One of the few things I probably could not live without is coffee. Now I am not one of those who slumps out of bed and needs my joe before you can speak to me. I have not become an addict of caffeine. I actually will go days or even weeks without the stuff, but oh do I enjoy my coffee.
My infatuation with coffee started a long time ago. Not in some culinary moment of zen or a romantic interlude that ended with her offering me a cappuccino bedside after a night of passion. My entrance into the wondrous world of that magical potion was a pragmatic one.
While stationed in the Persian Gulf during Desert Storm we were working 12+ hr days and coffee was my crutch. In a land where my beer is banned and wine is wicked, I sought refuge in a jolt of joe that pushed me through my long days. Mind you, back then I was drinking Army coffee. The stuff that songs are sarcastically sung, with references to mud and muck. Half a cup of milk and a ladle of sugar seemed the appropriate accoutrements to this wretched excuse for a beverage, but for the time being, coffee became a part of my morning routine.
The years moved on and my palette became a bit more educated. The king of beers was replaced with a Belgium brew. Wine went from pink to purple and my java, well that took some time. The search for the perfect cup of coffee went on for years. Then I moved to Baltimore.
One hazy morning, my brother and I cruised down to the Baltimore Farmers Market. My head was fuzzy, but the crisp morning air brought me about and I smelled a magical scent swirling through the crowd. I instantly knew that alluring aroma. My synapses fired in succession and B lined me toward that scent. Standing before me was a line of fellow fiends waiting to get their fill of what has now become my favorite purveyor of my morning potion, Zeke's coffee.