Quote:
Originally Posted by beppe
I do believe you. i found this little poetic thing on the net.
How to enjoy your coffee
Only those who lived through the drought summer of grueling marches can understand why the desert was the birthplace of coffee.
- I do not mean the weak tea of the poor, made from the shells, nor that of the rich, seasoned with pepper, cloves, ginger, resins, honey, cinnamon, and perfumed with orange blossom, rose water, jasmine and ambergris; the syrup introduced by the decadent Turk, which roasts the beans to blacken them and char the fragrance, and then with sugar destroys what little remained of the aroma.
- I refer to the parent of all the coffee, to our Arab infusion yellow-green, in a single gulp quenches thirst, wipes her mouth, and lifts the spirit as if by magic, the only physical pleasure that even the most rigid moralists have never forbidden because, preventing sleep, promotes sacred meditation .
- We rocked the cups in the palm of your hand, soaking up the scent, so as to prolong the agony, until the exasperated stomach contracted in a spasm of violence. Only then we emptied the cup in one stroke, and swallowing a hot sip that dilated the esophagus. In this way you could feel the full warmth that comforted the spirits of the stomach and intestines dried up and the chest expanded, along with the flow of thoughts, which were also stale: flesh and spirit, and then felt a bliss that would be legitimate to expect only in the Promised Gardens .
Hans Ruesch: Paese dalle ombre corte. [FONT=Arial][SIZE=2]South of the Heart: A Novel of Modern Arabia. |
nice one, Beppe and also poetic. I would love to have been born in the Orient.
In my cup: cold Arabica-coffee and a bottle of water next to it. A special, environment-friendly bottle.
