Like a large percentage of folks in this country, I like my coffee. Most weekdays I wait until I arrive at work before settling down at my desk to check emails and voicemails with a hot cup of brew nestled next to my elbow with the comforting presence of a purring cat. Without fail, upon that first sip I flutter my eyelids and exult silently “Ah, coffee! Sweet elixir of the gods!!” Kind of like Charleston Heston in The Ten Commandments. Kind of.
On weekends the routine changes a tad as Joe, the earlier riser, lets me sleep-in (for the greater good), then lures me out of dreamtime by wafting a freshly poured demitasse under my nose. Last Sunday, however, I opened my eyes of my own accord to find Joe missing and no signs of his having been by with any coffee; no smells lingering in the bedroom, nor any sounds of the trusty 25-year old Italian espresso pot rattling progressively on the stove–train’s a-comin’! We were out of coffee!! And the only coffee shop within close walking distance was closed! I had to settle for tea, but it doesn’t seem to have the magical waking properties for me that a strong cup of Joe does (heh heh), so by late morning I was semi-cranky, and lethargic to the point of laying on the couch, arms flung out lifelessly, energy bleeding out of me like Nancy at the end of Sid & Nancy…”Siiiid!”
The situation was remedied by going out on some errands with our trusty to-go mugs (we have a rule, to be broken only in times of emergency, that we cannot buy a cup of coffee unless it’s served in a real porcelain-type cup, or if we have our own mugs) in hand to be filled by the nearest barrista we could find. We have no particular loyalty, whether it be our friendly locally owned bulbous-but-cute coffee trailer, Hot Wire, Starbucks, Tully’s, Diva, that place on Aurora with the buxom bikini-clad girls (don’t they get cold?)–we have a need and they can fill it. Thank you and here’s a tip for making the world a better place.
A year or so ago I was thrilled to find that a local grocery store sells Tony’s Coffee, which is the very place I started this smoky-bean habit back in Bellingham during the must-have-caffeine days of college. The coffee shop there in Fairhaven has changed from the days I walked on its worn wooden floors, enveloped in the warmth of ever-steaming coffee, everyone with a book open in front of them instead of a laptop, but each time I take that first sip of Organic Sumatra it all comes back. Roasty, toasty memories in a cup of java…