Anyhow, here is something about my love for coffee.
Coffee I Never Tasted but Loved
My memories are flavored with the pungent smells of coffee: percolated, brewed, fresh ground, Maxwell House (sometimes better); the morning necessities, the afternoon refreshments, the nighttime rituals; the common liquid which gathered family and friends together.
In Grandma’s kitchen the coffee and the memories percolated as one and produced a blend so strong it brought out tears and laughter. In restaurants, cafeterias and diners the family meals were never complete – were never left – without the coffee after.
In our home the coffee was brewed and served till well into the night, and attracted many guests like moths to aromatic flames: the teenage boys who gathered at the table Friday evenings; the neighbor playing rummy always staying for one more game.
There were years and years of coffee en-scenting the walls, the skin, the brain; creating sense memories so deeply steeped and infused and scorched on the mind like the scorching on a pot left hot too long, so strongly pressed from the best grounds ground from the best beans, the best moments, moments of the coffee kind.