Welcome to my Cafetology series.
Once my son was my coffee guinea pig and now, I am his coffee guinea pig. And we are both ok with that.
It all started when my parents gave me my first taste of coffee…in my baby bottle. I’m just kidding. Although I have heard of Hispanic families who do start them young.
I had my first cup of coffee in my growing up in Puerto Rico days. I was about 10 or 11 years old. I would walk right up to my great-grandmother’s house for multiple visits a week. I didn’t necessarily care for the taste of coffee then, I much preferred chocolate milk.
But then, years later, I had kids. Yeah…coffee became crucial to my survival. I could have written a “Hello” song before Adele and it would have been about coffee, and it would have been a number 1 hit in coffee shops all over America and the world. I missed that calling. Although, I would not trade it for the daughter/wife/mom/sister/friend calling of my lifetime.
What was special about having an occasional cup of coffee at my great-grandmother’s house, sitting in her kitchen, was the homemade latte with freshly squeezed cow’s milk. Naturally foamy at the top, no frothing tool needed. The only other time I tasted coffee like that was a few years ago when a friend of mine who owned and ran an organic food store sold me a quart of fresh raw cow’s milk. Oh my… (eyes closed) it took me back to my childhood.
To be continued…