An Acquired Taste
Coffee has had my attention for much of my life. I remember the contraption that my mother
used to percolate coffee before the drip coffeemakers came out. There was a metal pot that she filled with
water. A piece fit on top of the pot
that was like a metal bowl – my mother scooped coffee grounds into the
bowl. There was a metal spout that came
out of the bottom; this extended down into the water in the pot. As the water heated in the pot, there was
this loud gurgling sound and then water came up into the coffee grounds kind of
like some geo-thermal mud volcano. The
gurgling eruptions continued for 15-20 minutes.
It was fascinating to watch.
My parents were the only ones at our house that drank
coffee. My mother drank hers black, but
my father always added a splash of milk to his. If I asked, sometimes my father would let me add the milk; I liked to watch the milk, kind of like a cloud forming right in his
cup, but then he’d stir it with his spoon and it all became kind of caramel
colored.
Of course, curiosity eventually got the better of me. I wanted to know what it tasted like. I remember that first sip of coffee vividly. I’m guessing that I was about six when I
finally asked my mother what coffee tasted like, and she asked if I’d like to
try a sip. Of course I did! The cup felt warm in my hands; it was a good
feeling. Instinctively I blew so that
little ripples formed. I took a
sip. I never tasted anything so
hideously bitter. I knew better, but I
really wanted to spit it out. Instead, I
swallowed hard. I set the cup down on
the table and asked, “How can you drink that?”
She just smiled at me and said, “I guess it’s an acquired taste.”
Why, I asked myself, would anyone keep trying something they
didn’t like? You either like something,
or you don’t. After all, that’s the way
it has been with me and liver all these years.
My parents enjoyed fried liver and onions. I, most assuredly, did not. The rule at our house was that you had to try
a bite of whatever was served. I figure
that from childhood to adulthood I likely ate about ten pounds or more of fried
liver – one small bite at a time. I
never acquired a taste for fried liver.
However, it was not that way with coffee for me. During my high school and college years my
mother battled cancer. My sister Sandy
spent as much time as possible with her.
My junior year of college, as chemotherapy ramped up, my sister, her
husband Ron and their daughter Michelle would stop at a bakery first to get
donuts, and then come over to visit every Wednesday morning whenever Ron was
working second or third shift at the paper mill. That year I didn’t have class on Wednesdays
until the afternoon, so I got to participate in the visits and in the eating of
donuts. I suppose I wanted to be more
adult-like being a college man and all, so like the other adults I drank coffee
as I munched. By the end of the
semester, it occurred to me that I actually enjoyed the coffee, at least as
long as I had a donut to wash it down with.
Since then, coffee has been a daily staple for me. If I drink it hot, then I drink it
black. But I do also enjoy flavored iced
coffee as well. I was pretty much past
even thinking about all this until a recent visit my wife and I had with
another couple. The husband is in the
diaconate formation program and Michelle and I have been asked to serve as a
mentor couple – a sounding board of experience, as they make their way through
the process. I don’t recall the exact
topic of conversation, but I know that I had said something incredibly
hilarious. Michelle somehow restrained
her own laughter, turned to the other woman at the table, smiled a little Mona
Lisa smile, and said, “He’s an acquired taste.”
Maybe so, I admitted to myself; maybe so.
I am grateful for those who stuck with me, perhaps a small
bite at a time until they eventually acquired a taste or at least a tolerance for
my company. Most of all I am grateful to
God who has loved me unconditionally and fully from my beginning. He does the same for us all.
“Yours is princely power from the day of your birth. In holy splendor before the daystar, like dew
I begot you.” Psalm 110:3
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash
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