Do they serve coffee in heaven?
Many of us start our work day with coffee. Let’s forget about whether there are any health positives or negatives for doing so. Everything in moderation, yada yada yada, makes it a harmless addiction with mental benefits—that jolt of caffeine is a pleasant way to jumpstart our brains.
Of course, there’s coffee and then there’s great coffee. I’ve waged war against Starbucks coffee in these pages because their coffee is mediocre at best and tastes like burnt toast at worst. (Go ahead and sue me, Starbucks. The adage “any publicity is good publicity” applies, and it might be bad publicity for the ex-CEO who’s out to ruin Dem chances in 2020, a gift for “he who shall not be named”). Dunkin’s tastes like dirty water. (A personal opinion, just like my opinion about Starbucks coffee, but honest opinions are often attacked in litigious America. You can’t post a negative review of a business establishment anymore. And forget about writing one about a doctor who leaves a surgical instrument inside you.)
Our local Montclair diner (where Mikie Sherrill breakfasted on election day) serves a decent cup o’ joe. Good restaurants often do the same (my qualifier “good” depends on that, of course). I prefer the coffee I make at home, though—always good Colombian Arabica roasted just enough to pop out that rich flavor during the brew, and not too much to make it burnt-toast-flavored slop. I don’t drink that much (everything in moderation, yada yada yada)—just two mugs in the morning with a few additional smaller cups if we go out (decaf if it’s late).
I had the wonderful and interesting experience of teaching and doing research in Colombia for many years. The Colombians always told me they exported their best coffee. Didn’t seem like it. Maybe just jerkin’ this gringo’s chain? The coffee there was always good, and that tinto was served everywhere—you couldn’t talk business with anyone unless you started with tintos served in those dainty little cups, smaller than our coffee cups but bigger than espresso cups. (The word tinto is used for coffee in Colombia, not wine. For the latter, one must be more explicit and use vino tinto or vino rojo.)
My love affair with coffee started before my sojourn in Colombia, though. Cram sessions in grad school weren’t a success without coffee, for example. But I discovered real coffee in Colombia. Now I’d have to go into rehab for my addiction if I didn’t control it. Yeah, with the drug problems in the U.S. and the rest of the world right now, that’s a bad joke. As a young adult in the sixties (I went to Joan Baez and Simon and Garfunkel concerts and loved Dylan and the Beatles), I had ample opportunity to smoke weed. I never did (and didn’t need that “I didn’t inhale” excuse later on) because I considered my mind my most important asset (and still do, now that physical assets are on the decline). Coffee, on the other hand, is an addiction that clears my mind and makes me more alert. I traveled to Maryland from California and back, each way taking five days, my VW bug’s fuel being very little gasoline, my fuel being lots of coffee.
Now that I’m a full-time writer, coffee is even more essential. I couldn’t write a word without that jumpstart every morning. Readers wouldn’t have all those stories without those two mugs of java. Maybe that would be a good thing for the literary world, but that morning coffee allows me to write a lot of prose during my mornings. (I leave afternoons for more prosaic tasks—editing, marketing, social media, and short prose comprised of these posts and short fiction.)
I’ve never counted my daily writing output in kwords (writers should avoid that—just write the damn story). But I can write like someone possessed when that coffee takes effect. Reducing the dosage to one mug makes things drag a bit. I suppose some famous writers couldn’t write without their liquor. I couldn’t write a word without coffee—two mugs a day keeps the writer’s-block leprechauns away. (I never really have writer’s block, by the way, just lack of energy to write.)
I wonder if you get anything done in heaven without coffee. I used to play the Colombian tiple (in Colombia, I traded my guitar for one). Can’t imagine playing a harp in heaven a la Turlough O’Carolan (in many ways, a similar instrument) without coffee, though. Do they serve coffee in heaven?
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Comments are always welcome!
Aristocrats and Assassins. #4 in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series” is my favorite C&C book. In one very positive review with many kudos, the reviewer also commented that it could also serve as a model in a master class for authors who want to create a series: like all my books, it’s a completely independent story involving the detectives. Casilblanco is finally on vacation in Europe with his wife, and the action stays there. The assassins are terrorists, and the aristocrats are some European royals. Available at Amazon and Smashwords and all the latter’s affiliated retailers (iBooks, B&N, Kobo, etc).
Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!
