Coffee – a love story

Last Friday, I confused the coffee folk. On my return to work I was delighted to discover that the coffee shop I usually frequented during work hours, had opened an annex – even closer to the office. Result!

I stopped in on the way to the office on my second working Friday, I ordered two low tide lattes, one here and one take away. ‘You mean piccolo’ she said. Well yes I did, but my test run of the size of the glasses in the annex lead me to think that ‘low tide latte’ was actually going to give me the coffee I wanted. This was the most unclear order the waitress had had for a long time.Eventually I convinced the waitress I wanted two coffees, on the small side of latte. I went and sat down, and took photos of my boots, as one does. The waitress shortly delivered two cups of coffee to my table. Two coffees in glass cups. No, no I said, one take away. Sadly, Charlie, who knows me well and would have understood, was facing the other way, busily making coffee for the hordes waiting at the take-away window. She took it back. Charlie questioned her, and then made a pained face when he realised it was my order that had been botched. He made me a takeaway.

Coffee love

Poor Charlie. I haven’t made it easy for him. When his café first opened; I was there. Front and centre. After a year or more of having a regular routine, coffee order remaining constant and the same, I got pregnant.

Charlie was excited.  He bear hugged Robert so hard I thought one of them was going to be seriously injured.  I had sort of convinced myself, that coffee was the devil and I should cut down as part of protecting the unborn. But I wasn’t convinced properly til my GP told me to stop. I told Charlie. He took it very seriously.  He became the invigilator. I wasn’t ALLOWED to buy coffee in his café. He told the staff off if I even looked like ordering a coffee. He made me milkshakes. He made me hot chocolates. He brought me peppermint tea. He saved me lunches when I didn’t show up by 1pm. Charlie was on board with this pregnancy business. He was an integral part of the team. Without Charlie, I might not have made it through those last tough weeks at work while I was pregnant.

Then I wasn’t pregnant any more. Coffee and I were friends once more and it was SO good. I kept going to the café to meet up with people from work and show off my baby. But then I needed short coffees that could be consumed quickly before I wore them after Benedict upended them or they went cold because I got distracted before I could drink them. Cue the low tide latte.

Months passed and I rocked up to work recently to discover that coffee in this town had moved on a bit. The piccolo, which no one knew about in late 2007 when I came back to Canberra, was suddenly everywhere; including the annex where I found myself having a confusing conversation about low tide lattes.

Later that day, Charlie and I discussed my coffee in some depth. The barista and I agreed a precise length. He made me one as a test run. One Wednesday I will order one here and one take away and with luck it will be the start of a beautiful love affair, once again.