As I sit here, not doing homework, or house work, or wood work.. or any other kind of work I ponder the cup of coffee next to me. Its good but it’s not Nana’s house good. Knowutimean? I don’t know how my Nana does it- but every single time, she makes the perfect cup of coffee. Seriously she does. Her coffee is so rich and delicious that I went out and bought the same kind of coffee. My coffee didn’t taste like hers, so I then purchased the same coffee maker as my Nana’s. Still, my coffee couldn’t touch hers. The next time I was over I told her that I couldn’t get my coffee to taste like her coffee and I didn’t know why. So, my Nana gave me the same kind of scoop as she uses thinking maybe it was a measuring error. I was so excited that when I returned home I immediately made a pot of coffee. Nope. Not even close. I mean, it was good, but not Nana’s house good. Some time went by before I saw my Nana again. At that time she lived an hour away, two cities over. But the next time I saw her, we talked again about my failed attempt at her coffee. My Nana is sweet- her way to fix this problem was to have me make a pot at her house. She coached me with every step.. the end result was rich and delicious Nana coffee. My Nana said that perhaps it was the difference in our water. I lived in a town that had very hard water and she didn’t. So, she suggest I buy a gallon of distilled and give it a go. That sound like a fine idea, but I secretly just hoped that I had caught her magic touch as if it were contagious.
The very next morning I got up, scooped my beans, poured in my water – everything was perfect; no way I could fail.
I was wrong and I gave up.
When I saw my Nana next, she asked about the coffee and I told her I gave up because nothing I did could duplicate her coffee. I told her how I bought the same coffee, the same pot, used her scoop and bottled water…. and nothing worked. She laughs and says, “Well Suga (that’s what she calls me) it must be the cups!!”
I laughed too, but inside I knew why I couldn’t duplicate her coffee; I wasn’t her. There’s just something magical about a Nana. I know this because I’m a Nana now. I have a beautiful 18 month old granddaughter (Rae) and a grandson still in utero (Idris) He kinda looks like an alien right now. LOL I hope one day that one of those two will try as hard as I did to duplicate my coffee same as I did my Nana’s.
Nana’s house coffee isn’t the only coffee I love. I love the coffee houses around here too. They each taste different. Not because of different bean or flavors but because of atmosphere and because of whose company I’m sharing in. Courtney and I drink coffee that taste nutty and mild. Gosa and I drink coffee that’s serious and bold. My husband and I drink coffee that’s warm and relaxing. Make sense?
My dad calls coffee, “Bean Juice.” hahaha He also calls eggs, “hen fruit.” He’s a nut but hes a sweet nut. Growing up my Nana’s coffee maker sat on her gas stove. It was like some sort of glass percolator. One night I was ay my dads for dinner and he was using that coffee maker to heat water for iced tea. We had ourselves a whole conversation about that coffee maker.
That Christmas I unwrapped one. I cried. He said he had walked into a thrift store with his wife and there it was, sitting on a top shelf, dusty. He bought that pot for $7, and I can honestly say that I have never received a more perfect gift.