{It was my good friend @irrelephant‘s post about coffee and his wee-but-growing-up lass that has inspired me to write about my introduction to joe, thirty years ago now, which would have made me all of about eight the first time we said hello. And you know what? Joe had me at hello.}
Four simple adjectives describe the perfect cup of coffee: sweet, light, strong, and icy. Of course, as with so many other…ummm…preferences I have, these didn’t manifest themselves until I was well out of my childhood. When I was wee (wee-er than @irrelephant’s lass is now), my father worked from home a great deal and would often engage the sister or I to help keep his coffee cup full. He also used to send us on cigarette runs up to Adam’s Deli on Hope Street, you know, back when the nanny state was pretty much non-existent, but the cigarettes are not for this tale.
I remember the mug and the instructions and the first time I took matters into my own hands. My dad asked me to pour him another cup of coffee, two spoons of sugar and two of coffee mate. No more and no less. I scampered downstairs to the kitchen and did as he asked, pouring the coffee into a terribly 70s mug (I think I may have a plate from that set somewhere) and very carefully measured two spoons of sugar and two of coffee mate. No more and no less.
And then it happened. I brought the mug and its steaming contents to my lips and took a sip. Then another. And another, until there was but a half cup left. I panicked and at that age, I still believed my parents could see every move I made, so I was quite convinced I’d be busted. Grabbing the coffee pot, I refilled that mug up to the rim and studied it.
Should I put more sugar and coffee mate in? I wasn’t sure what I should do; if I added more, my dad would know. If I didn’t, he would know. I finally decided I was spending far too much time debating and that in itself was suspicious. In the end, that coffee wasn’t nearly as sweet and light as my dad preferred, but if he noticed, he said nary a word.
By the time I moved to California, my dad had cut back on the sugar and the coffee mate, using only one spoon of each. When I would tell him he used to take his coffee sweeter and lighter in years gone by, he’d deny it vehemently and it became a standard ribbing between us. I can’t recall now if I ever revealed my coffee subterfuge, but if I ever did, I’m sure he got a laugh out of it before denying how sweet and light he liked his coffee once.
And now, I stand in the shoes of my father and my Star Tattoo Girl stands in mine; she is simply fascinated by coffee. Neither of her parents drink it, so when I come to town, it’s more of event than you’d think. Out comes the coffee maker and the coffee. The filters and coffee mate. Star Tattoo Girl’s step stool so she can help Auntie Mickey make the coffee. She spoons the coffee into the hopper and is quite pleased to have played a role in the ritual, even more now that she is counting the scoops herself. I pour the water into the well and she stands in front of me, transfixed by my part of the ritual, her beautiful eyes round with anticipation and delight, her tiny mouth in the shape of an “o.” Her finger trembles as she longs to turn the coffee maker on, but only when I say it’s okay.
It doesn’t end there…when the coffee maker gurgles its last and the brewing is complete, the next sound is, “Auntie Mickey! Your coffee’s ready!” I continue the ritual and add the sugar and the coffee mate (four and four, double what my father preferred at one time) and Star Tattoo completes it: “Auntie Mickey, why is it so light now? Can I smell it? What does it taste like?”
These are sweet memories that span three generations, linking my dad, my niece, and I together. As I was, she is and as my father was, I am. Star Tattoo Girl is likely far too young to have these memories hardwired into her head, but I have them hardwired into mine and treasure them as I treasure so much with that wee girl in a girl. By the time Bar Code Girl is old enough to help, it’s possible Star Tattoo Girl will have lost interest in it and I will have a whole host of new memories with the other wee girl in a girl I treasure so much.
An empty bench in Soho Square.
