Sunday, March 25, 2007

Creative Writing: Coffee I Never Tasted but Loved

I went to a coffee shop today, to try again to become a coffee drinker. I am giving myself up as a lost cause on this -- no matter what I try, I can't seem to enjoy the taste. I love coffee ice-cream, and mocha flavored food and drink. I absolutely love the scent of coffee, and would spend all day in a coffee shop if I could. But I have never taken to the flavor and the sharpness of coffee itself.

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.


Stidmama said...

I have a vivid memory from a day in my childhood. I assume it was late spring because of the way the light was coming into the house.

Early in the morning, I woke to hear the sound of the coffee grinder in the kitchen -- this being pre-espresso-stand days, it was the old wooden hand-crank grinder with the little drawer at the bottom of the base that held the treasured ground coffee. And then the wonderful, rich, olfactory-stimulating coffee smell as the old percolater started to work on the coffee. Then the smell of bacon...

and I was up and in the kitchen.

No, I didn't get to drink coffee in those days, but just the smell transported me. Still does, and now I even like the taste. Sometimes.

Nancy said...

Nice memory Stidmama. Thanks!