taza grande de café turco

Ava drinks more coffee than anyone I know.  Isabella is off caffeine but I know she looks longingly at coffee and misses it.  I do not drink coffee.  ICK!  The smell is lovely and I love the idea of coffee.  I really love the idea of coffee culture: having a 15 word description necessary to order what I want, sitting around coffee houses and cafes, that sort of thing.  I just can’t bring myself to drink it.

On that note, this from the daily calendar:

What was fueling Honore de Balzac’s prolific literary output?  Why, the same thing that helps millions of Americans brace for those interminable nine-o’clock meetings: good old-fashioned high-octane java.  The strung-out Frenchman drank up to fifty cups of thick, black, Turkish coffee per day.  When he couldn’t get his fix in brewed form, he simply pulverized a handful of beans and popped them into his gullet.  “Coffee is a great power in my life,” Balzac admitted.  “I have observed its effects on an epic scale.” And he suffered them, too.  The high quantities of industrial-strength joe gave him stomach cramps, contributed to his high blood pressure, and left him with an enlarged heart.  Caffeine poisoning – not to mention his gluttonous lifestyle – contributed to his early demise at age fifty-one.

Well, good grief.  Imagine if there had been a Starbucks in 1820’s Paris.  You’ll have to admit, he looks a bit strung out in this picture.

It would be a Grande, 2 pump Vanilla, Non-Fat, Extra Hot, Latte with a tipple shot of espresso.

And some extra coffee beans if you have them handy.