I feel this poem is more than just coffee but rather the memories and traditions that are formed around that special pot. That pot of coffee is the cornerstone for our family gatherings. The place where parents and grandparents share their life experiences with each other and with the children. These loved ones sharing their heritage with their children will be gone as quickly as the next pot of coffee. Sit up close to the table, children, and listen with your minds and with your hearts.
When I was growing up, I remember the coffee being made on the stove. We used a funny looking sock holder with a handle. The end always had something in it that made it look heavy and dark. It looked like a sock to me then but now I know it was a strainer. As the “sock” cooked in the pot on the stove, I, too, would lean over the stove (pg.38) and see this thick black soupy mixture. The smell was strong but sweet at the same time. Using our true traditional ways, our mixture required no sugar or milk. Bread was the only piece of food that came with it. It was used for dipping. At times my mother would give me a piece of her dipped bread. The taste was incredible.
Everyone gathered around the table and enjoyed this wonderful coffee and bread. Food for most people is more than sustenance. It is a social event. My family was no different. The laughter and storytelling began rapidly around the table. If I was lucky, the room was full of grandparents, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Each had their own childhood memory to share. And then each had their own spin on the memory that had been shared. After hearing these stories told hundreds of times, I could listen to them a hundred more times. It is my heritage; it is my child’s heritage.
So for some people and some cultures, coffee isn’t just a cup of coffee. It warms us from the inside out and stays with us for a lifetime.
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