by Brooke A. Brown

I love coffee. Actually, love is too weak a word. When it comes to a good cup of joe, I’m like Woody Allen’s Alvy Singer to Diane Keaton’s Annie Hall – I have to invent new words to better express how I feel. I lurrrve coffee, you know? I loave it. I luff coffee with two ‘F’s.

I’ve been drinking coffee since I was 14 years old. It all started when I first donned an apron at my family’s restaurant. My grandfather – his apron read “Grill Sergeant” – was my inspiration. If he could see the bottom of the cup, he would say something to the effect of: “This coffee went to court and was cleared!” Then he’d laugh and begrudgingly drink the weak brew down. Of course, he wasn’t talking about the coffee we served. (more…)