Coffee! Coffee! Coffee!

Coffee. Just hearing the word brings the aroma, the taste, the sensual pleasure of drinking it right smack up to front of my mind.

Coffee cup border print
Out of print Coffee fabric “Spill the Beans” by Barbara Tortillote for Clothworks I cherish this fabric.

Seeing the written word, doesn’t seem to have any effect on me.

But let me get a whiff of brewing coffee, or freshly ground coffee, and I am craving a hit of that dark, rich heaven in a cup.

 Coffee.

The elixir of life.

Coffee.

Is convivial.

Coffee.

Is perfect for solitary time

 

We have often joked that the Klindienst coat of arms should be a hand passing a coffee cup. A golden cup brimming with dark rich coffee curls of “flavor fingers”  reaching ever upward.

Some of us are insufferable coffee snobs (me) and have been known to walk out of restaurants that cannot serve a proper cup of coffee. That is a lot of restaurants, the world over.

My solution here in the City of Peace on the Bay, I am well known, and surprisingly well-liked enough to be allowed to bring my own coffee carafe into breakfast restaurants. They even supply a cup! I won’t do this at fine dining restaurants, but I have threatened to.

Some of us enjoy a good cup of coffee, know a great cup of coffee, but will be satisfied with a good cup of coffee.

And others, the slightly less discerning will drink any swill that is dark brown and hot. I think that they were dropped at birth or married in.

And so this little rant of mine started at 5:26 a.m. when stumbling in the dark so as not to awaken my Beloved, I stubbed my toe on the bed frame, stepped on the dog who yelped and ran away not at all hurt, and then used my favorite expletive, it starts with an F. He did wake and ask the time.  Time…well that is for another time! This is about coffee.

I was charging up my Dulce Gusto one cup wonder, and still reeling from the life enhancing, mind bending smell of my coffee cupboard. Can you smell it? Take a deep breath. Oh heavenly mother and all the saints, this is, this is, this is coffee! I swoon.

Coffee gargae composite
My coffee garage. I lean in, and breathe deeply, and say “I could live in here!”

Then like a thunderbolt, or the stern admonishing that Miss Meliss gave me over Christmas, I stop, cock my head and hear the words. “Write about this. Do it now!”

I grabbed my phone ( wouldn’t my dear  parents looking down from heaven since the 90s  be thinking I was going senile, grabbing my phone to take a photo?) and snapped the photos you see here.Because a blog post needs photos.

In the last 16 years of our exile here in Baja California Sur. Since November 8th, we call ourselves exiles, not expats, I have seen the demise of at least two Krups and one Braun coffeemakers. It is our hard water. No amount of vinegar or specialized cleaner or even a shaman’s spells could save them. On the advice of coffee drinking friends, I bought a local brand coffee maker. I am on my second one. The first one just stopped. Just stopped making coffee. This one is dying a slow death.

coffee drawers composite
Two of the THREE drawers devoted to coffee paraphernalia!

This cute Dulce Gusto pod coffee maker came home with us after Hurricane Odile. We were on  day 8 of 13 days without electricity. We went to town every day to have a good meal, charge up our devices and enjoy air conditioning. We were in a department store slowly pretending we were shopping like the rest of the population from our side of the bay.

He saw it first, my ever so Beloved. There she was sparkling, a lovely blue with Frida’s face and torso on the front.

“This is cute” he said.

“I love it” said I.

So we bought the pot and some pods. Then we went home and looked at her for 6 more days until the power was restored. Frida poured out cup after cup for two years, but just before Christmas refused to do anything but sit there. I tried to make it work between us. But she refused.

Too cute to throw away, Frida resides in the coffee garage.

And now I have Chrome Boy.

Coffee Frida and Chrome Boy
Chrome Boy and Frida. Notice the cafe scene on the wall. Coffee is important in this house!

Admittedly, this is not the best coffee, but I have figured out when to stop the water flow and can get a pretty decent cup. Especially at 5:26 in the morning.

 

And thank you Venus, Mars and the former planet Pluto for Jaime and his gifted roasting. And to the guy in the village, Coffee Eberhart that will take my coffee orders and then deliver kilos of coffee to my house.

Miss Meliss has been preaching about her latest coffeemaker, the Coffee Ninja (that is its real name) and how she wants me to have one. She wants to send one to me for my birthday. I demurred.

“No, Darling, a gift certificate at Gorgeous Fabrics will be fine.” I mean one does not want to appear grasping and greedy.

But I am waiting for the Amazon shipping notice.

 

 

 

Coffee. The Elixir of Life

This is how my double mocha is delivered at Cafe Gourmet on 16h de Septiembre

Coffee! Just hearing the word, and I can smell that dark, sweet and rich aroma. Just say the word, Coffee, and I can taste it, hot, and strong and wonderful. Coffee, the elixir of life!
Coffee. There was a pot always brewing at our house when I was growing up. We used to joke and say our family coat of arms should have a hand passing a coffee cup.
Coffee. Even as I write this, I have a steaming mug of coffee at hand.
On our last day in the old country,( eleven years ago now) the owner of our local espresso shop said all of our purchases for the day were on the house. “ Well I do want to pay for the twenty pounds of coffee beans I just ordered.” Said I.
The owner was adamant: “ Absolutely not, this is our gift to you. You got out of the rat-race! Enjoy Mexico.”
And so we drove down the peninsula to La Paz, the truck was loaded to the gills. My coffee grinder, coffeepot, filters and mugs were at easy reach.

My daughter's name is Melissa, and she and I love to have coffee together. This sign is on a party salon in the La Posada neighborhood.

We knew about two espresso shops in La Paz, but we were not sure if they sold whole beans, and we- well I – wanted to be prepared.
One shop, Café del Tropico sold whole beans from their family finca in Vera Cruz, and their coffee was divine. They closed up shop about five years ago and decamped back to Mexico City.
We tried roasters here and there in La Paz, but were never 100% pleased.
When we have US or Canadian guests coming down to stay at the HoneyMoon Hut, we ask them to bring us some Starbucks, Verona Roast, whole bean ( decaf). But recently I re-discovered Café La Choya in La Paz. A tiny shop on Colima Street a few block past the police station.
There are no words to describe the elixir they dispense. That is where I buy my beans. Their location is not so conducive to meeting friends and clients. But the owner is charming and has 4,000 followers   including me  on Facebook!

This tiny shop is sparkling clean, they have their own roaster and their own blends. I love their coffee!

Espresso cafes have sprung up all over La Paz. Some are good some are passable. My drink of choice is known at many of the cafes in town, and the baristas just confirm if it is a caliente (hot ) or frio ( cold) coffee day.
My friends and I meet regularly at one of the couple of shops we call home. And when I make an appointment with my accountant, he asks: “At your auxiliary office?” And we both know which café that is!

My friend Gari-Ellen and I meet here to discuss the latest editions of her paper the Baja Citizen. I can never remember the name, so now we never call it by the right name. It is Sunspot, Sunflower, Sundance and on and on.

Coffee. Revolutions have been planned in the “Penny Universities” the other name for coffee shops, great novelists have been aided by the creative kick of caffeine, business deals have been struck, and romances bloomed and friendships were forged over a couple of double mochas.
Coffee.