A gray day in the Boston area. I am trying very hard to focus on all the writing projects I have due this week. The only legit excuse I’ve given myself to rise from this chair is for coffee. Coffee is one of those substances in which as an adult I have at times overindulged. As a child, I associated coffee with my father. My mother, by the time I was old enough to notice, drank only hot tea (Lipton’s with a half teaspoon of sugar). My dad preferred instant coffee.
Pop
One teaspoon of the dark brown granules in his orange plastic cup. The resulting brew liberally lightened with canned Pet evaporated milk, and sweetened with two heaping teaspoons of sugar. Sometimes if I sat on his lap he’d let me have a slurp or two. It wasn’t until I went away to college that I had fresh brewed coffee. Took me a while to get used to the complex flavors. I continued to buy instant, but less for the flavor than for the connection to my dad, especially on Sunday mornings when we would speak by phone. Years later, after I had moved to Boston and began working for a start-up nonprofit, brewed coffee became manna. Didn’t hurt that I lived in a Boston neighborhood with a coffee shop at every corner (and that was before Starbucks made inroads). I always had a coffee cup in hand. In fact, one year for my birthday, Bert, a good friend and colleague, drew my cup of the moment.
Today I drink from a simple white mug a coffee recently roasted by Steve’s son-in-law. I had to grind the beans myself before brewing. I’ve already had two cups. I think I’ll give myself permission to have one more cup … after I complete a couple of items on my list. Until then … enough of these coffee musings. I hope your day goes well! 😉
Kyle's Coffee
Two days ago I found myself in a Whole Foods hungry and in a mood where I guess I was open to trying new things. I passed the seafood counter and noticed large brown escargot available for 79 cents each. Never had ’em before. Never wanted ’em before. But that day I bought two. Not bad. I might try them again. I’ve been lucky throughout my life to have the opportunity to experience new foods. In Thailand I was served fresh jumping snake by hillside villagers. In Montana I had my first and so far only taste of bison. Currently I live adjacent to neighborhoods with restaurants representing just about every culture in the world. I can’t always afford to eat in them but I can certainly press my face to their windows. Window shopping is what I primarily do at one particular store in my area that is famous for its meats, cheeses, oils and pasta from around the world. I am used to viewing on its shelves kangaroo, Kobe beef, ostrich, rabbit, venison, bison, frog legs, duck and every now and then plain ol’ chicken. I have come to expect the “exotic” but I did not expect the lion. In fact, I thought the label on the package had a typo. But the butcher made clear that there had been no typo. The store was indeed offering up African lion by the steak.
Words + Images 