(Repost: Originally posted Aug 17th, 2010 – What can I say, I like this one.)
I started drinking coffee at the age of six, not because my parents were irresponsible—they were in fact better people than I can ever hope to become—but because I spent an unusual amount of time in the company of coffee drinkers. Both of my parents were recovering Alcoholics, (You are always recovering by the way) and both committed large portions of their lives to helping others cope with their disease.
Back in the 60’s and 70’s AA meetings had two very distinctive elements: cigarette smoke as thick as a London fog and coffee brewed endlessly in the largest attainable brewing device within driving distance. While I am sure that the pall of smoke has today been relegated to a nearby alcove or outdoor “designated” smoking area, I suspect the coffee still runs like the bulls at Pamplona—every day of the year. And apparently, the best way to fend off the contact buzz from the Stygian gloom of a nicotine cloud is to drink coffee in tiny foam cups with red plastic stirs that poke your fore-head as you try to slurp up the coffee flavored sugar ooze in the bottom.
