BAD HABITS

Sometimes I think I never grew up. A sane adult would have spent the last hour or so in bed, listening to the rain, rather than getting up at an ungodly hour for coffee followed by a pipe when the temperature is in the low forties. But at least I'm not one of those psychopaths who start the day with black coffee, scalding hot, and bowl filled with some ghastly harsh over the counter aromatic (a "codger blend") that has a faint whiff of soap and caramel over the cheap drugstore steamed Burley. "Cavendish, son, I love the smell of cavendish in the morning."

In between televised sports, and hunting, shooting, fishing.

Damned all-American he-man nutballs.

Not me. Strong coffee, but made drinkable with milk and sugar. A decent Virginia blend, and if it's NOT raining a stout walking stick to clout psychos upside their pointy heads. This being San Francisco you must assume that before the crack of dawn there have to be psychos about. In addition to dog walkers and joggers. No, I haven't had to clout any one yet.

Mind you, I have tried a few of the crappy over the counter old codger blends. One or two bowls at best before keen disappointment. The only two that made favourable impressions were Brigg's Mixture and Carter Hall. The rest are suitable, in the main, for crusty old farts long divorced whose kinfolk avoid them. For excellent reasons.

If they had children, they managed to lose them.
If they had a dog the wife took it.
The cat left.

They can smoke their gunked-up pipes inside all day long because they live alone and never go out except to the corner store for a bottle, a can of pork luncheon meat, two cans of beans and a loaf of spongy bread, lottery tickets, and a foil packet of grand old codger weed.

The coffee? They have that delivered from Back East, the same outfit that supplied greasy spoon diners catering to hoboes and the down-and-out. It's extremely cheap.

One pot all day. Just add more water and reboil.


Here in SF we're rather particular about our coffee. Graffeo's is still operational, the Trieste also roasts their own beans (for inhouse and retail), Caffe Roma is available by mail order (the actual sit-down coffee shop closed a while back), plus there's Peet's, Blue Bottle, and several other quality coffee outfits. My friend the bookseller is discommoded because places catering to the very young tend to serve the lighter roasts instead of deep earthy spiritually fulfilling dark stuff. Apparently they don't want to infect the bright young things with angst.

He likes to sit down and read the sporting green with a good cup in the morning. Because he is not a pipesmoker, he doesn't have to brave the cold and wet slapping at the underbrush with his riding crop out on the heath grumbling about puritan non-smokers and their repressive regulations.

It's very wet and cold in the dessert, gringo.
Nothing but dingoes out there.


As soon as she leaves for work I'm shutting her door, opening a window, and firing up a bowl. And having another cup of coffee, with milk and sugar. And perhaps a cookie.



Black Java and Caramel Bourbon Grinch™, forsooth!



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