I love coffee and the last time I got some, it was amazing. I assume the next time will also be amazing. But, this blind faith in coffee can lull you into a false scene of stability.
For example, It was a typical day, sun shining, air clear. I zipped up my coat and slipped on my favorite pair of white Jordan Air 1 OGs with university red accents. Pulling the door securely closed behind me, I left the house with an exciting spring in my step. The car chipped happily back to me as I climbed in. The engine blinked to life without a sound and a choir of angels sang as I pulled out into light traffic. It was only 3 miles between me and coffee. One red light, a right, a right, a left followed by a quick right, snake through the parking lot and pull into a not great but not horrible spot. At least I didn’t have to pay for it.
As I walked into the shop, I was backhanded by the smell of a Kenyan roast; I love this place because for days after every visit people can smell the aroma of coffee on my jacket. As I recovered from the blow, a friendly barista greeted me and I stepped to the counter - anticipation building - mouth open, dry, struggling to speak. It was at this critical moment my words failed me. I had been scanning the menu frantically thinking where was my drink? The world came to a standstill and my heart sank as I realized the words "Espresso" should be a malicious little sign hung. “Espresso machine out of order”. I stumbled over my words. Which way is up? Is everything I have done all for nothing? What is the meaning of life? I began to go into full shock; to the sick amusement of the staff who just stood there still smiling. I was frozen in a stupor repeatedly whispering “out of order, out of order, out of order…”.
The barista broke the trance and the world snapped back into motion. ” unfortunately, our machine is down, might I recommend an Aeropress?”. I reluctantly agreed, paid my $12.73, staggered to the nearest place to sit, and collapsed in total defeat. The time moved slowly, minutes seemed like hours. I didn’t understand what the barista was doing. This space-age contraption came out. Coffee in. Water out of a stupid-looking teapot. Then looking at his watch. Then more water from that strange pot. Watch. Thermometer. Watch. A lid? Suddenly, in one smooth motion, he flipped it over and leaned into it like he just prevented its escape. As he pressed down he looked up and flashed a mischievous grin. Pressing. Pressing. Watch. Pressing. He tossed the whole thing aside and bent down to eye level with the cup. More funny pot water. He snapped to attention calling my name. I stepped up to this cup, presented to me like art with pomp and ceremony.
The cup was like any other, but the aroma of cherries and chocolate wafted out. I peered off the edge and it resembled, with 99% certainty, coffee. With mounting apprehension, I put my lips to the edge and pulled a slow small sip from the cup. It was perfect and at the same time; it was destroying my world. I hated and loved it all at once, overwhelmed with emotion I hugged the cup to my heart, tossed a $20 in the tip jar, and walked out of the shop. Embraced by the fresh air of June, I realized, there are so many coffees to explore. I have to keep exploring, maybe even try the coffee from the weird-looking hourglass thing, who knows, I live in Portland now and every coffee must be experienced.
For example, It was a typical day, sun shining, air clear. I zipped up my coat and slipped on my favorite pair of white Jordan Air 1 OGs with university red accents. Pulling the door securely closed behind me, I left the house with an exciting spring in my step. The car chipped happily back to me as I climbed in. The engine blinked to life without a sound and a choir of angels sang as I pulled out into light traffic. It was only 3 miles between me and coffee. One red light, a right, a right, a left followed by a quick right, snake through the parking lot and pull into a not great but not horrible spot. At least I didn’t have to pay for it.
As I walked into the shop, I was backhanded by the smell of a Kenyan roast; I love this place because for days after every visit people can smell the aroma of coffee on my jacket. As I recovered from the blow, a friendly barista greeted me and I stepped to the counter - anticipation building - mouth open, dry, struggling to speak. It was at this critical moment my words failed me. I had been scanning the menu frantically thinking where was my drink? The world came to a standstill and my heart sank as I realized the words "Espresso" should be a malicious little sign hung. “Espresso machine out of order”. I stumbled over my words. Which way is up? Is everything I have done all for nothing? What is the meaning of life? I began to go into full shock; to the sick amusement of the staff who just stood there still smiling. I was frozen in a stupor repeatedly whispering “out of order, out of order, out of order…”.
The barista broke the trance and the world snapped back into motion. ” unfortunately, our machine is down, might I recommend an Aeropress?”. I reluctantly agreed, paid my $12.73, staggered to the nearest place to sit, and collapsed in total defeat. The time moved slowly, minutes seemed like hours. I didn’t understand what the barista was doing. This space-age contraption came out. Coffee in. Water out of a stupid-looking teapot. Then looking at his watch. Then more water from that strange pot. Watch. Thermometer. Watch. A lid? Suddenly, in one smooth motion, he flipped it over and leaned into it like he just prevented its escape. As he pressed down he looked up and flashed a mischievous grin. Pressing. Pressing. Watch. Pressing. He tossed the whole thing aside and bent down to eye level with the cup. More funny pot water. He snapped to attention calling my name. I stepped up to this cup, presented to me like art with pomp and ceremony.
The cup was like any other, but the aroma of cherries and chocolate wafted out. I peered off the edge and it resembled, with 99% certainty, coffee. With mounting apprehension, I put my lips to the edge and pulled a slow small sip from the cup. It was perfect and at the same time; it was destroying my world. I hated and loved it all at once, overwhelmed with emotion I hugged the cup to my heart, tossed a $20 in the tip jar, and walked out of the shop. Embraced by the fresh air of June, I realized, there are so many coffees to explore. I have to keep exploring, maybe even try the coffee from the weird-looking hourglass thing, who knows, I live in Portland now and every coffee must be experienced.