For the majority of my life, I have boldly been a professing coffee lover. Inevitably destined to inherit a passion for the bean from my ancestors, I embraced my genetic predisposition whole heartedly and presented no resistance to the creamy goodness in my morning mug.
Offering more than just comfort in a cup, this love contributed to the enrichment of countless life experiences and it wasn’t long before I found myself in pursuit of this delicious hot beverage through the streets of Munich and the hills of Hawaii.
But why was I so persistent in finding this drink in particular? No other means of nourishment ever reached this level of precedence on my personal scale of importance. To contribute this obsession to taste alone would be ridiculous (and slightly embarrassing). And you can forget trying to chalk it up to the insane amounts of caffeine the beverage contains. I can see most of you raising your brows in cynical skepticism but it’s true and as proof, I swore off caffeine in late 2005 and have since successfully avoided even a single relapse.
The true greatness of the grinds is this and I believe the great Gestalt thinkers would be please to hear me say that while I fully believe that the taste, texture and temperature are all wonderfully simple things that contribute to the greatness of this concoction, yet truly the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. (For you left brainers out there, think of it as exponential as opposed to multipliable).
With its presence, conversations became more decadent, mornings more manageable, and it’s safe to say that this bean juice eventually evolved into my adult safety blanket. Being that it became a startlingly strong connection to comfort, I ensured a steaming cup accompanied me to every strange, stressful or new situation I managed to fall into. Morning, afternoon and evening were all perfectly wonderful times time indulge in Java and the frequency of my addiction was no doubt fueled by my seasonal Germanic habitat.
Upon returning to the States I continued in my constant consumption and eventually a four year career emerged out of this love as I found myself the proud member of a population of baristas. It's true, I was one in the elite group who could actually explain the difference between a light or dark roast and whom forwent decent salaries to simply bring you the goodness of the grinds (or so they want you to think). Nevertheless, most facets of my life were in one way or another connected to these beans.
Then something changed. While enjoying a visit to two soul friends of mine in the South-west region of our northern neighbor, I was offered a cup of tea. Not opposed to other hot drinks I readily accepted; after all, I even owned a few boxes of the stuff myself. Little did I know that the Canadian-purchased black leaf tea was so… delicious? I literally drank through the whole can of that stuff (leaving one sole tea bag behind in an effort to console my greedy guilt).
Surprisingly it was STRONG. An outcome I solely attributed to my precious beans. But for some reason, I was completely taken by those leaves. Hot, strong, delicious… all central traits of coffee, but tea did one more for me; it completely addressed my thirst.
Dare I say who knew? No, and please don’t think me that ignorant. Because I am well aware that the other 5/8th of the world have been practically founding their civilizations and staking their survival on the stuff.
Needless to say, my leafy consumption did not cease after that first weekend of bliss. Soon I was captivated (and yes slightly addicted). But amidts all the fasination with my new found drink of choice I can forsee one prominant question...is there such a thing as bad tea? YES! Heavens yes…weak, fruity ingredients that equate to nothing more than purplish- red water that looks like someone dipped their paint-by-number paint brush in your cup (and tastes just like it would if someone dipped their paint-by-number paint brush in your cup).
Truth be told there is some pretty bad coffee out there as well and as a rule of thumb, I have developed the habit of never ordering drip coffee from any commercial joint (including Starbucks) because no matter where you to you get tan colored water that reminds your taste buds of the last time you licked your shoe strings. Unless you happen to be in Vienna in which case expect the texture to be something similar to syrup and the taste to deliver a thorough slap in the face. But both done right (and by right I mean quality leaves or beans brewed STRONG) and I’m a happy camper.
So who wins? For today, I believed the leaves take the lead, but ask me tomorrow, and the beans could once again be number one. Regardless if anyone else thinks it’s possible to be a coffee AND a tea person, I am declaring myself as such right here, right now. No, you will not find me at the local grocers attacking the woman who took the last box of “Herbal Raspberry Zinger”, but you will find my kitchen well stocked of deep, strong black tea sitting comfortably on the shelf right next to the carefully selected, aromatic beans.
