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So I decided to write about it..
As I sit here sipping upon my percolated and caffeinated latte, I ponder the many superlative and speculative journeys that the magic coffee bean travels upon. From its warm cozy home on the vine, it is plucked fourth from it source of life. Like a dagger to the heart the coffee bean fades away. "Don't look at the light", his fellow bean brothers and sisters holler. But alas, their cries are in vane. But in death there is life. From the coffee bean plant to bean travels an illustrious trip nestled cozily in a bag made of burlap and twine, to the factory that will process his lifeless carcass. For this is not the final resting place for the bean. This superb bean is then aged, like a fine wine, and then heated to ensure that all the glorious flavors and aromas are sealed in. That is until we take the bean and place it into the desolate environment we call "the grinder". It has been said that no bean has ever made it back in one piece from the grinder. That is of course what we long for. For the remains of the bean are now reduced to a pile of grounds. With these grounds we will filter through water that is, how do you say, ah yes, very hot. And out pours the liquid that gives me life in the early hours of the days first light. It is like music for the soul. A precarious tune that is pounded out on the ivories by Mozart or Yanni, only it is liquid for my belly. I fell a symphony taking place as the caffeine enters my veins, stimulating my nerve endings and receptors. The coursing sensation awakens me and brings me to life. Ah yes, went owe so much to the magic elixir that came from one simple bean. For not for the bean, we would have to drink a coke or something like that.
Oh boy...
As I sit here sipping upon my percolated and caffeinated latte, I ponder the many superlative and speculative journeys that the magic coffee bean travels upon. From its warm cozy home on the vine, it is plucked fourth from it source of life. Like a dagger to the heart the coffee bean fades away. "Don't look at the light", his fellow bean brothers and sisters holler. But alas, their cries are in vane. But in death there is life. From the coffee bean plant to bean travels an illustrious trip nestled cozily in a bag made of burlap and twine, to the factory that will process his lifeless carcass. For this is not the final resting place for the bean. This superb bean is then aged, like a fine wine, and then heated to ensure that all the glorious flavors and aromas are sealed in. That is until we take the bean and place it into the desolate environment we call "the grinder". It has been said that no bean has ever made it back in one piece from the grinder. That is of course what we long for. For the remains of the bean are now reduced to a pile of grounds. With these grounds we will filter through water that is, how do you say, ah yes, very hot. And out pours the liquid that gives me life in the early hours of the days first light. It is like music for the soul. A precarious tune that is pounded out on the ivories by Mozart or Yanni, only it is liquid for my belly. I fell a symphony taking place as the caffeine enters my veins, stimulating my nerve endings and receptors. The coursing sensation awakens me and brings me to life. Ah yes, went owe so much to the magic elixir that came from one simple bean. For not for the bean, we would have to drink a coke or something like that.
Oh boy...
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