Somebody was supposed to link up with me for coffee this morning, but she got waylaid and it didn’t happen. As much as I would have enjoyed her company and didn’t mind waiting for a bit, I ‘needed’ caffeine. It is basically the only vice I allow myself these days and it is therefore imperative.
Weary of waiting I made myself a cuppa. I am savoring it right now. The world is now a brighter place.
I no longer drink a lot of coffee because, as much as I like it, I also cherish sleep. So, in the evening I have tea. Not as satisfactory. It’s sex with a condom. You know, nice enough, but missing a certain essence.
I have always loved coffee. Real coffee – Joe, Mud, whatever you want to call it. Decaf is an evil substance and only worthy of being deposited in the toilet without having gone through the middle-man (ie, me).
Something that delighted me when I was back in England in 2006 is that one could finally get a decent cup of ‘real’ coffee rather than the piss they formerly served.
For decade the doomsayers who like to take all the joy from our lives have tried to convince us that coffee – like tobacco, booze, and fatty foods – was deadly and would do us in before our allotted time on the planet. Consequently the killjoys (those who live in fear that others might be having fun) tried to mount study after study to show that coffee was bad for us. They failed, also time after time, in their quest.
In recent years a lot of fancy-ass coffees have come down the pike (lattes, cappuccinos, Americanos, flat whites and so forth) and they are well enough unless the ordering involves somebody standing ahead of me in the queue at a coffee joint early in the morning; then they are very bad things.
In Mexico a couple of years ago we ordered coffees at an outdoor cafe. The pleasant server asked if we would like ‘Americanos’. Definitely a preference but I thought, considering where we were, shouldn’t they have been ‘Mexicanos’?
And that is all I have got on coffee for today.