The Expense of Hawaiian Coffee
Welcome to the latest Trimethyldioxypurist--half rant, half links to old pieces. Think of it as our version of a clip show.
On Friday we wanted to drink Kona.
It's stupid, we know -- not like Grandma was in the coffee business. Did she even drink coffee? We don't know. Tea, certainly.
She used to run a gas station, a long time ago, before Mrs. Trimeth was even born. That's kind of the same thing as being in the coffee business. Fuel and all. . .
We sometimes go to a cafe with that name.
We observe rituals. The early cup. The tradition of latte art. The ceremony of tea.
Why? The familiar gets us through, we suppose. "This is how you cope when [blank] happens."
But the funeral is weeks away and we wanted to do something special in the mean time.
Coffee gets us through the day. In fact, it helps get us through all sorts of crap. Why should this be any different?
We called airlines -- bereavement rates range from "nonexistent" to "joke" when you're traveling to a "Destination" with a capital "D" like Honolulu. We gave up. Really swell how people with relatives in nice places get punished for it.
Screw it. Travelocity and Orbitz are cheaper anyway, and we can add our hotel.
We hate flying. Was this a good hint?
But, yeah, we drink coffee on airplanes too, day or night. Wouldn't want to sleep a moment through the torture of flying. Masochistic, maybe. Or just dumb. Whatever.
Just where the hell do you get Kona beans around here? We remember seeing them at Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf for some outrageous amount, like $45 a pound or something. For that price, you may as well give that monkey-sh*t coffee a try, if you can find it. Other than Bean & Leaf, it escapes us as to where you can buy bulk Kona in this town. Certainly nowhere by the cup that we can recall. Well, except that place downstairs, that new cafe/sandwich shop that just opened at the One Market building. Camille's Sidewalk Cafe. One of their coffees is purportedly a Kona blend.
We feel extra shallow thinking about our minor pain in juxtaposition with that of our wife and her (our) family. Grandma had only been our grandma (get it? here's where that 'royal we' stuff gets bogged down) for about four years. But we swear that every word out of her mouth was pure gold.
Summer of '04: Grandma had finished her dinner and put the mostly unfinished fish onto someone else's plate. "How did this get here," he asked.
"It swam," she replied.
Simple, funny, to the point.
Final anecdote: When family and friends from your whole life suprise you with a 90th birthday party, your recent grandson-in-law, by rights, should have been beneath your notice. But, no--she grabbed our hand and introduced us as "the nicest man," to her siblings.
Sorry. We know we're supposed to pretend like this column matters, but we're just not up to it. All we can think about is that we'll be in an American paradise in just a few days, surrounded by some of the best of everything on Earth, coffee included, and we just won't give a crap. All we can think about are gatherings and rituals, particularly that one ritual that nobody really wants to be necessary, but is somehow merciful and welcomed in times like these.
We ended up going down to that Camille's place for a cup of "Kona blend." We used lots of sweetener and cream and could barely taste anything. So we apologize. Somebody--drink some coffee and write about it. We'll be happy to post it.