Would you like some coffee?

Photo credit: Danielle MacInnes

I was five years old when I had my first taste of coffee. My Spanish grandmother slid the flowered porcelain cup sitting delicately atop its saucer toward me and said, “Es hora de que pruebes el cafe.” It’s time for you to try coffee.

Some might think that a five year old drinking coffee is preposterous, but for nana, it was every bit a rite of passage.

I remember inhaling its heady aroma, glancing at the creamy white cafe con leche (the Spanish version of a latte) that filled the cup halfway. Gingerly bringing it to my lips, I took a tentative sip. I let the smoothness of the Arabica beans, mixed with the frothy milk, slide down my throat slowly. And just like that, I was a goner.

I’ve had the privilege of drinking a varied amount of coffee since my first degustation. I’ve had frothy cappuccinos in Florence, dark and strong espresso in Rome, cafe au lait in Paris, cafe bonbon in Barcelona, and cafe lungho in Amsterdam. Not thinking myself a coffee snob, I’ve also had Americanos at nearly every train station in the Netherlands. Whilst in the States, I’ve drank coffee from Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks, and even McDonald’s. (Coffee connoisseurs inhale sharply here.) I think it’s safe to say I’ve never turned down a cup of coffee–all the way from free samples at posh supermarkets, to strong Turkish coffee poured ceremoniously by a host who refused to sit down till I told her I’d had my coffee fill.

Coffee permeates every aspect of life. Coffeemakers are an essential piece of equipment in the workplace and without a doubt, many homes boast not one, but many means of making coffee. Whether brewed in a French press, Italian moka pot, Chemex, or Nespresso machine, coffee knows it plays a leading role.

We are surrounded by coffee. It starts off our day, rounds off our dinner, and keeps us awake when falling asleep is not an option. More importantly, in a world where there is a demand for productivity, people turn to coffee to give them that jolt necessary to complete tasks.

Coffee does not discriminate. There are different flavors and roasts to accommodate all demographics. Some see coffee as the perfect initiator of round table discussions, while others drink it to stay alert while they study or drive. And while the place where java is consumed may set the tone, ultimately it’s the coffee that takes center stage.

Sadly, the passing of time has greatly diminished the social activity of coffee drinking. While some still frequent cafes for small talk, one is more likely to see coffee being consumed in places where individuals are working distractedly on laptops, reading, or busily scribbling to do lists. It almost appears as if in this modern day caffeinated scene, coffee has been demoted to a prop.

The hissing of the old Italian pot gurgling on the stove top wakes me from my reverie. I allow my mind to once again remember the kitchen scene where my taste buds first made coffee’s acquaintance. I see my grandmother’s nod of approval as she hears my sigh of content. “Now tell me about your day, Bella,” I hear her say as she takes off her apron and pulls up a chair. I narrate the day’s events as she listens attentively. I ask her questions and she answers them, a smile on her beautiful face.

Returning my attention to the present, I pour myself a cup of coffee and sigh nostalgically. How I miss those days!

Do you like coffee as much as I do?

XOXO,

Is summer really gone?

My sabbatical was not planned; it wasn’t intentional. As I boarded the flight that carried me to the land of tapas, I naively believed this summer would be different; that my beloved little beach town would finally have a reliable Internet connection. But alas, this was not so.

Time after time, I attempted to connect, only to lose my connection after only two seconds.

Don’t think I didn’t try, folks. I did. But in the end, I found it was easier to give in to the paella comas and the lull of the waves, than to harbor frustration and irritation.

Now, two and a half months later, I am once again in the place I call home. Sadly, it feels like it’s home that I’ve left behind.

Looking out the window, my eyes taking in the gray and gloomy clouds, I can’t but miss my beloved land of Don Quijote. My eyes tear at the thought of having to wait nine months before I am once again reunited with my mother and her furry friend, Olivia.

It’s barely been three weeks since I arrived, and already I yearn for the sun’s warm kiss on my skin and the tantalizing smell of salt in the air.

The sea. How I miss it! I miss its ability to lull me to sleep; waves gently making their way to the shore, peaks of white foam reaching up to the sky.

I miss the happy disposition of the Spanish and the courteous way they always greet one another with “¡Buenos Días!” or “¡Buenas noches!” Good morning! Good evening!

I miss the little bakery that serves the most delicious “cafe con leche.” I miss its colorful decor, the little rattan tables, and the group of people who gather there every morning for pleasant conversation.

I miss the music, the chatter, the noise.
I miss the passion of the people, the culture, the country.

I miss the fish, the paella, the wine.
Wine that regardless its cost, always tastes like ambrosia.

I miss the Spanish “telenovela” my mother and I watched faithfully every afternoon. I miss guessing which character would marry, die, or become a nun or a priest at the first sign of a lover’s betrayal.

I miss it all.

A heavy sigh lingers in my lungs, unwilling to escape my lips, afraid that if it does, the realization that all that has been left behind will become tangible. Concrete. Real.

Nevertheless, life goes on, my friends, and so must I. I’m grateful for the opportunity to reenter the blogosphere and once again become acquainted with your creative genius.

Reading glasses perched on my nose, I reach for my mouse.

How did you spend your summer?

XOXO,

Note: If you want to see more photos of Spain, visit me on Instagram!

What makes this place feel like home?

“Wait for me in front of the shop,” says the Significant Other before pulling out into the busy street, the smirk on his face a telltale sign that says he knows I won’t comply.

Looking around, I take in the beautiful French windows that seem to be a staple of every facade in the colorful street.

A strange neighborhood.
Strange, as in, I’ve never been here before.

The excitement of exploring every nook and cranny overwhelms me.
My senses are alert.

I can hear people doing their chores.
I can see women walking their dogs.
I can taste fall in the air–a mixture of chestnuts and hickory.
I can touch the crackling leaves that fall from the trees.
And I can smell the aroma that wafts from the little bakery called Kismet.

I feel someone grab me by the elbow. “I thought I told you to wait by the shop.”
“When do I ever do anything you ask?” I reply.
Looking up at the bakery sign, I wordlessly utter my desire to go in and have coffee.

As I sit and sip my wonderful latte, I think of the little bakery where my mom and I spent so much time this summer.

Rey’s Cafe.
A charming space filled with rattan furniture, bright light, and a wonderful array of pastries.

I close my eyes and instantly see it.

Colorful beads hang in the windows, clacking and changing color every time someone opens the door. Wine and liquor bottles fill the shelves. Jars of spices and marmalade sit side by side in an orderly fashion.

This is a place where people gather to have long conversations.
Where people sit and read a newspaper, a cup of coffee their only companion.
Where women share recipes and discuss the latest hat trend.
And where my mother and I sit for hours talking about anything and everything.

Coffee after coffee, time passes, yet we refuse to be clock watchers.
Instead, we sit huddled together, giggling as we recount funny events we’ve seen.

I smile as I remember how my mother and I labeled Rey’s Cafe “our spot.”
Our spot, which also housed “our table” and “our chairs.”

The Significant Other walks toward the cash register to pay for our coffee. Yet I’m reluctant to go. Sitting in this bakery has filled me with nostalgia of time spent in Rey’s Cafe.

I think that perhaps it was the beauty of having coffee together that made us feel this way.
Or perhaps it was that Rey’s Cafe, with all its magic, felt like home.

Do you have a favorite place that feels like home?