(café con leche at 7 am on the deck via my Instagram)
In an email exchange just a few minutes ago, I told the other party to make the best out of today. It’s Monday. Their response was quite clever: meh, Monday is just Friday’s late/early cousin. I got to thinking about it, and, yeah, when you work for yourself, days run into each other without any consideration for your time or need of breaks and proper ciestas. I’d like to think the lack of ebb and flow on Monday mornings is the cause for my instant gravitation to fine espresso the minute my eyelashes flutter. But, it’s not. It’s a simple lifestyle choice and part of the maniac mind that keeps this one-woman show going.
I’ve tried to blame Mami for my addiction to café. She’s given me a hard look dismissing the accusation, leaving me little confidence in transferring guilt. But not for a Dr. telling me once I have to cut back on drinking espresso because of potential boobage density, this wouldn’t be an issue. I keep that in mind since I’m not the youngest chick anymore (on most days), but if I stopped enjoying something so classically simple and rich, you might as well tell me the world was coming to end. Or that I was never going to get married.
(a cup of black via my Instagram; no foam this time)
You already know how I start my day, continue throughout the afternoon and pull all-nighters. Unfortunately, and what fosters the addiction is the lack of jolt I need it to give me sometimes. Only my morning sips trigger my brain. I suppose my body’s accustomed to the dosage. However, I’ve come to learn that my body reacts differently to every taza, demitasse, cup or shot I swig. No matter how I enjoy it. Because yeah, I don’t discriminate. I have it any kind of way.
If I’m home and enjoy my typical routine, then I’m good. My functionality is normal. If I’m traveling and have something less than, my body knows it and has about a 10 minute delay in everything. That was extremely evident while traveling in Dominican Republic two weeks ago. I was a beggar. At any point during the day I’d ask our hostess for a pit stop to grab some black coffee. Even then, the roast, as dark as it was, wasn’t the same. And so my days painfully dragged along.
(a simple black cup sin espumita in DR via my Instagram)
(L to R, clockwise: 11 pm shot enjoyed after 5 hours of traveling; a shot enjoyed in Miami after lunch; cortadito enjoyed in Miami after lunch, Day 2: full cup of espresso with espuma ready to be divied up into shots; all via my Instagram)
Second to our house or any Cuban’s home, most joints in Miami is sure to pass out solid black coffee with the right level of robustness. Even the rapiditos in the airport. The difference there and one I’ve started to implement every chance I get, is making espuma, or espumita for single shots. I don’t usually do it out of sheer laziness, but it’s the right way to enjoy Cuban espresso. The contradiction is that I loathe foam in a cup of Joe from ‘bux or any other chain. It kinda repulses me. Ours is different. It’s not foam from milk, rather from sugar. Pure adrenaline. See why it’s only right to enjoy it this way??! With a roast as refined and tar as ours, a lovely layer of froth is perfect to cut the acidity. And maximizes decadence.
Not to mention it just looks sexy.
There’s a simple yet methodical way of accomplishing the perfect espumita for your cafécito. Whether you’re going for bold and only having a shot or enjoying the middle ground of a cortadito, or all way soft with café con leche (my default choice), you still want to have some espumita!!
Say it with me. Ess-poo-mee-tah. Again… Yes! I’ll share my lil secret with you. I promise your espresso experience will never be the same. You’ll understand the sexy behind it.
It’s so coffee p*orn, but it takes practice. Practice. Practice. Practice.
(freshly brewed Cuban espresso with whipped espuma)