I come not to praise coffee, but to drink it. Problem is, I barely recognize it any more.
OK, as with so much in life, maybe I'm just thinking of coffee the wrong way. Though I'm not quite sure it's a wise use of a steadily-depleting supply of brain cells to contemplate a stimulant-laced breakfast beverage. At least before I've had my morning cup.
And, maybe I'm looking, in a slightly confused manner, at all this through my somewhat foodie-averse lens. Perhaps having to call French Fries "frits" just sours me on anything I might perceive as over-complication of fairly simple, straightforward stuff.
But increasingly I'm finding the answer to that old gangster-movie line, "Hey, where can you get a good cup of coffee around here?" is, "Well, that depends ... do you want locally-sourced, house-roasted, French-pressed, from Ethiopia, Kenya, Guatemala or El Salvador? Or do you want it in a smoothie?"
I'm really not sure how Humphrey Bogart would answer that.
And I'm definitely not sure how I'm going to answer it any time I'm in an area coffee shop and have to place an order. Which is not to say there's anything wrong with the area coffee shops. In fact, compared to the way I got coffee when I was a kid -- back wall of a convenience store, not sure how long the black stuff had been in the machine but aware in just a few more minutes they could be using it to fill in pot holes in the street out front -- this is a little embarrassment of riches.
In fact, of all the food-inspired "experiences" we're now, well, "experiencing," this coffee deal is probably one I can come closest to embracing, in my own little taste-bud challenged way. Kind of like listening to people speak French and thinking, "I have no idea what they're saying, but it sure does sound nice, even though I'm pretty sure I'll never really understand it."
To be fair, when it comes to coffee, I'm a hamburger guy in a filet world. My first experiences with America's starter fluid came courtesy of an odd-looking pot with a basket that held grounds and a little glass knob on the top that allowed you to see when the contents were hot enough to bubble up. I mean, I guess that was important.
In those early days, coffee smelled great, tasted terrible and was something "grown-ups" drank that you weren't ready for.
By the time you were ready for it (roughly about the same time you could vote), it was, alternately, a cure for the night before and elixir that was going to get you through this final while magically washing away the fact that you hadn't actually been to class in, oh, a month.
Fast-forward (coffee jitters) and it was the only thing standing between you and face-planting on your desk after a night spent staggering in endless circles, patting the back of a colicky infant who stopped screaming only long enough to let you get your hopes up. But I digress. And still twitch, uncontrollably.
About the only constant with coffee during this time frame was that it wasn't good, but, frankly it wasn't supposed to be. It was just an incredibly consistent and relatively cheap (emphasis on "cheap") delivery system for caffeine. And since, at that point in my life, caffeine was only slightly less important than air, well, why let a little thing like horrific taste get in the way?
Which is why I'm so often baffled when faced with a plethora of attractive-sounding beverage options created by people who actually seem to be taking pride in craftsmanship. Particularly when my background would dictate you hurry up and toss this stuff down before it leaves heat blisters on the inside of your mouth.
You mean it's supposed to taste good? Isn't that like cherry-flavored cough medicine? I mean, is that really the point?
So you'll have to pardon me if you're behind me in line at an area coffee shop. I'm sort of like the newly minted U.S. citizen holding up the line at the voting booth. You're complaining about the candidates; I'm just amazed you've got more than one on the ballot.
Again, I have no idea how Humphrey Bogart would answer when asked how he wanted his coffee. I'm betting on the smoothie. Especially with banana and peanut butter.
But I betcha he'd skip the whipped cream. I mean, come on. It's Bogart.
Commentary on 06/30/2017