She started by roasting the coffee beans. You knew the best was yet to come - such was the delicious smell of anticipation. Then came the grinding - one step closer to the magic drink. We watched her but from respectful distance. And finally when all was done and it showed up at the table steaming in it's small tumbler, you hesitated to drink it. It was hot for one thing and then it would be rude to ask for a refill. This was something to enjoy in a small portion. So you did not want to be the first to finish and feel sorry for yourself. Good to see that there are folks who took such nostalgia to its logical conclusion.
crossings as in traversals, contradictions, counterpoints of the heart though often not..
Subscribe to my Substack: Signals in the NoiseOld Kaapi
While having cup of Cafe du Monde coffee chicory blend with milk and sugar (any other way felt plain wrong), it crossed my mind that this is not so different from Madras Kaapi that I remember very well from childhood. It is not an aroma to forget. My concoction made in a rickety French Press was not quite the decoction that defines good kaapi, but it brought back memories. There was a grandma in my neighborhood back when I was a kid that made some seriously good coffee.
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