It seemed appropriate that the launch of my ever-so-anticipated (ahem) food blog should begin with a post about the very thing with which I begin each day. Without fail. Or rather, with dire consequences if for whatever reason it is withheld.
Quite simply, coffee makes me happy. I recently participated in one of those mass-email-narcissistic questionnaires where I pass on to a list of unsuspecting souls a barrage of unrequested personality tidbits about ME! ME! ME!, and one of the questions was about my favorite sound. Many of my fellow mothers-of-young-children responded with a truthful, heartfelt description of their children laughing. And, while after reading those answers I realized I could honestly give that answer as well, that was not my first thought. My very first thought was, the sound the coffee maker makes when it’s done brewing. And, really, it’s right up there with the sound of my adorable children laughing.
I know we could enter into a discourse about the originations of coffee, the Mayan (or whichever) civilization worshiping the beans (or something like that), etc. But really, let’s just talk in the present. What is it about coffee? Don’t say caffeine. Well, maybe it’s that for you, but not for me. I don’t want a coke first thing in the morning. Or hot tea. Or a RedBull. And while I know caffeine has something to do with it, it’s more than that. I need want a strong brew, from freshly-ground beans, with half-and-half (don’t get me started on fake “creamer”), no sugar.
And on the subject of half-and-half: I have always wished that I enjoyed my coffee black. It would be easier, in a couple of ways. First, saving that step of adding the creamer — the perfect amount, so that it’s the color of a piece of cellophane-wrapped caramel. Second, in the event that you are forced to drink coffee in a place that (insert gasp) has no half-and-half; no big deal, you think, because I take my coffee black. I had heard an urban legend that if you drink your coffee black for two weeks, you’ll never look back. My father, personally experiencing this phenomenon, albeit adding a week or two, underscored the possibility. So I gave it a shot. For almost EIGHT WEEKS I drank black coffee. Each day, hoping to wake and actually look forward to it. Not only did I not look forward to it, but my customary 2 cups of (half-caff) coffee slowly dwindled to one cup (forcing me to acquire a caffeine boost via black tea, somewhere mid-morning… did I say it wasn’t the caffeine?). Shouldn’t eight weeks be enough time to acquire a taste? It took much less time than that to start liking beer. Approximately 7 weeks, 6 days, 23 hours, and 30 minutes less time.
I suppose I should also disclose details, since I’m hoping this blog will focus a good bit on that type of thing. What brand of coffee has won the Carter household taste test? Well, keeping in mind that the Carter budget has a variable in this equation, we are currently using two whole-bean varieties from Sam’s Club: both are the Marques de Paiva label, an organic decaf and fair-trade french roast. The price is unbeatable, especially for the flavor.
Got any thoughts on coffee? Want to share?