Its 7:41 am and of course I am up at this time on my day off. My mother just went to work and my sister is upstairs sleeping. Dad is at work and my girlfriend is sleeping as well. I am an early bird by nature it appears even if I complain about it on the inside. My usual routine is to brush my teeth and run to the Keurig to make coffee. I have the model that comes with it’s own K cup and you can put your own coffee in it. Of course, being in a Puerto Rican household, Bustelo coffee is a necessity. So as the coffee was done brewing and I put a generous splash of whole milk (Note: I usually use half and half but have neglected to buy a new one.) the taste brought me back to being in my grandma Mima’s house as a kid.
My grandma is in every essence an oldschool Puerto Rican abuela. She makes pasteles the old fashioned way, her cooking is reminiscent of someone who was born and raised on that beautiful island and she also makes her coffee the old school way. No Keurigs in her house. She uses what I like to call the “sock filter” (it isn’t an actual sock by the way) and the coffee kettle. I may be saying these terms extremely wrong but in English, I know the name for the filter is “colador.” I can’t remember the name of the actual kettle. I need to make a mental note to ask my grandma so I can edit this blog on another day.
Tasting my coffee this morning made me miss my abuela a lot and I would love to go see her this weekend. Thankfully, I still have both of my grandmothers with me. My coffee reminded me of spending countless days at Mima’s with my cousins sneaking sips out of her cup when she would go to the bathroom. I also can still hear her yelling at us in Spanish calling us all kinds of names. Trust me, the wrath of a Puerto Rican abuela is still felt even when they are in a joking mood. Her coffee still has that same taste from childhood. Strong and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. Her coffee is the very foundation for my love of coffee today. Also may be the reason for me not growing much over the years in height, LOL! Please don’t ever tell her that. I do not want a chancleta thrown at me or worse!
A taste of childhood is just what I needed to bring me back to my roots. A reminder that life is precious and beautiful. To never forget your inner child.
– Writer From Jersey