Week 28 - An Albeit Short Ode to Coffee

In the land of the volcanoes, it’s the little things that keep you going. Perhaps as a semi-intended continuation of last week’s entry, I’d like to talk about that little thing that keeps me going: Coffee.

When I walk into a good coffee shop, you can immediately tell: Only the good ones rely exclusively on their java. In a culinary Darwinism, the good coffee survives and is allowed to spread its bean. It's the ones that water down their menu--even their selections--with too much choice that you have to be aware of. The caramel macchiato with soy milk and extra whip cream, while ephemerally tasty, really isn't about the beans, and the twice-as-large price tag makes it attractive as a profit subsidizer. Still, the good ones are small, with the espresso machine confronting you before anything else. My coffee shop du jour, the Refuge, is a simple hole in the wall about the size of my bedroom. Its L-shaped counter is made of varnished white pine, and it has only 4 drinks on the menu. The lime-green espresso maker sits front and center, dispensing bean-based truth to its gathered disciples.

It’s amazing how much of the stuff I can put back throughout the day if I’m not required to leave the easy proximity of a pot. What’s more amazing still is the nuance in flavor that I can now detect. The old, shriveled beans that have hidden in the permafrost of a freezer since the dawn of, well, freezers, taste much less complex than the babies that were roasted this morning; The slightly burnt, acidic taste of a mediocre drip blend is a 9^th grade Sadie Hawkins compared to the melodious Tarantella created by a professional-grade machine.

Then of course there’s the difference the barista makes: Try as I might, I will never be quite as good as the near-mythical Alex in Antigua, or the dedicated entrepreneurs of El Museo in Huehue. You taste that in the ambiance, and the little flourishes at the end: The garnishes, the designs in the foam, the graceful slant of the sugar spoon against the ceramic. Presentation, while not everything, rates a solid “important.”

But I think it's the routine that I like the most, those infrequent moments where I have the opportunity to read the paper under the avocado trees of my favorite coffeehouses. It feels so sophisticated, especially compared to the rest of my life, to read meaningful articles and ruminate on the lacunae of the global political process.

Will I ever be the same in my predilections for a good java? Can I go back to the mouthwash that I drank in my darker moments of college? God, I hope not.

Also, my dad is currently here in Antigua and, like a few weeks ago, I am finding it hard to write a meaningful entry. Still, if I let it go for a single week I’ll never be able to maintain my near-perfect adherence each week. It’ll be better next week. I’ll have no distractions (or fun, no doubt).

Signing off…