good to the last

I admit it:

I drink coffee every day, on a good day more than once.

And even though it's an everyday thing, still there are just some cups of coffee that stay with you, some cups that just stand out.

I am still thinking, for example, about a cappuccino that I drank from a paper cup in Point Reyes Station a month ago, purchased from the little stand at Toby’s Feed Barn, near the yoga studio from which I’d just emerged, made new, again, by practice. Joe and I stood in line in our sweaty clothes, cozy in the buzz of people all around us on a late spring morning. I was feeling great. Everything was sparkly.

That damn cappuccino was perfect.

The balance of espresso to milk, the taste of the coffee itself, the quality and amount of the foam, the heat of the mixture – all of it: fucking perfect. I savored every drop, tipping my head back, waaay back, as we made our way past the blackberry bramble back to Peggy’s house, trying to get every last drop, every fragrant molecule. I held on to the paper cup long after I'd lapped up every bit of it, sniffing up what was left of the smell of that perfect taste.

This morning’s first coffee was like that, too. I realized it the moment the first sip hit my mouth – holy mother of god, this shit is goooooooooood. The toast went ignored.

When you brew your own at home every day, the machine kicking on between 5:30 and 6am, a certain monotony can set in. Sure, it’s a monotony of excellence – we grow accustomed to how kick-ass that home-cup is. 

This morning, having sung my way through my usual preparations -- choosing the cup, nuking the cream for 20 seconds, pouring in just the right amount of coffee to hit that really-pretty-cow-brown shade I prefer, I then took my first sip and BAM, this coffee is way better than yesterday. Nothing's particularly different about this day or about the measurement that went into this cup of coffee.

But somehow today, it's perfection, liquid delicious to the very last drop.

With my cup empty right now (there’s more in the pot, a little voice whispers, just go and get some), I think about how I could probably analyze why this coffee was perfection. I could break it down. But the thing is that even if I did, and reproduced it perfectly every day, at some point I’d stop noticing. Inevitably, because I’m human and we’re good at that, I’d get used to it (see Hedonic adaptation or treadmill, just by the way).

Instead, every day we ladle out the 6 scoops, add the water, push Play. I do my little dance with the cup and the cream, zap, wait, pour. And then take that first sip. Always hoping to be blown away. Most days it’s good, it’s excellent. But what I’m really waiting for is that special morning, TODAY with its surprise of Holy Shit This Is GREAT, that brings a little extra zing, a bigger smile, to the start of the day.

I like not knowing when I’m going to blow my own mind. It keeps happening, I just don’t know when. I’m happy to keep repeating the process, every day doing the thing, knowing that one day, surprise, here it is again. Again! 

XX