I’m debunking
this as bluntly as possible - it is not the coffee. It seems that the black,
bitter cup has nothing to do with why I love it so much.
I am now hearing a
rushing river underneath as I take this cup on a small store (tiangge)
located at the foot of a steel bridge in Buenos Aires Mountain Resort, Bago
City, Negros Occidental. ‘Kapehan ni Toto’ has gained notoriety among coffee
hunters of all classes - bikers, trekkers, vacationists - in search for
caffeine fix. It is a cool morning, and
with all the trees surrounding, the brew is magnified. It tastes better in
higher places perhaps. By better, I mean a rich aftertaste, thicker concoction
minus the slightly sour aftertaste common with wannabe-brews by wannabes (I left my phone in the room, forever losing the chance for a a snapshot - it would not come as a surprise if you'll have no idea of what I'm writing about)
But for all I
know, it may not be the coffee.
I frequent
Madge Coffee at La Paz Market in Iloilo when I can. Two - store -blocks of a
time machine disguised as a coffee house. The family business has run for
almost 60 years or so, handed down from generation to generation of the De la
Cruz’. Clean, neat and unpretentious. It does not aim to dethrone the current
trends of fancy coffee with creams whipped like Imelda’s ‘do. No. Yes, there
are options for that type, but Madge’s thrives in the steady orders of ‘native’
coffee and local pan de siosa (local bread which looks like three-pack abs -
seriously) with margarine. Their brew is lighter than Toto’s but still packs
great taste. It passes on your tongue and most often, is misinterpreted by the
brain as nicotine (No, I don’t smoke. But my brain has funny ways of
interpreting senses and linking each, taste and scent, sound. etc.). I love the
place, great customer skills, warm market vibe (sans the wet pavements i hate),
and posters of products of yore. Okay, I’m hesitant - but I’m dropping this
over-wrought and abused word just for that point - its purely vintage.
Now vintage has
nothing to with coffee. I’m getting the hang of this.
I love early
mornings in the local coffee stores. Fighting cock breeders, small groups
after-morning-run sessions, the “kubrador” for the local lotteries, basketball,
politics, boxing, networking schemes, tambays (a colloquial derivative of
‘stand-by’ or a bystander), drivers, pedicab drivers, basketball, art, music,
plans, auto parts, more basketball, writers, blank drafts, thinkers and
faux-thinkers, more and more basketball - name it. All of these and more,
swimming in the endless flow of smoking black liquid poured ad- infinitum over
swirling cigarette smokes cut by the morning light.
Coffee is the
cushion by which all the dynamics and interactions of thoughts, arguments,
and stories take off to insane heights.
The above
meccas for coffee pilgrims do not have neon-lit signs, marquees, social
networking approved pages (I may be wrong on this, as I write though) but their
tables are filled while cups served always emptied.
The commoners -
the grassroots - the bubbling dynamism - draw me to the endless cups and
emerald glasses. The stories abounding, the place where people come as they
are, slippers and sweat, greased hands or even those with expensive cars
seeking the anonymity these places offer. In these crowds, there is no need to
sport the latest iPhone. Fact is no one could care less if you whip out the 100th
incarnation of the almighty Apple box. Well, except for pickpockets.
Same act,
different edit: Let us take the case of the fancy coffee culture. Espressos,
drip, americano, macchiato, lattes, mochaccinos, camesa-ccinos - whatever. You
spent a third of your days’ wages for that cup - surely there has to be
something to go with a beverage that’s barely an ounce. How about a selfie? A
Wefie? A snapshot for the food blog?
With it comes a
culture of its own, a totally different world with its own set of rules. Yes,
please come in slippers. But make them LOUD slippers - Havajavayamanas or
whatnot, make it scream. Local neighborhood coffee doesn’t care if you come in
shorts - fancy coffee welcomes you in shorts - the VERY SHORT shorts. To make
the coffee experience complete, talk about stocks with hip back issue magazine
at hand. Amidst the glaring mismatch listen to the talk about other people,
auto parts, phone parts, latest downloads, basketball, books, vampires,
witches, more basketball, exchange students, the exchange students on the other
table, ideas, philosophies, gripes.
It is a
parallel universe after all. We are basically drawn towards communities who
stamp us a great deal of our identities by any means necessary: affirmation,
confirmation, acceptance, empathy, sympathy, therapy couches, back-slapping,
congratulations, families, affinities, free coffee, free-loading, advocacy,
culture, and who knows what more. Take any of the elements and slap the final
phrase “Coffee Group Meets Here Every (day/s of the week). We arrive and the
smiles are familiar, the greetings programmed to be welcoming, the handshakes
firm, and the coffee? Who cares?
Coffee badly
needs to take a backseat and get some rest it deserves.
Maybe it has
been too hyped as the cure-all for know-it-alls. Multiple charges are filed
daily in the court of the beverage kings. Counts on inspiring writers, artists,
musicians, political leaders, making discipleship and fellowship better,
creating revolutions and wrecking the status-quo, starting relationships,
ending relationships, or fueling works to status of international awards.
Yes, it has
switching and triggering capacities, but come to think of it : It was you who wrote the
draft. Who pored through the problem and traced the flow and troubleshoot the
things? You did. And - It is you who passionately spoke of boys, girls, cars,
fishing, farming, deadlines, struggles, vampires, basketball teams, football
free kicks, and who knows what else.
Maybe, at the
other side of coffeedom, coffee beans convene too, over cups and
chuckling: “Puny humans. So they REALLY believe we are primary responsible for
their puny human activities?”
Wait -
obviously coffee beans don’t drink themselves. Now if it isn’t coffee, anybody has an idea what’s in their cups?
No comments:
Post a Comment