Off the Cuff / My Other Journal

To coffee or not to coffee� Coffee should be a verb.

A writer is a not machine but he turns coffee into half a scribbled page and then goes blank. I say this after Paul Erdss who said, "A Mathematician is a machine for turning coffee into theorems."

Then, Montesquieu said, "The coffee is prepared in such a way that it makes those who drink it witty." In my case, witty doesn't cut it; coffee just gets me going.

My husband loves fancy coffee. For him, we buy ours in bean form from a fancy coffee shop in the mall. Yesterday, while scanning through the bins of different brands of coffee, I saw the word robusta and said, “Maybe this time, we should try that one.”

The salesclerk who himself is an enthusiast --since he and my husband casually discuss the importance of flavor and fragrance each time we stop by-- startled as if what I said was an insult.

He said, “True coffee taste is found in Arabica coffees. You’ll never find their flavor and aroma in robustas.” Then, he began to educate me in the quality of different coffee beans.

It seems there are only two major overall coffee divisions: Arabicas and Robustas. Arabica coffee beans -named for the Arabs- are the major commercial ones and they grow in semitropical climates near the Equator in either hemisphere, at high altitudes. These have to be monitored and picked with special care, which increases their price.

Robusta trees grow their beans at lower altitudes and usually at Equatorial climates. Most supermarket brands in cans are made from robusta beans with robusta coffees also having twice the caffeine that Arabicas have. The only good robusta, he said, is the premium robusta, which is used in espresso blends.

My taste buds must not have been that refined because I enjoy the taste of my coffee in proportion to my mood or the company I am with. If my mood or the company is “Heavenly,” my sips of coffee invade my tongue and palate with a delightful taste and divine aroma. Otherwise, what I’m drinking is just coffee. Sometimes, in special pampered moments, I treat myself to a Capuccino, which is not pure-bred coffee although it has an angelic face.

The chortling sound and the enchanting fragrance of pure-bred coffee as it drips and a current book waiting to be read while plumped among soft pillows is always a most inviting vision, even if inside my daily life I have been rushing around. When this image crosses my mind, like a daydream it relaxes me even when a cup of coffee is not within my reach.

Coating the palate,
soaking my inner pores,
like a wish,
brown bliss glides around
with a smooth swish
and I close my eyes to drink life
flippantly
from a cup
sip by sip,
just to slosh out the bitterness
and move my junk
out of mind’s reach.

So much of interaction has happened over coffee that the visions of coffee klatches with old friends and neighbors never leave me, for out of these gatherings vibrant memories have remained of teamwork, pouring cup after cup, overflowing with jovial gossip and friendly advice. No wonder someone said, “"In Café Veritas."

Then comes the pragmatic side of the coffee. Without coffee, not much work would surface. Without coffee, most writing wouldn’t exist. While some people without their morning coffee cannot be fully awake, some writers too without a pot of coffee at their desk cannot write anything fit to arouse respect from their readers. Not that coffee is a muse, but what coffee does is to respectfully pinch and goad the writer into writing by opening up his mind and relaxing him at the same time.

No matter what,
I savor
the flavor of gourmet
or store brand,
and pay my respects
to caffeinated clarity
and cordial chitchat
with flurries of sentiment,
while digging up passions
and burying regrets
inside the brown brew
that crawls up my cup.