Fast-foward a couple years to when her brother came home from college and announced one morning that he drinks his coffee black. What was this? Another step in adulthood? Well, our now twelve-year-old heroine figured if that was what it took to make her brothers take her seriously than that, indeed, was what she was going to do.
The only problem was: black coffee was gross. The bitter taste and thicker consistency was not appealing. Did that stop her? Of coarse not. So she sat and had a cup of black joe with her brother.
Eventually, she acquired a taste for it and over the years found great comfort in the stability of coffee, always there for her and never demanding anything more than for her to wrap her hands around the mug and enjoy the bliss it brought to her.
The End.
...Well, not really, it's the end of the beginning of my coffee journey. Sometimes people laugh at me when they ask what my hobbies are and I confidentially reply, "Coffee." But it's true. I love the satisfaction I feel from being able to distinguish between fresh pot and french press, mocha and latte, local-owned and Starbucks. I like searching through towns for hole-in-the-wall coffee shops with strange blends, or, large stand-alone shops with high-quality blends from countries no one has ever heard of. It's an adventure.
I travel for a living and during my travels I go into a lot of towns that are in the middle of nowhere. Forgotten by civilization. Even forgotten by Wal-Mart. I come in contact with a lot of cool coffee houses, some scary ones, some surprising ones, and some that just exist in their own universe of serenity.
So if you like coffee, or stories about coffee, or the smell of coffee, or even just the strange wonder of the thing, come join me as I tell the tales of this Coffee Country. (<-- See what I did there? I used the name of the blog to end my post. Clever, huh? Huh?...Ok, I'm done.)
-Field of Cans
Well done. Coffee Country. That was clever.
ReplyDelete-Matt Fred