Assimilation

I have never really cared for coffee.

My reasons didn't really have anything to do with the fact that I was raised within a religious culture where coffee is taboo. As a matter of fact, as a general rule in my life, if I am told something is off limits, that just makes me desire it all the more. But that has never been the case with coffee. Knowing it was on the "no-no" list didn't draw me to it at all.

I actually have fond olfactory memories of a brewing pot in my grandmother's house when I was a little girl. The fragrant aroma filled her historical Southern Utah house with its strong, beckoning scent. And still, that never enticed me.
Truly, I think it came down to a sensory thing for me. Perhaps it was the too strong scent. The coffee aisle with its fresh beans and grinder at the supermarket kind of repulsed me. I never ever thought coffee flavored candies or ice cream or treats were anything but yuck. And I certainly never drank the stuff.

Until now.

Holland has won me over.

I drink coffee.

Truly, this is not a surprise when you consider just how much of the black liquid is consumed in this country. It is said that the Dutch run on coffee. I remember reading in an adapting-to-life-in-Holland expat book the account of some tourists to The Netherlands who returned to the States after an extended visit here and reported that they had learned to say "hello" in Dutch during their travels. Clearly, they said, the word for a warm greeting in any Dutch home or gathering is "Koffie?"
You can't miss the substance. Coffee is served at every cafe and snack stand of course, but also at the grocery stores, the doctors office waiting room and well, just everywhere.

It is brewed strong, dark and powerful. And served piping hot.

I began my exploration into the world of coffee with the mostly milk cappuccino. A friend served me a cup at her Scheveningen home. I was surprised that the smell and the taste of the coffee hidden inside didn't overwhelm or repulse me. Tenderly I sipped at the contents of my cup, allowing the hot liquid to coat my insides with its cozy warming charm.

That was the beginning of the transformation; me as a coffee drinker.

I have a Dutch friend here, who is going to chuckle as he reads this post. I have known him for 15 years or more and the whole of that time I have been an outspoken opponent of coffee. Not for others, just for me.
He has always complimented me on the coffee I brew (which is really saying something coming from a Dutchman) and has scratched his head over the fact that I could make such a delicious pot without knowing how or even liking it.

I suppose it's just one of those brilliant hidden talents. Coffee Brewing Aficionado; that's me. I wonder if it would be worthwhile skill to list it on my resume?

Ah, me. Digressing as always.

So, back to coffee and me. We have a new budding relationship. I have recently been spotted ordering a cup of my own at a cafe or two, and have been witnessed to respond to the greeting "Koffie?" with a hearty "Lekker!".
This morning as my husband descended the stairs to leave for work, he stopped cold at the kitchen doorway when he saw the coffee maker pulled from it's usual spot on the storage shelf where it awaits the guests to our home, bubbling away with the luscious liquid.

First he laughed out loud at this bold manifestation that my integration is complete. And then he joined me in a cup.

Beautiful, black, hot. Coffee.