Someone implied, today, that I am… discriminating in how I like my coffee. I thought I’d share my response.
After reading this, imagine how I order dinner and when the waitress asks me how I want something cooked?
“[Deleted name], I’m retired Army. Ex-Special Forces.I like my coffee dead. I don’t care if it has cream, but no sugar, please. American or imported. Hell, the best coffee I’ve ever had was in Haiti. No, French Commando School. No, New York City. No, Pisa, Italy during the Festival of Lights. No, in Garmisch, Germany. No, Moscow, Russia. No, Los Angeles. No, Xian, China. No, Hawaii. No, Seoul, Korea. No, Panama. No, my ex-wife’s sister. (Oops) No, in Las Vegas but it didn’t stay in Vegas. No…I am not discerning, not discriminating, not picky.
If it’s dead, I’ll eat it. If it’s liquid, I’ll try to drink it. If it’s female… let’s not go there. “
In other words, I’ve eaten and enjoyed Army food, American, and many others. I love the food, the coffee, but, most of all, I love the people with whom I share the food and the coffee. Most of all, I enjoy the companionship.
Probably the single best drinking experience I ever had was in the middle lodge at Kitzbuhel, Austria, with my ski school class, about 11 in the morning. We were tired, we were sweating, we were happy beyond belief. The coffee and the Jagermeister flowed freely, smiles all around. We had come from all over the world, didn’t all speak the same languages, but, damn, we had a great time. I just remember the rich warmth of the coffee, the glow of the Jagermeister, and the brilliant smiles of everybody at the table. Life was very good that day.
I still want to enjoy coffee in South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, Myanmar, Mali, Nigeria, India, Egypt, Mongolia, Singapore… Go ahead, invite me to speak, work there, research, consult. Go ahead…