Beef: Casey vs. coffee
For those of you who don’t like coffee, like me, here’s a tip on how to make it drinkable. Empty a package of hot cocoa powder into you mug or cup, pour in hot coffee instead of water, and stir with a spoon. I’ve been experimenting with the complimentary coffee and hot chocolate in the lunch room and I think I’ve stumbled across a tasty and tolerable hybrid. It balances the sweetness of chocolate with the bitter, workplace mentality of coffee. It warms me, too.
Here’s my beef with coffee: I never understood what the big deal was. While growing up, I admired the deep brown color of the Folgers my mom brewed. The steam rising from her cup and the smell of the grounded beans enticed my taste buds. It looked and smelled like a rich hot cocoa mix. I’d ask for a sip — enough to quench my curiosity. When I put the cup to my lips and took a cautious sample I thought of the dirty water my “Oregon Trail” characters drank when they got dysentery.
As I grew I continued to ask for sips of my mom’s coffee, wondering if it was what I remembered. I tested it as I matured, thinking it had changed, thinking I had changed. But neither had. It was always the same.
That’s why I don’t get coffee. What’s so great about it? I see everyone fuss and fight for it, see coffee shops on every corner, see coffee pots and Bunn’s in every kitchen and lunch room, see trash cans and dumpsters filled with disposable coffee cups with their lids still hugging the top rim. In stores there are shelves lined with insulated drinking mugs. (Even I have one. It’s gray with the Dordt College logo printed on the side in white, and has smooth, stainless steel around the rim and lid. I’m drinking my hybrid from it right now.) People want coffee. They need it, yearn for it. It’s liquid crack. For millions I’m sure it’s the only positive thing in their lives. It’s a comforting friend, always there when they’re groggy and upset in the morning. It lifts them up and puts them in good spirits.
But it tastes like shit.
Every time I’ve asked my mom, “What’s so great about coffee?” she’s shrugged her shoulders and replied, “It warms you up in the morning.” I’ve asked her about the taste: “It smells a hundred times better.” So why drink it? “I don’t know,” she always told me.
I guess the lure and addictive properties of coffee will have to remain mysteries to me. For now I’ll keep adding a package or two of cocoa mix to give my mug of decaf a boost of life. I’d rather have a few oxen die or a thief steal a couple pounds of food from my wagon than risk my life drinking straight coffee.
Here’s my beef with coffee: I never understood what the big deal was. While growing up, I admired the deep brown color of the Folgers my mom brewed. The steam rising from her cup and the smell of the grounded beans enticed my taste buds. It looked and smelled like a rich hot cocoa mix. I’d ask for a sip — enough to quench my curiosity. When I put the cup to my lips and took a cautious sample I thought of the dirty water my “Oregon Trail” characters drank when they got dysentery.
As I grew I continued to ask for sips of my mom’s coffee, wondering if it was what I remembered. I tested it as I matured, thinking it had changed, thinking I had changed. But neither had. It was always the same.
That’s why I don’t get coffee. What’s so great about it? I see everyone fuss and fight for it, see coffee shops on every corner, see coffee pots and Bunn’s in every kitchen and lunch room, see trash cans and dumpsters filled with disposable coffee cups with their lids still hugging the top rim. In stores there are shelves lined with insulated drinking mugs. (Even I have one. It’s gray with the Dordt College logo printed on the side in white, and has smooth, stainless steel around the rim and lid. I’m drinking my hybrid from it right now.) People want coffee. They need it, yearn for it. It’s liquid crack. For millions I’m sure it’s the only positive thing in their lives. It’s a comforting friend, always there when they’re groggy and upset in the morning. It lifts them up and puts them in good spirits.
But it tastes like shit.
Every time I’ve asked my mom, “What’s so great about coffee?” she’s shrugged her shoulders and replied, “It warms you up in the morning.” I’ve asked her about the taste: “It smells a hundred times better.” So why drink it? “I don’t know,” she always told me.
I guess the lure and addictive properties of coffee will have to remain mysteries to me. For now I’ll keep adding a package or two of cocoa mix to give my mug of decaf a boost of life. I’d rather have a few oxen die or a thief steal a couple pounds of food from my wagon than risk my life drinking straight coffee.
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