le café noir/ the back coffee

And because my previous post is so serious, deep, and maybe scary (though it is just part of the life), I am going to write right now a new post, about smth lighter, but smth I have been thinking about for a while.

As far as I can remember, I have always hated the taste of coffee. Paradoxally, I have always loved turning into the coffee to mix it with some sugar/ milk. Even when there is nothing to add, I liked to put the spoon into it, and just turn it. I can't really explain why. There is smth about the coffee that is beyond the simple purpose of it. This is an art work. The color of the coffee, deep black, the texture of it, dense and creamy on the top, it is pure softness while strong in taste.

When I do it, it's as if time was suspended, and I am loosing myself in that coffee, it's like falling in another time space. i can't focus on anything else but this coffee, its texture. I enjoy the way it turns creamy colored with the milk (that is why sometimes when I go to restaurant wth a set meal with coffee, I just do some experimentation to enjoy this time), it sounds sweeter and softer, like I would dive into it. However my bf doesn't drink it with milk, so I restreints myself with sugar. But that's all good fun: it is as if I could feel the molecular of sugar melting in the coffee, this sugar becoming part of it. Firstly, you can feel the grains of sugar in the coffee and on the bottom of the cup, it is unsmooth, and with turning the teaspoon inside, you help the sugar fuse the coffee. This is terrific.

I remember having tried coffee at my grandmother's place when I was very young (around 10). Except my nucelar family (parents & brothers& sister), all my relatives live in the north of France. So when we were cisitng them, it was usually for few days, and my paretns dropped us at our grandmothers' house while they were staying at the hotel. It was cheaper (we were at taht time 3: my sister, my brother and me), and we actually loved staying at their place. My mum's mother was the best for me, because she was very laxist, almost no rules, we could eat candies and other sweet things whenever we wanted to. She had also lots of toys in some dusty boxes in her garage, and Tintin's comics upstairs in the cupboard of my mother's old bedroom. With time, we knew them by heart but always loved to read it again and again.

So one morning I woke up with my sister, and we went downstairs to have a breakfast: usually milk, juice, cheese and bread, and also some jam. This was actually already unusual for us, at home breakast was always bread& nutella or cereals, but never salted food like cheese. That was so good. And this morning, my sister took a cup of coffee with milk. She was way to young to drink that. At home it was only for adults. But in my grandma's place, it was the no rule place, so we did what we couldn't do at home of course. Maybe she did it (and that's what I think) because my grandma was drinking that as well, and you know now, coffee is for grown up. So she took some. So did I. I didn't want to do like grown ups, but just do like my sister. I didn't like it at all. I added a lot of milk, it was actually more a milk with some coffee rather than a cup of coffee with milk. I never drank coffee after this. It tasted awful. Maybe that's when I started to like turning my teaspoon into it.

Now everytime my bf takes a coffee, I add some sugar and turn with his teaspoon into it. He asked me why I liked to do that? This short story may be the answer of this mystery. Life is all about enjoying small things.