Latte Love

Coffee wasn't always my beverage of choice. In fact, until I met my friend Jenifer my freshman year of college, it wasn't even on my list of possible choices. My dad drank coffee (about 15 cups a day!), but I followed in my mum's fine tradition of black tea with cream and sugar. Or Coca-Cola. I hadn't even migrated to the Diet Coke which is my afternoon staple.


But I'm here to talk about Java, coffee, Joe, Starbuck's, my pick-me-up, can't start the day without it. My first real experience with coffee was in my friend Jenifer's room at college. I would crawl into her dorm room on weekend mornings (well, let's be honest, it was usually early afternoon - if you're wise, you STILL won't call me before 12:30 on a Saturday). She would already have her tiny 4-cup coffee pot running and the aroma would fill me up with warm fuzzies. I had always enjoyed the smell of coffee when my dad made it on Sunday mornings with breakfast, but hadn't understood the joy of it.


Sitting in Jen's room, with my hands tightly curled around one of her coffee cups, we'd talk and listen to music and laugh. My coffee preference was then, as it is now, heavy on the sugar and cream - more of a latte than just coffee. Her space, with its high ceiling and pretty drapes, was my sanctuary. After renewing myself for two mornings, I was ready to face my 8 am Monday classes each week. But I hadn't fully committed to the coffee thing - I didn't have it when I wasn't at her place. And I didn't order it at breakfast - I'd more often choose the hot chocolate (which was a particularly good choice at Papa Sam's Breakfast Nook at 5 am after a long night of partying at the Pi Kappa Phi house at Wofford College.)


When I moved back home, I started having coffee with Dad at those Sunday morning breakfasts. There was a certain camaraderie that followed - particularly because my sister Alicia has ALWAYS been a java addict. With the advent of my drinking coffee at home, I was invited to the hallowed halls of Waffle House for long, philosophical conversations about the universe accompanied by the rich smell of waffles cooking, the acrid fragrance of cigarette smoke in the air and the random accompaniment of the jukebox songs. The coffee at Waffle House was harsh unless it was knocked down a peg with liberal amounts of sugar from the old style sugar shaker on the formica booth tabletop. When I moved to Los Angeles and my sister joined me, the addiction spread even further.


Actors tended to bring their agents gifts, and as an assistant, I would be included in that - and there followed my addiction to the Starbucks Mocha Frappucino topped with whipped cream...what a gorgeous concoction! The icy coffee-coated shards would melt in my mouth while the richness of the whipped cream acted as a happy cloak for the roof of my mouth. And the energy surge I experienced was ridiculous. It got to the point that Neil, one of the agents I worked, declared that coffee gifts were off-limits. It only took the one drink and I'd be gleefully pinging around the on-camera offices as I prepared the packages for shipment.

And what a perfect way to date! A cup of coffee and some dessert - 30 minutes if it wasn't going well, or an hour and a half if we were enjoying ourselves. Coffee was meant to be consumed at the pace of conversation. I could also learn a lot about a guy by how much they did or didn't balk at my choices - the good guys didn't blink when I ordered the equivalent of a coffee milk shake and a slice of cake. The 'health nuts' would comment on sugar or carb intake and be almost instantly relegated to the 30 minute coffee category.

And then I got married. To a man who's idea of a delicous hot beverage is soup. He was in a BLIZZARD in high school in July with nothing but hot water or coffee as his options for warming up and chose hot water. Until the day he decided to get me an early Christmas gift. And even then it wasn't really the coffee itself but the coffee accoutrements that he was interested in. His goal was to give me something at home that allowed me to make the same kinds of delicious beverages that I was so addicted to at Starbucks. And although I nearly passed out at the extravagance of it, I now have a gorgeous DeLonghi Magnifica in my kitchen. For the uninitiated, it's the creme de la creme of espresso machines, with one button operation to grind the beans, and make espressos, lattes and cappucinos. The sleek steel and black silhouette stands guardian over the entrance to my kitchen.

And every morning's cup reminds me of college dorms and Waffle House, Papa Sam's and Starbucks, dates both good and bad, and the love of my dear sweet husband. Who knows what wonderful pieces of my life will be tied to the rich chocolate-colored brew I sip each morning before I dash out the door.