Rain was blowing sideways as our class walked into Batdorf & Bronson, and everyone was dripping wet and chilled through. As I passed through the doors, my glasses fogged up and the earthy aromas of freshly roasted and brewed coffee danced around me. I was transported to my childhood home-
I am sitting in front of the heater on a frozen morning in Wisconsin while my dad grinds coffee beans. I’m still in my pajamas, trying to warm up before I brave the snow, ice, and -20 degree windchill on my way to elementary school. My dad adds ground coffee to the humble french press, and the kettle begins to whine- my brother’s alarm clock. Before returning the coffee beans to their place on the shelf, my dad gingerly selects a few and tucks them in his palm. Still perched in front of the heater, I watch curiously as he reveals the beans and offers them to me. I gleefully accept and crunch on one that tastes dark like the winter sky. The warmth and bitterness cover my tongue until every fraction of each bean is gone.
The brewing coffee gives off its signature nutty and acidic aroma, and we move into the Wonka-like coffee roasting room, where memories linger just as the caffeine does.