Wednesday, May 16, 2001


some server problems kept me from publishing yesterday; please accept my apologies. yesterday's post dealt obsessively with the iced coffee i made from the caffe d'arte beans. by now it's almost needless to say that the coffee was perfection, rich, light, so very not bitter, and with a creamy head of foam as the french press plunger glided through. i made this pot at my office and its intoxicating aroma drew my poor starbucks-loving colleagues to my desk.

"the coffee here never smells like that," said one. the body of the coffee in the french press' etched glass cylinder glowed, a dark, jewel-like aubergine color, similar to wine. it contrasted so beautifully with earthy reddish brown foam, so near to the color you see in the murals of pompeii.

i've been making coffee at my desk now in a french press every morning for nearly the whole year i've worked here. i used to make peet's sulawesi. and i would offer the coffee to whomever wanted any, to save having to walk all around the office to the kitchen. but rarely would anyone take a cup.

and again, even with this compelling caffe d'arte, no one would actually dare to try any. the fear of the new and unknown. . .all i can do is offer. i've learned that it's the rare person who is willing to step up and try a different thing. sometimes these people are wild-eyed experience mongers. but the quiet, open personality is hard to find, and i always try to make friends with those types.

as for today, i'm still enjoying the pitcher of iced coffee i made yesterday with milk and a touch of sugar. it's a breezy spring day, just a tad cool. the weather this spring has been so changeable -- three hot days followed by a few cool days, three hot days, etc. -- but today had an unusual freshness about it.

walking down montague street in brooklyn heights, as everyone scurried to work, you couldn't help noticing how the wind turned the new leaves over and back in the sunlight. it was one of those mornings where when you get on the subway you are struck by how beautiful everyone looks, even as they droop against the poles with a crumpled newspaper.

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