I'll Take it Black

This morning was perfection.  I awoke to find that snow had fallen during the night, blanketing my neighborhood in quiet whiteness and my husband, who was heading out early for a day of skiing,  had gone to the coffee shop and bought us both coffees, which he delivered to me IN BED, piping hot!  I felt truly spoiled.  After he kissed me goodbye, I grabbed my book off the night table and sat, uninterrupted, for a half-hour and read and sipped.  Heaven!

Flashback to yesterday morning to fully appreciate my current state of bliss:

This morning I made myself a pot of coffee.  This may not sound like a big deal to you, but it is definitely out of the ordinary for me.   My morning routine usually consists of climbing out of bed, letting the dog outside, tucking Nora's feet back under her blanket, getting dressed and pulling  my cap down low (I mean I DID just wake up) and walking Jack up to my favorite coffee shop for my cup of the day.  This may seem strange, and like a lot of effort, for just a cup of coffee.  And, yes, it would be simpler to just walk downstairs, to the kitchen, and make myself a pot.  It's definitely closer and most definitely warmer on a cold winter morning.  And I wouldn't even have to put on a hat!  But I really like it better my way.  And my coffee walk is usually just what I need to start my day.  But don't worry:  If it's SUPER COLD,  I have been known to drive Jack to the coffee shop.   


I will admit my behavior may seem a bit obsessive.  I try not to use the "A-Word"  because  that implies that I cannot survive without it.  Or at the very least that my body believes  it cannot survive without it.  But it can!  I can!  Just not first thing in the morning (and, occasionally, around mid-day.)  Honestly, I don't know if I'm addicted to the drink itself, or the act of traveling to my favorite watering hole to get it.  Probably a little bit of both.  

However, since I slept in late today, and since Dave just left for work (pedaling down the street in his fancy new riding jacket that some very cool person got him for Christmas), and since Anna is at her friend Victoria's house, and since NJ is still asleep,  I had to settle for home brew.  And since when does my early riser sleep in past seven?  Winter vacation has definitely altered her routines as well.  Staying up late, begets sleeping in late.  Hmmm...why did I never engage in this practice before? I have missed out on hours (and I mean HOURS) of sleep because of this kid!

Although I am not completely sleep deprived this morning, I am still trying to wake myself up.  But it's not working, because there was no walk, no perfect cup of coffee.  Today's coffee is wrong--it is black.  Because THIS half and half that I poured into my cup,  to cream it up and make it deliciously drinkable, instead dribbled out in thick, bubbly, white chunks creating something only worthy of the drain.  So down it went.  

THE CULPRIT!

RUINED!

And NO, I could not just use milk.  Not even whole milk.  It has to be cream and it has to be precisely enough to change the color from dark black to a beautiful golden caramel.  And it must be stirred, not just dumped in.  


Standing at the sink, still sleepy, watching my morning swirl down the drain, I decided to try again.  

Maybe the cream wasn't really bad.  Maybe it had just separated.  Maybe if I just shake the container a little it'll be okay.   I nose-tested it.   I didn't really smell anything either way, good or bad.  But my nose constantly fails me.  So I tried again, with just a little cream.  

So, black it is.   "Like real Norwegians drink it," says my Dad, the expert on all things Norwegican.  

The irony about this "addiction" of mine is that I am not, in any way, a foodie.  I don't pour through recipe books.  I don't go out of my way to find the perfect drink or meal.  I am not interested in pairing this with that.  I don't really even like to cook.  I simply eat.  And I am very easy to please.  Honestly, I will  politely and thankfully eat anything that is put before me. A quality that I am trying very hard to instill in my daughters.  Anna has it pretty much mastered.  She will at least TRY something new and different, and usually, eat most of it.  Nora Jane, on the other hand, inherited the gift of patience.  And she is becoming the master of "waiting it out."  On most nights, she is the Last Girl Sitting.  With her head resting on her left hand she will stare at her plate willing her food to disappear while we walk by her and murmur, yet again, "finish your dinner," or "just a few more bites."  But she'll come around.  And when she grows up, moves out, and starts cooking for herself, she, too, can make her own food choices.

She, too, may decide that Folgers, MJB, or any other brand that's been sitting on the grocery shelf, or in a grocery warehouse for months, simply will not do.  Maybe she, too, will support her local coffee shops, with the occasional stop at you know where.  (I mean if you need a cup of coffee and you are in unfamiliar territory, they have their own app for God's sake!)  

A few hours later: Coffee + my two girls = one happy mama!   

Drink on!