Coffee. The roasted richness of it. The astounding aroma of it.
The sweet, intense character of it. The dark, golden crema.
Why do I love it so?
Is it because I am titillated by the fact that King Charles II tried to ban coffee houses in 1675 as ‘hotbeds of revolution’ ?
Or is it because my favourite barista is so cute that I become all Cher-like and wish I could turn back time? My barista has a tattoo from the Book Of Kells on his forearm. He surfs and writes poetry. He remembers my order without asking and I get all gushy and girlie as if he has remembered my birthday or a significant event in my life. It doesn’t really matter that he is young enough to be my – much younger brother. Not my son – OK. For the love of all things macchiato, not. my. son.
Which came first? My love of coffee or my love for the barista? It is one of life’s riddles.
Nonetheless, a good, properly-made coffee is a definite spirit lifter.
[Image by arTisTinDaMaking at Deviant Art.]