Just writing about coffee.

I'm whiling some time here are Cafe La Spiaza in Wheaton, IL before I throw my whole self into a voice-over session, wherein I'll portray a hippo, two ostriches, and a sheep.  I've added to my waning  Health Points by consuming a great little cup of chicken noodle soup.  And now I'm onto the main event: the skim-decaf latte with a soupcon of caramel syrup.  It's just sweet enough, definitely frothy, nicely warming, and possessing just a tad of caffeine for making my brain a little more zippy.  Cuz I'll need that to portray those ostriches.

But it got me thinking:  I developed my love of coffee perhaps in the last ten years or so.  Growing up, coffee was that brown stuff that stained my Mom's coffee cup, no matter how hard I tried to clean it out.  It was the stuff that created that coffee breath on her that I was never a fan of.  But most of all, it provided that zip that she needed every morning.  And throughout the day.  I questioned it, was wary of it.  Didn't trust it.

I've learned that the espresso shot I consume today has less caffeine than my Mom's Folger's Cup.  And that's really an eye-opener, because the espresso has enough caffeine for me.  So the lighter roasts have more caffeine - huh.  How about that?

My mom passed in 2001, so she wasn't around to see the current cafe craze.  Mom wouldn't know what a mochachino was to save her life; she might even wonder if it was an odd animal at the zoo .  She'd know mocha meant coffee and chocolate, two of her favorite things, but as far as walking into a Starbucks and ordering a coffee beverage that consists of a coffee, a flavoring, has foam or no foam, comes in a variety of sizes, has an option for whipped cream,  and a request for hot or extra hot - my Mom would probably just laugh and wonder what all the fuss was about.

You see, my Mom's morning coffee was made in one of these jobbies in the photo to the right:  a percolator.  This one's from the 60s - once the model she had that looked like this burned out, we went in search of another one.  And another.  And one after that.

Coffee meant just that: coffee.  The closest thing my Mom got to schnazzy was combining the half cup of coffee with a half cup of milk.  Mom was taking down a daily cafe au lait.  But did she know it was called that, and that it was French to boot?  Nah.  To her, it was just a way to make the coffee a little creamier, less harsh.

I remember at one point buying a small package of French Vanilla coffee and making it for her.  She took one sip, shoved it away and absolutely wouldn't touch it, wondering if I was crazy.  "This isn't coffee!  It's an air freshener!"

So, the next time you order a fancy coffee beverage, adjusting how much syrup goes in, the right amount of caffeine, just remember that back in the day, there was coffee and there was tea.  And that was that.