Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Will Work for Coffee -- or Money.
As a poor writer I am frequently searching craigslist for jobs or gigs that allow me to work, make some money, and still have lots of time to devote to The Book. The other day I saw an ad for the making of a "coffee documentary." They asked for a statement about coffee and the role it plays in my life. In return (if chosen) I would get $450. Sounds good to me.
Here is what I jotted down this morning and sent off to the film makers. What do you think?
As a non-Mormon born and raised in Salt Lake City, Utah, coffee was a source of confusion and angst. Mormons disavow caffeine in any form and in the early 80s were inherently skeptical of those who did not share their faith and its practices. The mere sight of the coffee percolator on the counter top was enough to inspire pained looks, and in some cases, meant the end of a friendship. Who could be friends with a girl whose parents drank coffee?
Coffee ruled in my home; there were stiff pots brewed every morning My mother drank it all day, realizing only later that the not-so-subtle spike made her jittery in the afternoon and unable to sleep at nights, two side effects that may or may not have subtly influenced her mothering skills. As a little girl who was sometimes unable to sleep, the sound of coffee brewing meant the evening ten o’clock news was about to come on: my father always enjoyed a cup before bed. It is safe to say that I grew up thinking that if you sliced my arm open, coffee would flow.
Despite all this, I did not become interested in caffeine until college, even then I used it only as a way to stay up late and study. It usually didn’t work as well as I’d hoped. After college I moved to cold and rainy Seattle. This is where the love affair began. We’d collectively stop work at about ten in the morning and walk together to a sleek coffee shop with delightfully fogged windows for a frothy cappuccino or strong cup of joe.
Nearly ten years later, I am hardly myself in the mornings without my cup of coffee; hardly happy in the afternoon without the occasional pick-me-up, and relish a short, neat espresso at the end of a long dinner.
My coffee indulgences are completely dependent on what is paired with it; I hardly ever drink it alone. Lattes are drunk along side thick slices of toast, muffins, or oatmeal; black coffee goes with cereal and eggs. I like a cappuccino in the afternoon alongside a mildly sweet biscuit or slice of tea cake. I fleck my cappuccinos with cinnamon and raw sugar that I don’t stir entirely into the espresso. I like the crunch of the sugar and the subtle sweetness of the milk as I lick it from the spoon. After dinner is the time for an espresso with a dollop of whipped cream if I am feeling particularly decadent.
I like rich, dark coffee with notes of dark chocolate and spice. I like it hot or cold, depending on the weather, and as brewed coffee or espresso depending on my mood. Those coffee drinks? I don’t care for them, unless I am on a road trip; under that duress I have been known to crack a can of pre-fab coffee or two.
Coffee, coffee, coffee. I am still fairly sure that if you sliced my arm open, the brown stuff would flow.