Belaroma. Beautiful smell. How aptly named. Orders were shouted to the barista. Waiters ran between the small groups sitting at the matching wooden tables : taking orders and delivering steaming cups of long blacks and cappuccinos. Adorning the walls frescos so life-like they drew the viewer into their midst, transporting them to the hustle and bustle of the market place in France whilst anticipating the full-bodied taste of the coffee long before it arrived.
Enough dreaming. Back to work. Only two days to go and my last assignment will be handed in. Then I will again be able to allow myself the luxury of a coffee at Little Cove, my favourite coffee shop. The coffee is soooo good. They roast it themselves. My favourite blend is smooth percolator. Full bodied it slides down your throat silkily, without any hint of bitterness; it’s aroma wafting up your nostrils, giving you a double shot of pleasure. That perfect after taste remaining with you long after leaving.
No no! Stop dreaming. An esspresso from the Aldi machine will have to suffice.
- A coffee, by any other name (jacobwhoward.wordpress.com)