Yeah …. coffee. I don’t get it.
In another life I used to wander the labyrinths of Rome during early mornings and be entranced by the aromas wafting out of the coffee shops and onto the cobblestone streets. Invariably a queue would wind out of the door and it seemed almost compulsory to join, if only out of respect for local tradition. The journey to the head of this snaking procession of Italian chatter could be long but filled with anticipation. When reaching the front a small piece of paper would be exchanged for a few lire and one could proceed to the counter where the brew would be created, in a fog of loud steam, in front of one’s eyes. There was excitement in the air.
There were no seats. Coffee was to be consumed standing up. And quickly. Particularly in the heart of winter one expected a seething hot mug of fire to contend with but the product was only lukewarm at best. A quick observation of fellow enthusiasts indicated that the technique was to upend the cup and consume its contents in one or two gulps then exit. The ritual was over.
Back on the streets I was always internally confronted with the question of “What was that all about?” But I would return the next day and do it again, anyway. I am a conformist. Particularly in a foreign land.
I recently purchased a Nespresso machine. I think this is considered an act of treason amongst real coffee drinkers, some of whom I have heard change addresses to be closer to ‘decent’ coffee. The machine has not made me feel like George Clooney. It may be making me sleep less. It may be making me sleep more. I can’t tell.
So yeah. Coffee. I don’t get it.
Richmond Road 