I suppose there are any number of ways to begin writing about gratitude. Gratitude has always felt, to me, like something of great profundity. But as this is only day 3 of the 30 day challenge, I thought I’d start with something decidedly less profound, and decidedly more prosaic.
I am. SO. GRATEFUL…
for coffee.
First, a little background. I didn’t drink coffee until I turned 30. In fact, I rejected it outright. I found it to be a little too weird, a bit acidic, and to be honest, it bothered me that it didn’t nearly taste as good as it smelled. So as Starbucks and other coffee shops began to spring up throughtout the late 90s, I just let the double-whip-no-foam-half-caf train go ahead and pass me on by. These ever-popular drinks always seemed more like dessert than an actual drink, and more than a little effeminate.
Then, in early 2007, after having received an espresso machine as a gift, I began to take it as a personal challenge to see if I could not only learn how to pull a perfect shot of espresso, but to see if there was something to all the hype of why espresso was, supposedly, such a good thing.
I began, I sought, I learned, and IT WAS.
Learning about espresso was learning about art. And as I moved away from the world of franchised “coffee,” I began to experience the small yet complex, warm and distinct, bittersweet, chocolate-cherry-citrus-cereal, cocoa-crema world of espresso.
And it is g l o r i o u s.
After a year of trial and error using the manual machine, I started to appreciate how difficult it is to make really good espresso. Sometimes it came out too bitter, sometimes too weak; sometimes it tasted burnt, and sometimes caramelized. But once in a while, I’d nail it. The shot would express itself into my demitas with the perfect golden-molasses color; its aroma was clean and robust and complicated, its crema was soft and velvety perfection.
Once I had experienced the wonder of that 2 oz. beauty, I couldn’t continue to relegate it to a once-in-a-while experience anymore. I was nervous about the idea of relying on machines and mass-produced “coffee pods.” I was unsure if a pre-measured espresso shot placed in an automated machine could produce the same quality coffee as a hand-pulled shot…and I was right. It didn’t produce the same quality: IT WAS BETTER.
In early 2008, our first child joined our family: our Nespresso machine. Nespresso is made by the Swiss Nestle company, and makes elegant, high-quality, gorgeously appointed machines, which are made ideally to extrude the most balanced, best-tasting, consistent shot of espresso. And before I slip into Nespresso-infomercial mode, suffice it to say that if you are in the market for an espresso machine, the one you buy will be inferior to a Nespresso.
What I love about espresso is the ceremony as much as the flavor. Placing the small, warmed cup beneath the spout, loading a richly dark-roasted pod into the machine, and watching the molten coffee gently flow into the cup, finishing with a naturally formed layer of crema which forms a bubbly, marbled head on the coffee. This coffee is to be sipped. And while it’s small enough to be drunk in a short amount of time if necessary, it really should be savoured and enjoyed, if only for a few minutes. I like the weight of the cup in my hand and the fit of the cup on the saucer. I like that the cup is smaller than a traditional coffee cup and only contains a few sips. Because of this, espresso isn’t meant to be crappy, cheap jet fuel to go along with bad food or to be drunk in huge amounts from a plastic thermos. Instead, it is designed to be tasted, sipped, savoured and sensed. It is made in as many variants as wine and appeals to pallettes just as sophisticated. And just for the record, a shot of espresso has less caffine than a cup of coffee.
I suppose coffee is something minor about which to be grateful. But to me, learning to appreciate the small pleasures in life is as important to living as any of the grand, sweeping things about which I’ve written before. In fact, the ability to extract joy or value from all things great and small might be the very essence of gratitude. It’s easy to be grateful for the good things, or to resort to platitudes when things are difficult, but constant gratitude can move us to places where the world slows down and we don’t just see beauty in flowers and babies – we see value and beauty in a well-ironed shirt, a glancing touch from a loved-one, a good hair-day, or yes, even a perfect cup of coffee.
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