Tag Archives: Coffee

On My Mind

Decaf Coffee

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There is plenty to say about regular coffee, but what about decaf? Why say anything about decaf? It’s anti-coffee culture, not at all Italian, and exists in an unnatural form of something so wonderful that it needs no modification.

This was my perspective until I had a cup of decaf coffee last weekend, my first cup since finding out I was pregnant. I’m coming to the end of week fourteen now and I spent a good seven weeks not thinking about coffee at all. And then suddenly, I missed it.

I missed the ritual, the smell of grinding beans and pouring over hot water. I missed the first sips in the morning, a cup to be enjoyed slowly before my students arrived, or as an accompaniment to the calm of weekend morning rolls and jam. I missed the taste, the feel on my tongue, and I missed looking forward to all of it.

When my partner went out last Saturday morning to buy fresh rolls, I asked him to look for decaf coffee. He came back with a small pack and I delighted in first one, and then two, cups. He laughed at the grin on my face and rapture in my expression and said, “You know there’s still caffeine in it, right?” I do know that, and I wasn’t afraid of it. As it is, I’ve been starting the day with a cup of black tea.

For now, I’m saving the decaf coffee for the weekends, the quiet moments where I can savour it without interruption. Coffee will become part of our shared morning ritual again, and I am already enjoying the anticipation.

Germany

Lazy Morning

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The French press isn’t yet empty so we sit and linger a while longer, doing one thing at a time. Coffee first and then onto other things for the day. Warm rolls and butter and jam and cheese on weekend mornings, just because we can, and I find that my body has adjusted to eating that way; I find myself looking forward to it.

It’s rather different from how I was through many years of being on my own, different from the habits formed back when I used to go running, preferably in the mornings when I could. Back then, and since then, mornings were a time to do as much as possible so that the rest of the day was free for everything else. The best light comes through the windows in the morning, the air is fresh, and there’s a pregnant expectation of what the day might bring. I used to set an alarm on weekend mornings to greet all of that, but lately I’ve found that I don’t sleep in anymore. Lingering over breakfast on a weekend morning is a natural part of the day.

Years ago, we used to visit our favourite diner on a Saturday or Sunday, placing our orders of coffee, omelettes, and potatoes wherever we decided the coffee was best or the potatoes crispiest or the service fastest. We were in and out, often after waiting in the obligatory line (always a good sign), having eaten enough to tide us over until dinner. We sought out diners in different parts of town and compared them to each other, once driving all the way across town to wait in a line and be told that we could request modifications to the menu (I wanted two eggs, like in my go-to diner, instead of the standard three), but the kitchen staff probably wouldn’t listen. We loved every moment of that experience.

It’s a different time, a different pace, and a different partnership now.

Almost a year ago I took you to a diner, an old favourite, almost unchanged except for the prices. Cash payments only in a country that runs on credit, coffee as ever nostalgic and a little burnt (a taste I miss until I have it again, and then I stop myself after three refills), plentiful plates of combinations that matched what you’ve seen on television. And then another diner and another where, finally, “What can I get you, sweetheart?” and I grinned at the look on your face. Sometimes real life is just like the movies.

The bakery bag of tomorrow’s rolls is in the oven. And after we’ve finished our coffee, it’ll be time to live in the day.

Singapore

How to Tell When Someone is Smiling

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The Covid-19 circuit breaker measures here in Singapore mean that we are unable to interact in person with anyone who is not a member of our household. Going to the grocery store for a little human interaction has been very real.

As I’ve written before, I’ve been really good about starting the day with some physical activity, usually going for a run but otherwise practicing yoga. It has been really important to me to create a transition into the working day. A couple days ago, however, my need for human interaction was greater than my need to feel my body move.

So I made a cup of coffee and called an old friend. I could hear the smile in her voice when she picked up the phone and I know she could hear the same in mine. We caught up while on my side of the world, the sun rose and the day began. My friend’s day was just beginning to wind down. Since moving overseas, I’ve rarely made a phone call to another timezone without first planning to do so. People are always rushing about and it’s more likely I’ll miss them than not.

But not right now. Many people I know are waiting with open arms for human interaction right now.

Let’s keep this part of our new world, shall we?

I had conversation over the phone with my mum not too many days later and we talked about how strange she finds it to interact with people wearing masks. I know that this is very unfamiliar in North America, but I’ve lived in Asia for some time now and masks aren’t all that unusual here. The fact that the stores ran out of masks as everyone began buying them indicates that stores stock masks as a normal product (and they were back in stock as quickly as toilet paper). Reusable masks have always been common among people who ride motorcycles and there were always some food service workers wearing masks. And then there were the people who wore masks just because it’s not a strange thing here.

Mum said that people where she is don’t look at each other and don’t interact. My sister, located in another North American city, has said that people regard one another almost suspiciously. People in Singapore aren’t as overtly friendly as people often are in North America, but I have not had the same experience. People still communicate and some wave to the people they see every day. People are smiling, even if you can’t see it.

I started to think about this when my mum mentioned that she’d smiled at someone in thanks and then realised he couldn’t see it. I know I’ve been doing the same thing (because I was raised in a society where that’s what you do) but I also know I’ve become much more aware of the expressions around people’s eyes and foreheads.

When you can’t see someone’s face, how do you know if they’re smiling?

I thought back to my phone call with my friend. I’m not fond of video calls because I make most of my calls to other time zones when I’m getting ready for work in the morning. A good old fashioned voice call suits me just fine. I have never questioned whether the person on the other end of the line is smiling. Probably like you, I just just know.

When you can’t see someone’s face, you still know when they’re smiling. If you’re face to face, look around their eyes. The corners might crinkle or the cheeks might lift. Eyebrows or foreheads might wrinkle. If you’re on the phone, or can’t see each other, or if a mask has thrown you off completely, just listen. People sound different when they’re smiling.

Covid-19 has meant that we need to adapt in ways that many of us never imagined. It has led me to ask questions about the ways in which humans have evolved and why we behave in the ways that we do.

It has also caused me to look at the world a little differently, a little more carefully, and a little more critically. There is not one way to live in the world, this I have learned, but there are some ways that are more pleasant than others. There are ways in which we can honour our social responsibility while still doing what makes us feel whole. We can look at the world openly or with suspicion, and this attitude affects not only our outlook but also the ways we interact with others.

Wearing a mask might be new or strange, but it’s a whole lot better to be out in the world with one than trapped alone at home without one.