If you're like me, your brain has to be jump started each morning with several jolts of high quality caffeine. I'm not talking about pre- ground pre-packaged name brand coffee sold in supermarkets. My engine runs on high octane: Fresh whole beans from Colombia, Brazil, Java, fat as your thumb, bursting with the black essence of caffeine. Make no mistake; the perfect cup of coffee is a daily grind, in your electric grinder, using top quality beans.
For the discriminating bean fiend who neeeds high performance fuel in his tank, a trusworthy source is essential. Fortunately, I have a friend in the bean trade who deals nearby - Al. Al, himself a notorious bean fiend, stocks only #1 quality coffee beans from an American wholesaler known as First Colony. Beans of every persuasion can be found in this multinational colony, from Java to Jamaica, and French Brandy to Swiss Chocolate. With such selection each morning can be addressed diffferently. A subtly nut-flavoured cup of Kenyan to ease you into Thursday, or a full twelve volt boost of French Mocha to stand you up on a Monday.
My monthly trek to Al's bean barrels is a ceremony steeped in tradition. The door chimes jingle as I walk in. Al looks up from his place behind the counter and smiles.
"There he is," he says.
I accept a cup from Al's ever present house pot, and discuss the merits of his latest experimentation. Then, I move to his barrels and set to work. After years of tasting different combinations, I believe I have arrived at the ultimate blend of beans. One part Colombian, one part Java, one part Bourbon Santos, then three full measures French Mocha. Finally, la piece de resistance: Four measures of First Colony's coconut flavoured beans.
Yeah! Fresh ground and brewed with a filter-drip system, you have a bracing potion; full-bodied, invigorating, subtle as a runaway moose.
"So they haven't got you yet, have they?" Al says.
Al is referring to the Mellow crowd. While coffee has risen to prominence as a serious pleasure, worthy of refinement, the Mellow- heads, who are coffee's nay sayers, have become increasingly vocal.
"I hear they're agitating for separate Mellow Sections in restaurants and public places," I say.
"Mellow Sections?" Al is aghast. "Non-caffeine areas. Hyperactivity not allowed." "My God. Who will stop them?":
I shake my head sadly. The Mellow-heads have been getting a lot of air time lately. These are the commercials where you see people with perpetually windswept hair and golden tans walking around beaches looking serenne. The key to maintaing this comatose state is to drink a freeze-dried conconction from which 97% of the raison d'etre has been removed.
"When will come the day each package of coffee contains a warning from the Surgeon-General?" Al continued.
"Tell me Al," I said, difgging out a scoop of Java, "have you ever wanted to go mellow?"
My question seemed to catch him by surprise. He continued weighing beans and tallying on the cash register, saying nothing. Then he looked up.
"Yes John, there was once a time." He paused a moment, polishing his glasses. "It happened years ago when I worked at a shoe company. My boss suggested I was acting edgy and irritable because I drank too much coffee. I responded by breaking a chair over his head. They took me to a Caffeine Dry-Out Centre. Somewhere in the wilds north of Barrie." This was unexpected. I listened in fascination as Al told of six weeks of caffeine cold turkey, forced tanning, exercise and meditation classes.
"You wouldn't have recognized me when I was released," Al continued, "My only concerns were good vibes and the right kind of margarine. I returned to my job in the city. On a ten-speed, of course. I immediately began organizing an exercise break to replace morning coffee breaks, and took a collection for gym equipment. I encouraged others to get in touch with their auras. When called upon to give a comment on a sales project, I would answer, "For sure, I think I know where you're coming from." My friends couldn't stand it. Finally, one day my secretary offered to refill my Sanka cup. She put in the Sanka all right, the poured black coffee on top of it. I drank it without noticing. Suddenly, a hot flash electrified my brain. The scales fell from my eyes, self-realization possessed me. I immediately strode into my boss's office and broke another chair over his head. Then I left for good. I set up my little retail outlet here shortly after."
"Wow! That's some story Al," I marveled. "What was it, your great realization?"
He spoke with conviction. "Mellow is excruciatingly dull."
"I'll drink to that," I said. We clicked our styrofoam cups together, and swigged.
"Yep," said Al, "it feels good to be alive."
Author: John Burgess.
