me.
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ybonesy, I was noticing the gender differences in this piece as well. But more so in Part 2 with the Rorschach compatibility test in the morning gesture of making coffee.
ben, have you noticed the gender differences you mention in your piece over a wide range of people? Or only with those close to you? I don’t think I’ve observed either, that men are more prone to be early risers than women (as you mention in Part 1). It’s interesting to read about your mom, grandmother, wife, and girlfriend and their relationship to coffee and mornings.
You know what I’ve found for myself is that it depends a lot on what kind of schedule I have, as to how awake I am early in the morning. I’ve had jobs that started at 5am, 8am, and 9am. I tend to rise to the occasion of whatever time I have to get up. But my natural biorhythms (meaning if I am free to go to sleep and get up on my own body’s rhythm) I prefer getting up at 9am and going to bed very late. I’m such a night owl.
I really liked the end of Part 2 and reading about your grandfather and great-aunt Florence. You seem to have a tenderness toward them that comes through in the writing.
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mm, your talk of percolators, and heavy sugar and milk, reminds me of the ritual I had with my grandmother, too. I was pretty young but when I visited her, she’d get up and have Maxwell House or Sanka. And so as not to be left out, she’d make me a cup, too, of mostly milk and sugar. That’s a lot of what I remember when I’d go visit with her in those years – the morning rituals of coffee and the paper!
ybonesy, Liz and I make a strong pot of French Roast or darker every morning. It’s the first thing we do. We smell the coffee in the bag, brew, drink with lots of half and half (I can’t take it black!). Then we drink while we are getting dressed for work and take a go cup along as well. For me, that’s it for the day. I don’t drink any more than that.
We both love the smell, taste, and ritual of it. Heavenly. I agree, it’s one of life’s great luxuries.
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You’re right, my statistical sample is small.
And I’m not saying anything about early or late risers. Either gender there.
But in my statistically small sample I’ve just known more women who wake with a real craving — not as many men who need a cuppa to get up and going, though I’m sure they are out there.
I had a roommate once who loved the timer on his coffeemaker, and how it meant he had a cup ready and made when he woke. But he was slow-moving all the time — even after he had a cup of coffee. *smile*
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Those timers can be so nice. Especially up here in these Minnesota winters. Right now, the wind is howling outside the window, the temperature has suddenly dropped, it’s snowing and blustery, and I’m thinking a timed pot of morning coffee is going to go just great with our first blizzard.
I have a warm spot in my heart for the slow movers of the world. I tend to be one of them.
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Ben,
I enjoyed your essays on coffee. My coffee drinking began at an early age, while still in high school. My Mom frowned on kids drinking it, as the belief back then, many, too many years ago, was that coffee would stunt your growth. But, I suppose, since I had not grown beyond my height of 5’2″ since the 6th grade, she probably thought it was already a lost cause! Besides, it was her friend who suggested I go on the “Mayo Clinic Weight loss diet.” (I seriously doubt that the Mayo brothers had anything to do with the “latest” diet fad.) This diet consisted of bare-naked hard-boiled eggs, 3 at every meal. along with grapefruit in the morning, tomatoes at noon, and beef for dinner. All the black coffee you wanted. I did lose some weight, (later, to be gained back, lost again, gained back a gazillion times, sigh!)
The only constant that has remained over the years has been the coffee. I drank it black, until I took a trip to New Orleans, and added cream for the first time; had to, it was Chicory coffee and needed mellowing!
I’ve preferred it white ever since.
Did you know the term to “saucer n’ blow” coffee has been around for just about forever? Probably much more prevelant in our Grandparents’ days. After all, not many saucers being used any more…mainly mugs,
(or beakers, as the Brits and Canucks would say.)
Cheerio!
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My Louisiana granddad was a rice farmer. He’d wake way before the sun came up and start the coffee. My grandmother would wake later.
Sunday was the big family dinner (of course we only participated when visiting in the summer) where everyone converged, so on Sunday morning, he’d start the mid-day meal at 5:30AM. Killer Cajun cooking! I’d wake up from the incredible smells. I go in his kitchen and watch him cook. It was facinating to watch him.
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Marylin: chicory coffee! I hadn’t thought of that for a while. Yes, a taste/olfactory memory tied to a specific place. Now I’m ready for another trip to N’awlins.
I remember the old canard about coffee stunting growth, too; how funny. As I’m not a hardboiled egg fan, I’d lose weight on that diet, as well. “Saucer and blow”! Hadn’t heard that before — I like it.
Mimbres: now you’ve got me craving cajun breakfast along with chicory coffee. I want Louisiana sausage and all I’ve got is this breakfast bar …
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Marylin’s diet reminds me of the one my three older sisters liked to try: 7 bananas – 7 boiled eggs – 7 weiners for 7 days. Now I can’t remember how the mixing and matching of food went, but that was all they could eat. Gross!
Sometimes my oldest daughter asks for coffee. I let her drink tea, and I get her some of the good dessert types — vanilla almond, chocolate hazelnut, etc. — that she can drink with honey and milk added. It’s all very exotic to her, drinking a tea that is best with honey and milk. Peppermint tea is so ordinary by contrast.
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BTW, When I visit ybonesy and Jim, their coffee maker is a small French press. I alway feel like a coffee hog with that thing. Great coffee from Whiting (?), but too small of coffee maker. (don’t hate me ybonesy!)
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Guess what we bought, mm…a carafe that keeps the coffee hot. That way I can make one french press worth, pour it into the carafe, then make another (and another, and another…). And we can all be coffee hogs!!
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Yippee
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yb: at the same job where I wrote about Coffee Muggings, there was an older guy from Taiwan. Very nice and sociable, albeit just curmudgeonly enough to require his own space on occasion.
One day I walked into the kitchen and he had the cupboard open, looking at all the teas they stocked for us.
“Raspberry Royale, Vanilla, Lemon Lift — this isn’t tea, it’s dessert!” he exclaimed in disgust.
I had no idea he had such strong opinions about what tea was, and what it wasn’t. I didn’t cop to the fact I kind of liked the orange one.
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ben, that reminds me of all the flavored coffees that became really big in the 80’s. And all the coffee snobs that are repulsed by them. I used to drink them but now I’ve converted – I don’t like the flavored stuff at all. I guess I’ve become a coffee snob, too. I’m the same with teas. I like the straight herbs or else give me a big old pot of Earl Grey black (I do add cream).
mm, I feel the same way about small coffee makers, whatever the variety. I want to sit down to a huge pot of coffee and keep the Joe flowing. It’s a social event and I don’t want to feel I have to skimp or am going to run out!
yb, glad you brew a larger carafe now! For all of us coffee hogs!
marylin, your remembrances of coffee applications are fascinating. I had forgotten all about the “coffee stunts your growth” admonitions of the 50’s. My grandmother used to say that to me, too, and I think adding all that milk was to help alleviate the possibility. Of course, I’ve never been taller than 5’2″, no matter what I ate or drank! I have to say, I’d never heard of a diet with black coffee. That’s got to be a first (and last).
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Yeah, for as much as I truly love my coffee, if you added up the amount of coffee I drink each morning, it would probably only make 3/4 of a mugfull. By comparison, I drink two mugfulls of milk each morning.
UGH to flavored coffee. It’s just wrong tasting. I’m sure purists would consider my cafe-con-leche wrong-tasting, too, and a flavoring of a different type, but pinon and vanilla and chocolate and all those coffee flavors are just yucky.
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