Coffee.  I want coffee.  Why is that all I can think about (well, relatively speaking, of course)?  Why is coffee more addictive than soda, despite the similar (I think) caffeine content?  Why, when I never drank coffee before last year (because I had the best damn coffee in London and I’m still trying to duplicate that amazing experience), do I suddenly have the urge to leave work in search of the nearest coffee house? 

Honestly, I think it’s mostly the ritual.  It’s comforting and exciting all at once.  Going for coffee.  It just has a ring to it.  Not going for a Pepsi.  Or going for tea.  Or even going for a drink (though that has a different ring to it altogether).  Going for coffee can be a solitary experience or a social event.  It can be quick and feverish, like a forbidden affair; it can be leisurely and languid, like lovemaking on a summer afternoon.

Coffee drinking is about cupping the warm, steaming mug in my hands, worrying in back and forth gently as I blow the steam and inhale the aroma.  It’s about the first taste and swallow, the soothing, rich, fulfilling smoothness of it.  If the coffee is the perfect temperature-- not so hot it burns my tongue, not so cool that it tastes like paste-- all the better.  Coffee with the hint of chocolate or vanilla or hazlenut (but mostly chocolate).  Coffee that is sweet and creamy and swirly on my tongue. 

I want coffee.  I need coffee.  I need comfort.

Posted by Kristina in Musings at 04:56 PM Permalink