[1] #74: Black Coffee

2:39pm

This may well be the most difficult, straining task of all seventy-seven set out. As I write this first part, I have not yet accomplished this goal... but I will soon. I am determined.

3:17pm

I felt particularly adult as I ordered my drink from the little Tim Horton's kiosk in the Burlington Mall. The feeling died down a bit when I requested my 80 cents change to come back in the form of dimes, and vanished completely under the crimson veil of my full-faced flush when I realized she was a couple dimes short and would have to interrupt the other cashier to fill my order. I mumbled my apology and my thank-you and shuffled off quick as I could, coffee in hand.

To my surprise, the first sixteenth-of-an-inch was almost... pleasant. It started as a spreading warmth. A second before any kind of flavour hits the only thing my body registers is the heat that relaxes the muscles in my shoulders and sets off a chain reaction through my nervous system: a melting of the stiffness in the back of my neck, a sigh down my spine, my jaw eased. The pleasure  of this inspired a few emboldened mouthfuls. It was between two such gulps that the rebellion began.

My bitter receptors that were temporarily stunned by the dramatic temperature shift suddenly bolted into action and declared my mouth and my brain at war. My tongue became a field of battle between what I wanted (accomplishment of a daring culinary feat and the bragging rights that came with it), and what I absolutely, fiercely and with an astounding finality of decision DID NOT WANT: black coffee.

The conflict expressed itself on my face a few times, to strangers' vague concern and Loreen's amusement. A few potential solutions came to me as I wandered the mall on the hunt for a new pair of footwear (to replace the single pair of flats I've been wearing since June). The first thought was to alternate sips of coffee and sips of Bom Dia (a Brazilian fruit smoothie with no banana puree!). This was disgusting. Acai berry and pomegranate? Let me put it this way: if Tim Horton's ever decides to try this tropical-fruit duo as a flavour shot, I advise you pass. My second idea was chocolate... which led to the purchase of a coupled mini M&Ms tubes (one for Loreen, of course!) and I have to say this breakthrough took care of another 1/2 inch or so; unfortunately, I felt like a dirty cheat and put them away. My coffee is about room temperature at this point.

5:50pm

Between the mall and my grandparents' house I carry my coffee and nurse it slowly like a glass of wine (except rhinocerosly less enjoyable). By the time we show up for dinner just before six my cup is very cold and still very much black coffee. I leave it outside and opt for tea indoors.

11:26pm

Coffee: one inch and stinky.

Cup: weakening at the seams, much like my sanity.

Thoughts as they come:
~ I wish it was Roll up the Rim season so there was still some kind of hope a the end of this dark, bitter tunnel.
~ Loreen snores. I guess I should turn off the light soon. I am lying down. I did not plan this well.
~ This coffee tastes a bit like when we used to eat dandelion leaves that were still covered in grass flecks and dirt.
~ I was once told that Tim's puts a little cocoa in their coffee to make is sweeter and more addictive. I think they should up their dose.
~ The ceiling is very squeaky. I guess I should say floor, though. Both are true, but it is used much more as a floor in this particular home, if we're talking time as a percentage. I suppose if I was confined to bed-rest and I had to stay on my side and I went a little crazy, I might also start calling it a wall.
~ I do not want to finish this cup of coffee tonight. Or ever, actually, but tonight for sure. Coffee with my breakfast in the morning?

11:36pm

Breakfast it is.

10:37am

Woke up to the Grandfather Clock chiming nine times in the hallway. Stalled the coffee by reading a "Which Way Book" with Loreen; we were brainwashed into scientific submission and turned into a squirrel. Moral of the story, if you go into the lab there are no good options anymore. Run away with the boy in the net while you have the chance.

At breakfast my Grandma mercifully drained out my one inch of day-old coffee and replaced it with an inch of her own. It is certainly hotter than the alternative and I have to say, it did taste better - but there were coffee grinds settling in my cup, and that was a new thing. At 10:48am the last, victorious drop was consumed! And I have to tell you, I am a little proud of myself. 

So there you have it; one small black coffee, crossed off my list.