Did you ever drink or eat something while far away from home that you wanted to find again because it had an ineffable something to its taste or aroma?

For me it was a cup of coffee I had while visiting a friend in San Francisco in the 1980’s. (Yes, that’s how long I’ve been hoping I’ll once again taste that amazing coffee.)

I have tried every style bean, every way of making it, and while the coffee I drink is good – it’s not that one.

I will know it if/when I taste it again.

It could have been the water, that coffee batch, or the coffee itself could have had a particularly good growing year.

I get it. Let it go.

I’m still enjoying coffee. I wouldn’t want to have to live without it. It’s an elixir for me. It’s not just the taste – it’s the experience.

It’s the steam curling up out of my favorite mug into the chilly morning air as I sit on the porch steps. The coldness shivers me under my clothes, but cradling my hot coffee mug keeps me warm enough for those few moments of quiet reflection.

On that long ago visit, my friend brought us to some fancy hotel near Fisherman’s Wharf, or maybe it was the Embarcadero. She took my hand and pulled me along inside, telling me to just act like we had a room there.

There was an open buffet along the wall with delicious looking pastries, fruit, and other more hearty fare, but we were on a mission.

There were waxed-paper bags and to-go cups – so we did.

I so admired her brazenness. We got outside and laughed about our pilfered goods as we hurried to catch the ferry to Alcatraz.

My first sip of that coffee startled me with its strong, slightly bitter taste – but my second sip was better. Maybe the croissant I grabbed along with the coffee, the beaming sun, and the salty air as we sped toward Alcatraz combined to create an inimitable experience, but I still seek out that delicious taste that keeps me searching.

*

*

*

© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh), Making A Way Blog, 2010 – current