Cuppa Joe

If you know me, and some of you do, you know how much I love coffee. It is the elixir of my life. I was a coffee drinker when drinking coffee wasn’t about a photo op or an event and the brewing and serving of coffee wasn’t a sport. Coffee was served hot and a fresh batch was available and offered around the clock. My Mom’s coffee wasn’t anything to write home about—she was a busy woman with a big family but she always had a pot of coffee “on” and it was never brewed for sissies. Coffee was the way she started the day while waiting for the vat of oatmeal to cook. Coffee was what she served when her neighbours dropped by to take a break from their day. Coffee was what she drank just before she went to bed. The aroma of coffee makes me think of my childhood home and my Grandfather Curcio’s kitchen.

LOML came from a family of tea drinkers. Tea for breakfast. Tea in the afternoon and tea in the evening. It all seemed very civilized and for many years, after we became a couple, I was all about the cuppa. When coffee hit the comeback trail in the late 1980s, I slowly dropped the tea habit.

As far as coffee today goes, I’m not into going to a large “chain” café and having to know the nomenclature of the coffee culture. And there is, quite obviously, a coffee culture. I dig my heels in when it comes to ordering the short, the tall, the grande or the venti. And what’s with the addition of the trenta for the cold brewed drinks? Oh my. Those cups and mugs look like a choice of small, medium or large. And, seriously, isn’t a 31-ounce trenta a bit of a bladder-buster? But size isn’t everything when ordering coffee. No, it isn’t, because once I learned to ask for the proffered sizes by their fauxtalian names, further classification is needed. Next I’m faced with the choice of blends and roasts, followed by the decision to have a vivanno or a frappuccino or an iced tall, iced grande, iced venti with the addition of sweetener, sugar, flavour shots, espresso shots and if I want an espresso shot, do I want a single, double, triple or quad? Maybe I should have a tall Americano—which, the first time I heard the expression, sounded a bit Spaghetti Western to me. The first time I was asked how I wanted my espresso shot poured I knew I was in way over my head. My grandfather, an Italian, had only two ways of dealing with his espresso. He was a double kinda guy and if the grandchildren wanted coffee and were over the age of four, they got caffe latte—hot milk with an equal amount of espresso. If it was a breakfast caffe latte sometimes a sprinkle of cinnamon topped the drink. Cinnamon was the only flavour in my grandfather’s kitchen, except for the oregano, basil and garlic. The milk he poured was fresh from the can, which often sat on the cooker top, unrefrigerated, all day. It was the culture of my coffee. But, now, oh my, the ristretto, the stirred, the macchiato, the flavour shots, the soy “milk,” the half-caf, the no-foam, the non-fat, the skinny and on and on.

In a café-chain setting, sometimes the name of the game is to have a coffee “drink”, something far removed from what coffee really is. Coffee-based drinks are the rage with all ages and can only be described as soda fountain confections, often topped with whipped topping (not to be confused with real whipped cream), flavoured syrup, sweetened with simple syrup and crowned with sprinkles then served in a humungous domed container that should be classified as a distraction if found in a motorized vehicle during a R.I.D.E. check. Guess I’m just an old grouch without my bold roast, freshly ground, black coffee in a white mug, thank you very much.

And, while I’m on a tear, what’s with the women in coffee shops who can’t partake in a faux-joe without putting their feet up on the chairs? What’s that all about, anyway? Does putting your feet up on a chair give you a steadier foundation for that “blonde, half-caf, venti, soy-lac, no foam, Hallowe’en cinnabun latte, hold the sugar and double the sweetener”? Just wondering. Pass the biscotti, please.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca