OH FOR A CUPPA!
Hanns F Skoutajan
My mother nursed me for a long time. Then almost overnight I migrated from the breast to the cup - the coffee cup that is.
I have had a love/hate relationship with this beverage. There are times when I can scarcely tolerate the drink. But after a short abstinence I am back to it again.
I live in an area of Ottawa where there is a plethora of coffee outlets within easy walking distance and have been informed that there are more to come. Our main street is to undergo the construction of several new buildings - condos, offices with stores on ground level. It seems that each of them will house a coffee outlet. Undoubtedly all of them will do well.
I grew up - the first ten year of my life - in a city in Czechoslovakia in those halcyon days before the war broke out. It was the custom of my mother to take me downtown to the market square to shop. This excursion usually concluded with a visit to the Kafe Falk .
Those familiar with the European culture will appreciate that cafes are very special places serving not only coffee, not in mugs but in cup and saucer, along with a variety of luscious pastries. Kafe Falk was no exception. Mother ordered Kafe mit Schlag, that is coffee with a large dollop of whipped cream on top. The waiter properly attired in a black suit also brought a platter of Viennese pastries from which I was allowed to select one, usually a cream puff or a Sacher Torte.
The Kafe Falk also offered a variety of picture magazines for us to peruse while we enjoyed this respite from our shopping. In the afternoon there was usually a string trio and piano performing beautiful music, making for a very relaxing and addictive atmosphere. Given those circumstances it is surprising that I did not become a fat kid but only a spoiled brat.
All this came to a sudden end when we were forced to flee the invading German army.
We found refuge in Scotland where they only drank tea with scones or biscuits that in no way measured up to what I had been accustomed.
After coming to Canada with the outbreak of war coffee became a rather scarce commodity and unaffordable for us poor settlers. Mother brewed a drink made with barley and chicory roots that bore some vague resemblance to coffee. It was cheap and hot but I acquired no taste for it. Only after the war and migrating east did we revert to drinking real coffee. However, cafes such as I recalled from “back home” were only found in the big city and even there were rather scarce. I missed them greatly.
At college I frequented the student coffee shop which had decent coffee but was also a place for good discussions and a venue for making dates.
I wrote this piece sitting in the bay window of one of my favourite coffee emporia. It too is a place for conversation and I have made many new friends in this pleasant environment.
Most of my drinking companions prefer organic coffee and like to support shops that offer “fair trade” products. Having visited Costa Rica on several occasions I became informed that the best coffee comes from beans grown in the shade. Those plantations are usually small and family run. However, much of the arable land is used for growing large crops of coffee, cash crops that are bought by large American corporations. It is a huge industry of great economic importance for that small and beautiful country.
My son spent two years in Ethiopia which is reputedly the birthplace of coffee. My spouse visited him and was honoured at several coffee ceremonies by local people which take a good deal of time. The beans were ground, roasted and brewed in her presence with flower petals strewn about. The brew is very strong and rather overwhelming for her who is not a coffee drinker, pity!
The coffee drinking public in this country has acquired some specialized tastes for drinks such as latte, cappuccino and espresso etc. Plain java is no longer good enough. Have you ever noticed how much sugar people shovel into their “double double?” It becomes a coffee flavoured syrup.
As I sit and enjoy my cuppa I recall my early experiences with coffee drinking. For me to enjoy my coffee respite there are other factors of importance that impinge, not the least of which is ambiance. It is a total experience, olfactory, the aroma of brewing coffee, comfort of the the venue, the sounds and of course the company of friends. But there are also times when I long for a quiet place to drink where I can indulge my thoughts and memories and write them down. Thus another blog!
So I lift my cup to you. Enjoy! Meet me here sometime. I’ll treat you if you don’t mind listening to my tales.
Spirit Quest 18’10/2014
