Caffeine is a helluva drug
Today, I remembered why I love coffee so. On my desk, I have a quite nifty looking, high powered, automatic coffee machine from Gevalia that I scammed from them for $14 (along with 3lb of gourmet coffee). In my desk, I have around 5 different varieties of coffee. There’s 2 varieties of Gevalia (Amaretto Cherry, and Irish Cream), Kona Coffee from Hawaii, about an 8th of a pound of some Raspberries and Cream coffee (unopened) that someone gave me, a bag of King Cake flavored coffee, which, not surprisingly, doesn’t actually taste much like King Cake, some assorted hotel coffees and, of course, my very favorite, Community Coffee - a New Orleans favorite. I also have a French Vanilla coffee syrup that is yummy when mixed with milk.
With all these fine grounds at my immediate disposal, one would think that I ingest the stuff like a regular Juan Valdez, but in reality, while I probably went through 6 lb last year, I’ve only used it maybe 3 times this year. This is in many ways tragic, but mostly due to the fact that I’ve made a conscious effort to not do homework any more when it can be avoided. As such, I haven’t had much reason to use it. And, as a result, I’d forgotten about its magic.
Last night, I had a big lab to write up for Physics, and since I’d spent my weekend in love’s embrace instead of embracing my work, I had a long night ahead of me. That coupled with the fact that I had classes all morning, a grappling match in the afternoon, Pipe and Drums practice at night, and was tired already, I knew I was gonna need some help. I washed the coffee pot and grabbed my stash from the desk… I felt a bit like a retired Batman, dusting off the Bat suit for one last ride.
I threw in 6 scoops of the ole Community and fired that motha up. I got out the sugar and creamer and ingested its sweet sweet, slightly bitter liquid energy. And it was good. And I was up till 4 AM writing without blinking. I slept 2 hours, woke up, had another cup and breakfast and drove through the day. At some point, my caffeine fuel supply will give out, and then I may die, but for now, I am living my high.
I have to wonder if this like that first trip on cocaine that people talk about… Will I never feel this good from coffee again? Will I be forever chasing this first high? Will I need to wait another year before I can feel it again? Questions I wonder about.
It’s not like I can move on to harder stuff… I’m already up to Community with Chicory, which is a pretty dark New Orleans roast. My old Discrete Dynamical Systems (DDS) teacher used to tell us to start off light… like with a breakfast roast, and then move up to French Roast over time. But I’d put my Ameri-French (cause that’s what New Orleans is, after all) Roast up against the best of the best French Roasts any day. Bring it, Frenchies.
For all the gourmet coffees I have, nearly all of which were gifts, I still stand by coffee flavored coffee. You can take your apricot almond apple swirl latte crapachino and go sit on a park bench under a rainbow contemplating how gay your are while I take my Army Mess Hall coffee, which tastes oddly of turpentine and cigarettes, and fight the communists. It takes all types I guess.
Now, granted, my Community tastes a great deal better than the swill you’ll find in the Mess Hall, but it still just tastes like coffee. The only addition besides the coffee bean in a bitter herb called Chicory, which you’ll find in most New Orleans coffee blends, dating back to the Civil War. Maybe it’s my N’awlins heritage that gives me my affection for the caffeine laced substance. New Orleans is the biggest coffee port in the country and coffee is a large part of life in New Orleans. It’s been said that New Orleans birthed the coffee break. Said Lyle Saxon in 1928,
“It is no unusual thing for a business man to say casually: ‘Well, let's go and get a cup of coffee,’ as a visitor in his office is making ready to depart. It is a little thing perhaps, this drinking of coffee at odd times, but it is very characteristic of the city itself. Men in New Orleans give more thought to the business of living than men in other American cities. . . . I have heard Northern business men complain bitterly about these little interruptions for coffee or what-not.”
Damn Yankee businessmen need to wake up and smell the Café au Lait. It’s not always work, work, work. Sometimes you just need to enjoy a cup of coffee and a couple beignets. That’s why only New Orleans could do Mardi Gras or the Jazzfest. Of course, this may well be why most industry in New Orleans has since collapsed, but hey, at least we went out in style. Laissez les Bon Temps Roulez, non? After all, who plans a Spring Break vacation to Detroit? Exactly. But I digress…
In any event, I think I’m addicted again, and after only one hit. Ah the weakness of the flesh. Thank God I’m not a Mormon.
I love coffee.
With all these fine grounds at my immediate disposal, one would think that I ingest the stuff like a regular Juan Valdez, but in reality, while I probably went through 6 lb last year, I’ve only used it maybe 3 times this year. This is in many ways tragic, but mostly due to the fact that I’ve made a conscious effort to not do homework any more when it can be avoided. As such, I haven’t had much reason to use it. And, as a result, I’d forgotten about its magic.
Last night, I had a big lab to write up for Physics, and since I’d spent my weekend in love’s embrace instead of embracing my work, I had a long night ahead of me. That coupled with the fact that I had classes all morning, a grappling match in the afternoon, Pipe and Drums practice at night, and was tired already, I knew I was gonna need some help. I washed the coffee pot and grabbed my stash from the desk… I felt a bit like a retired Batman, dusting off the Bat suit for one last ride.
I threw in 6 scoops of the ole Community and fired that motha up. I got out the sugar and creamer and ingested its sweet sweet, slightly bitter liquid energy. And it was good. And I was up till 4 AM writing without blinking. I slept 2 hours, woke up, had another cup and breakfast and drove through the day. At some point, my caffeine fuel supply will give out, and then I may die, but for now, I am living my high.
I have to wonder if this like that first trip on cocaine that people talk about… Will I never feel this good from coffee again? Will I be forever chasing this first high? Will I need to wait another year before I can feel it again? Questions I wonder about.
It’s not like I can move on to harder stuff… I’m already up to Community with Chicory, which is a pretty dark New Orleans roast. My old Discrete Dynamical Systems (DDS) teacher used to tell us to start off light… like with a breakfast roast, and then move up to French Roast over time. But I’d put my Ameri-French (cause that’s what New Orleans is, after all) Roast up against the best of the best French Roasts any day. Bring it, Frenchies.
For all the gourmet coffees I have, nearly all of which were gifts, I still stand by coffee flavored coffee. You can take your apricot almond apple swirl latte crapachino and go sit on a park bench under a rainbow contemplating how gay your are while I take my Army Mess Hall coffee, which tastes oddly of turpentine and cigarettes, and fight the communists. It takes all types I guess.
Now, granted, my Community tastes a great deal better than the swill you’ll find in the Mess Hall, but it still just tastes like coffee. The only addition besides the coffee bean in a bitter herb called Chicory, which you’ll find in most New Orleans coffee blends, dating back to the Civil War. Maybe it’s my N’awlins heritage that gives me my affection for the caffeine laced substance. New Orleans is the biggest coffee port in the country and coffee is a large part of life in New Orleans. It’s been said that New Orleans birthed the coffee break. Said Lyle Saxon in 1928,
“It is no unusual thing for a business man to say casually: ‘Well, let's go and get a cup of coffee,’ as a visitor in his office is making ready to depart. It is a little thing perhaps, this drinking of coffee at odd times, but it is very characteristic of the city itself. Men in New Orleans give more thought to the business of living than men in other American cities. . . . I have heard Northern business men complain bitterly about these little interruptions for coffee or what-not.”
Damn Yankee businessmen need to wake up and smell the Café au Lait. It’s not always work, work, work. Sometimes you just need to enjoy a cup of coffee and a couple beignets. That’s why only New Orleans could do Mardi Gras or the Jazzfest. Of course, this may well be why most industry in New Orleans has since collapsed, but hey, at least we went out in style. Laissez les Bon Temps Roulez, non? After all, who plans a Spring Break vacation to Detroit? Exactly. But I digress…
In any event, I think I’m addicted again, and after only one hit. Ah the weakness of the flesh. Thank God I’m not a Mormon.
I love coffee.