I used to be a tea person almost exclusively. It started with musty-sweet herbal peach from the old glass canning jar in Grandma's cottage at the lake, sipped around a campfire to cut the sweetness of s'mores. Then the citrus kick of Celestial Seasonings' Lemon Zinger - still the tastiest herbal tea I'll ever find, I'm convinced - and on to the more complex blends: Lady Grey, rooibos, Ceylon, Assam, and maté. All delicious, all different.
Then, coffee.
I used to be that wannabe hipster who sipped complex espresso concoctions with long, meaningless jargon names from eco-friendly paper cups. I still enjoy a nice latté (the "Oxford" from Leaf and Bean is a delight; a coconut latté with soy milk from The Blackbird up in Canton, NY is divine), but more and more I find myself waking up, rolling out of bed, and brewing myself a single-serving pot of joe with my breakfast.
Of course, even "plain old coffee" doesn't have to be plain. I've recently discovered the joys of flavored roasts: vanilla crème brûlée, for instance, or Bananas Foster, or tiramisu. Wow. And the best part is, leaving creamers and fripperies behind me means a little sugar and a healthy splash of rice milk doesn't detract or clash with the flavors (a recent, happy accidental discovery). I'm sorry to say that yes, I do take sugar and milk with my coffee. A travesty to true coffee-lovers everywhere.
My (aforementioned) friend Brittany, in her infinite wisdom, once said that maturity can be measured in how one takes one's coffee. When you're young and carefree with less refined tastes, lattés and mochas and iced frappes are the bomb. But step by step, you graduate from caramel macchiato mocha frappes to cappucinos with half a shot of flavoring, to coffee with a bunch of cream and sugar, to coffee with a little milk, to plain and simple black - and that's when you know you're a grownup. I'll be honest: I don't think I'll ever reach the "black coffee stage," but if taking it with sugar and rice milk makes me youthful, I guess I can handle that.
But what about tea? The love of my life for so many years, the sweet fragrant grasses that somehow come together to make the most delicious hot liquid known to man? The thing about tea is, it's hot. Unless it's iced tea, but that always seems like an imposter to me. Hot tea is hard to drink in the summertime, especially if you boil the water in a kettle like I do. (Microwaved tea? Ugh!) Coffee's heat is more contained in the pot, and letting it cool as you sip it slowly on a drowsy summer morning doesn't detract from the taste or experience. Lukewarm tea, on the other hand, is limpid and sort of disappointing. So for now I'll leave it on the shelf for cold, rainy afternoons and the eventual onset of autumn, and enjoy my morning coffee without a lick of guilt.
Well, maybe a little bit of guilt. Coffee has long been associated with decadence and lack of self-control for me. My Dad has always had a couple cups in the mornings, or least for as long as I can remember. It's probably his only vice (except for Yummies' ice cream, which is a whole 'nother story). Every once in a while, he'll get the urge to prove he's not addicted to caffeine, and he'll go off it for a week or so, withstanding the headaches and the sluggishness just to prove he can. Then, when he's had his moment of decaffeinated triumph, he'll go right back to the pot (the coffee pot, obviously) - after all, he can stop anytime he wants.
Right now, I don't need to drink coffee to function. A cup of half-caff in the mornings, about four days out of seven, is my little grownup treat, because it tastes good and because I can. I'm pretty sensitive to caffeine - I had a Thai iced coffee once without knowing what was in it (espresso and condensed milk, turns out), and I thought I was going to have a heart attack - so I try not to overindulge. Nothing caffeinated after lunch (or else I have weird, elaborate dreams), and only one cup a day (discounting the rare decaf latté when I'm out with friends or family to Jitters or something).
I made the mistake once of having a large cup of coffee in the morning and a tall iced coffee in the evening of the same day, and then nothing for the next day or two. The result was a raging headache. Whether it was a matter of caffeine withdrawal or just coincidence, I don't intend to find out. My body and I have reached an agreement: I respect its caffeine intake threshold, and it won't give me bizarre dreams or migraine attacks in retaliation.
Thing is, I hate wasting coffee. It's so delicious, and sometimes expensive. Today my cup is a bit larger than usual, because there was a bit left over in the pot from Grandma's morning cuppa when I went to make my own single serving, and I couldn't bear to toss more than a few tablespoons of it down the sink. So that's all for me today.
I think there's a lot to be said for knowing your limits. I'm not always good at that. Just ask my sweet tooth and its penchant for "classy" desserts (my friend's words, not mine). I just really like tiramisu, okay? And I like baking things, which is a dangerous hobby. Maybe I should concentrate on veggie soups for a while. I've found that knowing just how much butter and heavy cream went into that cake frosting doesn't do much to deter me from stealing bites throughout the day.
Thus, coffee! The only calories in it are the little bits of milk and sugar I add, or the nonexistent ones in stevia-based sweeteners. It's rich and decadent, and studies have shown it to be good for you (in moderation, of course). I'd rather deal with a little over-excitement and elevated heart rate than be tempted to stuff myself with crepe-and-lemon-curd cake.
One more thing, before I get carried away talking about yummy food instead of the actual point of this blog, which is growing up. My aunt (my mom's sister) and I have started writing letters back and forth - the longhand is fun, and always seems to have a bit more meaning than sterile typefaces, like the one you're reading now. I'd like to share a bit of her last letter that was particularly meaningful.
...picture a small, sturdy used-to-be-painted-red boat. It's covered with scratches, dents, patched holes, torn sails, barnacles, graffiti, and the engine (it has sails and an engine) runs rough. Imagine it on a calm day put-put-putting into a sudden harbor, an unexpected port. Up to the docks. Throw out the line. There it bobs in the water. Home! And it doesn't have to brave the high seas anymore. That's how I felt and still feel. ... Since leaving home at 17 I'd been on a long eventful dramatic journey and I was so ready to settle down. No more travel! No more adventures! Yay! Happiness.
Thinking about you and your blog and your letter you sent and all that you are facing I realize that your little boat is just put-put-putting out of the harbor. Since I spend most of my time with college students, I spend a lot of time standing on the dock waving brave little boats off - "Bon voyage!" I say, "do good things, make the world better, good luck!" It's different when it's my own dear Rachel, but still familiar. I'm glad my feet are staying on dry land, even as I hug those departing sailors and watch them sail off to wonderful adventures.
So, we're at opposite ends of the wheel; that's what generations do. My own parents have yet another set of challenges and realities. But we're all together in this wonderful world, and so the "journey" metaphor breaks down there, to some extent. We're in different "places" yet we're in one spot, often, and can signal each other, ship to shore."I read that on the day it came in the mail, and felt an immense peace. She's absolutely right - my own voyage is just beginning. And I look around me, and I see my friends on their own voyages, hoisting sails, casting off ropes, getting ready to head into the big wide ocean to see what they can find. It's a scary proposition, especially knowing how easy it is to be driven off course, to read the stars wrong, to run into squalls and storms. But then I remember that I'm not alone: that there are lighthouses standing guard against sandbanks and reefs, that there are sailors who have gone before and returned safely who are glad to share advice, maps, compasses, spyglasses - everything we need to make our own safe voyages and come back the better and the wiser for it.
I'll end, once more, with a song, a wonderful song by Jónsi that's just as good as a kick of caffeine, and less likely to give you a headache later upon overindulgence.
