I am slowly becoming addicted to coffee. Holly argues that one cup a day doesn’t mean “addicted”. I have tried enough blends and roasts to say confidently what I like and what I don’t like. What is interesting is how much emotion is attached to a cup of coffee. The “aha” came to me when I realized that smelling and drinking it often invokes memories of a person or an event. Some of these are pleasant and some are not.
My father drank coffee, lots of it. He used an electric percolator for the first pot at home, then switched to a paper-drip Mr. Coffee the rest of the day at work. His home coffee had an unpleasant bitter taste. As a child on the 1 or 2 occasions I was curious enough to ask for a drink, he would not allow cream or sugar. I refused coffee for years because I thought it would taste like Dad’s.
In 2004 I went to Mexico with a mission group, didn’t sleep well, and had to drink coffee in order to function. The coffee there was served with 1 lump of unprocessed sugar roughly the size of a golf ball. Much better! That started me on the road to coffeeland. I did switch back to no sugar most of the time, but my coffee doesn’t taste like Dad’s.
Do you have coffee stories?
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