My Perfect Cup of Coffee?
October 12, 2007
I sit in this coffee shop, it could be anywhere in the world, my thoughts brewing as I inhale the steamy hot bitterness of the fog rising from my mug—the roasted beans being ground and brewing with the hustle and bustle of others trying to get their daily vice in the background. No matter where I am or what I am doing, I always have an urge to stop what I am doing, find a local coffee shop, order a delicious cup of hot black coffee, sit back reminisce for a while and pick up the pen and the pad and have my way with words.
Today it is manifesting itself in the exact scenario that has built my character--it has been and will be and undeniable constant of my life—travel, coffee and writing—escaping to smell, drown my thoughts in the background noise, and get that buzz to relieve me of any subtle laziness that might be hindering my productivity. It doesn’t matter if its 95 degrees out, or the middle of the night, a large metropolis or the only place in a 47km radius one can find a cup of coffee, a friends house or the corner store. Its my moment of zen, where I can truly drown my thoughts into an accepted addiction—and that addiction fuels my passion and massages my soul by allowing, even for a short moment to travel deep into my thoughts that manifest themselves on a blank page after a scurry of scribbles, cross outs and illegible nonsense.
It’s a moment of pure bliss when my headache cracks egg whites like carpenters nailing in shingles on a hot Brooklyn day. My thoughts wander like headless horsemen at night without jack-o-lanterns—only topping to rest like a marathon runner after a 100 yard dash and basking in glory like the Vasque after a separatist exhibition of unrefined yet witty and thought out public disturbance that international organizations dub as terrorism.
And now that I have traveled, I see the people around me. From memorable a coffee shops like the one below the auxiliary office of the OAS in DC, to suburban local coffee shops off the beaten track in Northern California that make the best Mexican Mocha outside of Oaxaca. I hear the languages, breathe the atmosphere, see the desire, interpret their subtle yet drastic nuances, and begin to wonder what their thoughts are.
And yet with all this agonizing brooding my ominous stare could pierce through steel wool and unset concrete on slightly overcast days. So instead of belittling them with my analytical complexities, I flash, at moments notice, something resembling a friendly and familiar smile, like someone that looks like an ex girlfriend passing you in a car with tinted windows. A quaint smile or a nod of appreciation that you are in the same place, but have lived far different live to lead you there, to sip on a simple treasure of refreshing, and bitter boldness that can be attuned and customized to your personal palate.
I am always in search of a better cup of coffee—or maybe not? There are times when you find yourself in need of or uncharacteristically wanting that day old bottom of the pot, twice over heated and reheated, and served in a plastic cup that has a broken lid that splatters on your white shirt as you are late for an important event. But sometimes you want the shade grown, organic and fairly traded, lightly roasted and uniquely blended-- served by your favorite barista, or a new one who breathes confidence in your addiction, and thus with that cup you inhale confidence and a new passion for something you have always loved. Perfect temperature for drinking, its like its not even happening as you fall back into an executive chair that wraps its patent leather around your tired waist and lets you slouch just enough to know you are indulging yourself. Sit back, relax and let your thoughts meander like backcountry roads of terraced terrain. Legs kicked up like grandpa overlooking the fireplace of unspoken words and idealism yet to be realized.
So thus, for me, I am still undecided if there really exists the perfect cup of coffee—but maybe there is and that is why I am constantly searching for it. However, with an profound anticipation announced addiction and awaits my every cup of coffee. Shared with friends, thoughts or out of necessity, coffee defines my mood, existence and its appropriate impact on the rest of the world around us. My coffee is sacred, my only vehement addiction that others can accept and relate to. My cup of coffee today is almost luke warm and tasteless as I think of a good ending to this montage of sentimental coffee drinking monologue that someone out there may be able to relate to.