Prompt of the Week: You Call This Coffee?

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August 4, 2006

You Call This Coffee? By Anne Da Vigo

Dennis squeezed a slice of lemon into his ice water and stirred the juice with his finger. "Andy, you are so full of it. Coffee isn't your problem. It's the sound of the espresso machine, the sound, the constant whirring, the pitch, that's what's causing your appetite to be stimulated."

Andy tugged at his shirt, which had hitched up to show a patch of white stomach. "That's ridiculous. How can sound affect my appetite?"

"Don't you remember the Pavlovian dogs? Every time the scientist rang a bell, the dog salivated." Dennis shook his head like a dog with a foxtail in its ear. "Do you hear something? A whine. A whine and a small skittering noise."

Andy puffed as he levered himself upright. "For God's sake, Den. It's the furnace. The furnace and some little twitch in the pipe. He hurried to the counter and bought a cherry scone. "No coffee," he told the clerk. "It stimulates my appetite."

Andy setttled back on the leather couch. His cardboard coffee cup was empty, and he was dissatisfied. "What is it about coffee that makes me so damn hungry?" He slapped his stomach, bloated and bulging under his T-shirt. "I mean, I ate breakfast. Sausage and hash browns, two eggs, scrambled not too hard, and still--I'm hungry."

August 4, 2006

You Call This Coffee? By Deb Marois

Chad towered at least a foot above Sabrina, she noticed as he clasped her in an awkward hug. “Assumed intimacy” – she remembered her girl friend’s phrase for guys who come on too strong, too fast. Their first real-world meeting and already, he’s hugging her. She gave a quick squeeze and murmured, "Pleased to meet you" towards the direction of his chest.

They settled in comfortably at a table near the door and she asked if he had ordered. He had waited – a good sign since she favored politeness. They made their way to the counter. Sabrina ordered a nonfat mocha extra hot while Chad distracted himself looking at rows of chocolate- covered and fruit filled pastry. He hung back while she paid, then stepped up to order a decaf.

Wide-eyed, Sabrina made her way back to their table. A half smile settled on her lips as she considered Chad’s definition of their “first big date.” She drove 15 miles to his hometown and he didn’t even offer to spring for her coffee? At least the coffee shop was cute and quaint with the clock in full view of her watchful eye.

For the next hour and twenty-two minutes, Sabrina listened while Chad good naturedly answered her questions with stories about his life. She nodded, smiled, laughed in the right places, and watched the clock. She thought about the other men she’d met recently – one or two that actually captured her interest. She decided that future coffee dates required additional screening.

Soon, they were donning their coats, headed for the door. She hears herself tell Chad she’ll see him again.

August 1, 2006

You Call This Coffee? By Silvia Tauber

I was drinking this concoction with bright smiles for a week, and I would continue to drink it another two months. I brewed it myself at home, my own recipe. I wanted something hearty and wholesome. I started with roasted chicory, what they used in France, Mom tells me, during the war. With it, I simmered Pau D’arco root, licorice root, I think, and a few others I can’t remember now. Twenty minutes it bubbled on the stove then I would strain it into my thermos, grab a bag of carrots, a handful of radishes and go to work. I’d pour the hot black liquid into my coffee mug and sip appreciatively, while playing solitaire on my desk computer and leaving messages on people’s answering machines.

That was six years ago. More recently, in Java, John would make me morning frappaccinos in our trusty blender. Avocado, honey, milk, coffee grounds or frozen bananas, fresh coconut water, honey, coffee grounds or papaya, banana, coconut meat, coffee grounds, the variations were endless. Figuring that we had discovered a universal delight, I made one for my sister back in LA, but like the box of salted duck eggs, it needed the whole ambiance to make it delicious.

The worst coffee I have ever had was with my mother in Athens in the Plaka under the Acropolis. Five euros for warm brown chlorine we didn’t finish, our tired legs rejuvenated by disgust. One week earlier, the best coffee I have ever had, again with my mother, but this time in the Peloponnese, a mountain town café on a windy road indirectly to Epidaurus. An espresso, mine served in a cobalt blue cup with a big white S. I have the picture. Outside an old man with his dog, inside we sit and share the baklava we brought over from next door and drink our coffee. Honey runs down our fingers. We finish with crisp, clear water, water that tastes like wet mountain air.

August 1, 2006

You Call This Coffee? by Teresa Thompson

Jan popped in the VHS tape and pushed her table against the wall to make room for her exercise. The moment the New Age music filled the room she felt the tension in her body ease. She inhaled, a deep breath that filled her belly and exhaled a cleansing breath. As she stood relaxing her shoulders, feeling the soft earth with her feet, she noticed the dry spots of skin on her ankles. Her coffee- colored skin was smooth and even-toned except her ankles needed lotion. She let the Tai Chi tape continue to run and went into her bedroom to apply cream to her ankles and feet.

She took two deep cleansing breaths per foot and ankle, exhaling her Oms quietly. The lotion felt smooth on her feet and she enjoyed the lavender smell. After she finished rubbing the last of the lotion into her palms, she walked back to her family room. The tape was already at Mountain Bamboo Flowing with the Wind, as she began to do the poses. She inhaled a soothing breath and exhaled with a smile, when she noticed she'd left some magazines on the floor next to the couch. As the participants on the tape continued with High Mountain Low Valley movements, she exhaled a cleansing breath and placed the magazines on the side table near the couch.

The New Age flute wafted through the air sounding like the lonely plateaus of New Mexico. Her mind drifted as she placed her hands in front of her, palms up, arms straight but relaxed. Her movements and breath echoed the peacefulness she felt inside. The lonely flute sent her mind back to bare fields of chaparral and the lovely turquoise they sold in Sante Fe. Cleansing breath, freeing breath. She stepped forward on her rug, the one her mother gave her years ago, with the border of crimson and cream. Freeing breath.... Her eyes gazed at the intricate Egyptian symbols edging the rug. Was that a spot? Holy breath, she inhaled to the count of three as she went into her kitchen cupboard searching for the spray rug cleaner. It had a pleasant smell. Really, she must switch to natural organic cleansers but at $12 a pop...who could afford that? Soft breath. She sprayed and patted the stain.

The Tai Chi tape had reached Pure Lotus Flower pose. Traveling breath, cool breath. She exhaled thinking, this is so spiritually rewarding....The buzzer from her coffee pot sounded in the kitchen. I love lattes she thought as she reached for her coffee cup. Early morning breath, coffee breath.

August 1, 2006

You Call This Coffee? by Phoebe Celestin

A metal Italian espresso pot comes in single, double or family size. We have all three. My customary pot is the doppio-sized pot, as the name implies it should serve two. When I was fanatic about my coffee in the morning, both servings were for me. Brewing the coffee requires time-honored skills to arrive at the perfect cup. First, you use a good bean. For espresso, my bias remains either an Italian or a French roast, though Bustello brand runs a very close third. Then you grind the bean just before you brew. I keep my beans in the freezer, however many aficionados decry the need for this step. Once you have ground the bean to something on the line of fine silt, you measure two heaping teaspoons into the filter. Then fill the base of the pot with water slightly above the air filter. Screw the bottom of the pot to the top evenly and securely. The next step is very important. You put the pot over a low flame, even though this calls for patience it is worth the result.

Once all the coffee is released into the upper chamber of your espresso pot, don’t let it sit on the flame any longer. You are at risk of losing that luxurious bit of “crema” or froth that resides at the top of your pot. Move this beverage quickly to your demitasse, add evaporated milk and two raw sugar cubes for a “Latin” inspired coffee. I call this coffee and am happier with this home-brewed cup, than anything I can get most anywhere else.