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Sunday Morning (4)
Nebulizing went well. Energy okay. Stomach rumbles.
Debbie prepares an early lunch and I use the moka pot to brew some fresh coffee. Years ago we abandoned the modern coffee machines that kept presenting their in-designed failures after two or three years, becoming largely irreparable and producing a lot of debris. We switched to an old fashioned Italian system that only needs a new simple rubber gasket every three years and will probably outlive us both. Cleaning and maintaining is an easy pleasure, and it looks as shiny today as when we first used it. Moreover, the coffee has never tasted better.
Carefully I select several of our own favorite tastes of arabica and robusta and make a personal blend, filling the coffee insert to its rim. It is an intuitive process. The taste is a surprise every time I make it, and I look forward to savoring it shortly. After some minutes on the hot plate, the murmur of boiling water enters my ears and I turn the plate down a little. Slow cooking is the best thing, and there is time to let it happen. Pressure builds and pushes the water slowly up the system where it meets the fresh coffee and merges with the best of its taste. When the murmur turns into a rustle, it is almost done. It only takes a little while to complete this process where nature, formed as coffee, steam and hot water, produces the drink we enjoy so much.
I turn down the plate that shows me a glow like the early sunrise when picking up the moka pot, pour the golden-brown liquid into the small metal drinking cups for about one third, never more than half. The scent now starts to pervade our entire kitchen and living room. As pièce de résistance I turn some milk into a thick cloud of hot white foam, and carefully fill the little cups to the brim. A small silver spoon accompanies each cup to complete the presentation.
While Debbie carries the lunch plates into the living room, I follow with the magical brew, and we sit down at the table in anticipation and gratefulness. “Bon Appetit!”, we wish each other and a kiss leaves our lips to find a tender landing place. This is a sacred late morning ritual. Another lunch together, wow! And it feels as precious as the first one.
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1 Reply
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When asked for his definition of paradise, Johnny Cash replied, “This morning, with her, having coffee.” I thought of this while reading your post and smiled at the reminder that these moments truly are where paradise is found.
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