The
smell of coffee always reminds me of home, of Mom tossing the coffee grounds
into the compost, of Dad’s outside projects, of cups wedged between the
dashboard and windshield of the Dodge station wagon. (Yes, there was a time
that cars didn’t have “cup holders.”)
I
very much liked the aroma. I very much disliked the taste.
There
were two instigating factors that made me realize this had to change: Glen
Holmen after the Peter Gabriel concert and working the night shift.
Flash
back to 1986, before my 15 minutes of fame at the U2 concert. Living in Santa
Monica, my husband and I befriended Steve Taylor’s bass player, Glen Holmen.
For a hoot, we sent him a ticket to a Peter Gabriel concert. We all went, had a
great time. He dropped us off at our place and we found out that Miriam doesn’t
know the first thing about making coffee!
When
we moved back to Vermont a few months later, I got a job as a nursing assistant
on night shift. The wonder and the ritual of coffee continued. Weary nurses and
assistants huddled over mugs of the steaming brew, often with a cigarette in
the other hand. (Yes, there was a time when nurses could smoke at the desk.)
One
night, a nurse from another unit came up with a silver tea set and General
Foods International Coffee. I had seen the commercials: “I detect a little
mint.”
It
was then that the mystique and practicality of concentrated caffeine hit me,
first in waves and then in desperation. Could this amazing liquid help me get
through the night shift?
I
then embarked on a personal odyssey. I was going to learn to make coffee. I was
going to learn to like it. I taught myself to like Brussels sprouts; I could
learn to like coffee.
He
must have heard of my plight, for my brother bought me a coffee maker. Let the
experiments begin.
Black:
bleck.
With
milk: a little better.
Half
and half? Now we’re talking. But it’s still hard to drink.
Wait,
don’t the Brits drink something like buttered coffee? Tried it. Weird.
Okay,
so people have these flavored coffees, like vanilla. I have some of that. Not
sure how to measure it, so here’s a dollop.
As
a teetotaler, that tiny amount of alcohol did a strange thing. By now I was
very awake, but suddenly very relaxed. I nixed the vanilla extract idea.
It
didn’t take too many days after that for me to realize that coffee didn’t have
to taste awful. I eventually read the recommended proportions of water and
grounds. I had been making a poor man’s espresso. “When all else fails, read
the [fine] manual.”
Success!
Now
I hope there will come a day when I can offer my favorite bassist a cup of
coffee.
