Coffee blood runs through my veins. 🤎
I’m my son’s happy coffee customer. Monday through Friday he makes French pressed coffee. On the weekends, he treats us to moka pot espresso. So now I’m scheming to sabotage any attempt he ever makes to leave home. Can you blame me? I don’t want to lose my personal barista!
But I know I need to prepare. So, I have been learning his tricks of the trade. I’m a little confused. He now has been teaching me how to make coffee? Que barbaridad!
Nevertheless, I am the one who taught him to love coffee. And not just any coffee. Good Latin kick your eyes wide open in the morning coffee. I have given him a legacy and we have shared some memorable breakfasts together. Coffee and I will forever be inseparable memories to my son.
Of all things that I would want to be a legacy to my family, why coffee? It seems insignificant, unproductive, even shallow. Love of coffee is part of me, my culture, my homeland, my family, my memories of my great-grandmother. It’s not just about the coffee; it’s about an integral part of me.
It’s also not my only legacy. My daughter loves to cook with some of my Caribbean kitchen hacks, like sofrito and adobo.
Any time I think of one of my kids and how they do something the way I do it, I feel like a little piece of me lives on in them. It’s a sweet thought.
On my next coffee post, I will share some of my son’s coffee making secrets. Sshhh don’t tell him…