Tag Archives: Coffee

Drinking It All In

We Americans treasure our beverages. We are born yelling for something to drink, and we spend our lives attached to Mommy, baby bottle, sippy cup, glass, coffee mug, teacup, wine goblet, and milk carton. During toddler years, we dump beverages rather than drink them. Still, we establish lifelong consumption patterns.

Case in point: upon marriage, I, whose family considered orange juice a semi-luxury, discovered my husband considered it nonnegotiable. This, despite a weekly grocery budget of $15. No apple, cranberry, grape, or — God forbid — grapefruit juice. No insidious combinations like orange-papaya. Hubby preferred freshly squeezed orange juice, but graciously agreed to drink bottled until conditions permitted the proper beverage. (He’s still waiting.)

I, on the other hand, absorbed Mom and Dad’s edict that chili demanded Pepsi. Sadly, I have strayed. I now drink diet Pepsi, or even diet Coke. But never, with chili, pizza or Mexican food, will I ascribe to my spouse’s unswerving devotion to milk.

Not that I dislike milk. During family visits, I purchase five kinds (whole milk, 2%, 1%, skim, and rice milk, depending on who’s allergic, growing, dieting, or protesting). Milk is a basic value Hubby and I share.

However, despite noble coffee-consuming roots, he drinks only tea. I, though a coffee aficionado since serving at a Denny’s overnight during college, occasionally drink tea to preserve our marriage.

That Denny’s experience at age 18 in Oregon, impacted my beverage history in other ways. Having smelled the aggregate breath of cowboys who donned menus and made marriage (and other) proposals, I nixed beer as an option. Ditto, when working as a janitor. I sniffed open whiskey bottles in a law firm’s board room. Whew — smelled like turpentine!

Later, when legal, Hubby and I surmised that wine recommended by a cork-sniffing steward really should taste better than that. And cost a lot less.

So, we’ve mostly stuck to orange juice-Pepsi-milk-coffee-tea dependence.

And water. However, I note the wordy truth observed by the late journalist Ambrose Bierce: “Upon nothing has so great and diligent an ingenuity been brought to bear in all ages, except for the most uncivilized, as upon the invention of substitutes for water.”

Many would rather die of thirst than drink H2O — unless poured from a plastic bottle. Recently, the FDA stated each American averaged 26 gallons of bottled water per year. We hadn’t sucked so many plastic bottles since infancy.

Not my thing, nor Hubby’s. But he remains hopelessly devoted to morning orange juice and tea. I don’t object because I want my coffee.

And because his ancestors came from Boston. In 1773, when England messed with their favorite beverage, those people got a little testy. …

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: What’s your favorite beverage? Your least favorite?

Confessions of a Mug-aholic

My name is Rachael, and I’m a mug-aholic.

I wouldn’t admit that, except last Thanksgiving, my family engineered an anti-mug intervention group.

“You promised to quit this.” My husband stared me down. “Instead, you’ve been smuggling mugs from the flea market. Sneaking off to Cracker Barrel when allegedly picking up milk. The cabinets are so stuffed, we’re afraid to open them.”

“Why are you uptight?” I countered. “It’s not like I stole any from the church.”

Had he found my blueprints for a new wing — a Mug Museum — hidden in my office?

I knew my grown kids weren’t backing off when they made the grandkids wear helmets in my kitchen.

Unreasonable. Mugs save lives. Would civilization survive chilly mornings without steaming drinks that keep workers functioning and murderless?

Perhaps I should consider tossing my snowman mug which, despite its exorbitant price, chipped the first time I microwaved coffee. A few heated sessions later, Frosty lost his nose. Made in China, the mug probably was coated with mercury. Still, I sneak occasional coffee with Frosty. How will I make it through the approaching winter without his cheerful grin?

Hubby catches me. “I’m surprised you haven’t grown an extra eyeball, drinking out of that thing. Throw it out.”

So far, I’ve ignored him. But given Frosty’s uncertain future, I’ll have to buy a clearance snowman mug after Christmas.

Please don’t tell my little coffee buddy. Such disloyalty might make him fall to pieces, and if I tried to fix him … the only thing superglued together would be my thumbs.

I rarely use my smaller mugs except to torture unpopular relatives with a stingy supply of caffeine. But I can’t bring myself to give them away. (The mugs, not the relatives.) They might feel rejected. What if someone wrapped you in newspaper, tossed you into a box and dropped you off at Goodwill?

A new epiphany strikes me.

My shelves teem with flowery mugs. Mugs with hearts. Mugs with angels. Soon, I’ll bring out a hundred girly, Christmas mugs.

My husband’s collection: a sacred Indiana University mug; one boasting New Testament books of the Bible, including “He Brews” (guess who gave the tea lover that one); and a 1983 Doctor’s Day mug.

No wonder he borrows my Oreo mug.

Such inequity is downright unjust.

Fair play will result in even more crowded conditions. And an absolute mandate to construct the Mug Museum.

My name is Rachael, and I’m a mug-aholic.

You, too? Let’s fill a couple with favorite brews and drink to that!

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Do you regard your mugs as family members? If not, what collection do you treasure? (Does your spouse?)

OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer

coffeesheepO my God, thank You for coffee, my fragrant, snooze-busting joy any morning, but especially at 4 a.m. Thanks for my tea-drinking hubby, still buried under covers. And OMG, thank You that despite different brews, different views and different clocks, together we have coffee, tea, and Thee.

Coffee Confessions

CoffeeI love coffee.

So do one hundred million other Americans. On winter mornings, spouses attempt to drag us out of bed, but only coffee’s rich aroma can coax us from warm covers.

However, we demand — er, appreciate — our beverage of choice in diverse ways.

Take, for example, the Coffee Connoisseurs. Even if shivering on an Arctic island, alone with a can of cheap coffee (and opener), they would suffer until a Starbucks floated their way. Connoisseurs own roasters and gravitate toward flavors like jalapeño coconut. They may not remember their kids’ birth dates, but they know their coffee’s pedigree.

At the spectrum’s other end: the Coffee Classicists. Most purchase their parents’ brand, though some have been seduced by bags of beans given by pitying offspring. A large gimme-it-black contingent rules within this group. Those who take cream and sugar want exactly that. No organic sassafras sweetener. No fat-free peppercorn creamer. And they want coffee served in favorite mugs or china cups and saucers.

Both groups reject decaffeinated coffee as counterfeit. Decaf advocates, however, cite better sleep cycles. Plus, their work rage manifests itself only in yelling at computers, rather than throwing them.

However, caffeine addicts — er, devotees — insist that coffee without the main ingredient is not real, though it is the stuff of which 6 a.m. nightmares are made: “Out of coffee!?” Gasp! Gag. Body systems shut down. “Must crawl to Quickie Mart … must …”

Consumers often claim they can distinguish between decaf and high-octane by mere taste. My former boss spotted the difference before he tasted it (his wife had replaced half his favorite brand with decaf).

My Louisiana grandfather also rose up in righteous wrath if my grandmother dared brew anything other than his usual high-voltage sludge: “Elvira, is this decaf? Stump water!”

Aware of my decaf consumption, my 88-year-old dad, during my last visit, sniffed his favorite mug as if I’d slipped in anthrax. Eyes twinkling, he said, “Tell me which kind you put into the pot so I can decide whether I like it or not.”

Me? I just love coffee. With or without caffeine, plain or flavored (though I draw the line at jalapeño coconut), black or sugared and cream-ated, in mugs, china cups and saucers. I usually brew my own, but occasionally buy it at Quickie Mart, Mickey D’s, or Starbucks, if I have a gift card.

You’ll find me at any friendly coffee corner where a fellow drinker and I can shoot the breeze, sip and savor.

Are you a Coffee Connoisseur or Classicist? Or perhaps you take coffee with your cream and sugar?