Coffee Wishes and Caviar Dreams

I didn't love Brazilian coffee from the first sip. Hey, in my defense, it was a bit alarming when the full chest hair popped in right after. I was very Miami Vice cool.

But, not only did I get used to it, I started to like it.  Hell, I can even make a mean cup of it.  Oh yeah, Mother-in-law stamped and approved.

Now that I'm home, I'm left unsatisfied each morning. It's like my coffee has erectile disfunction and, while it meets some basic needs, lacks the tools for the grand finale.

Like any good woman, I'm left attempting to make this relationship work.  Because I love coffee. Because living in Brazil has already ruined my relationship with Starbucks, yet strangely that improved my relationship with my wallet.

And yes, I still drink it like an American.  Big cup with a little milk and sugar.  I am American so, the more the merrier. Yes that phrase also works with food and drink.  But when I do this with American coffee, it's like drinking stale water mixed with slightly soured milk. Sure, that'll wake a girl up, but not in a good way.

I know what you are thinking, why didn't you bring your own Brazilian coffee. I did. I swear I did!  But once I arrive, I am enthusiastically patted down in search of the ground Brazilian goodness.  I wouldn't put it past some of my family to shake out my clothes in hopes of finding some lost droppings.

So I am trying to make the best out of the situation.  My Father was a bit alarmed with the amount of coffee he saw me use. And I was being good knowing he was watching.  As I told him, it's about quality, not quantity.   If that means that I have to use half the bag of coffee he bought, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

And while the coffee here may never make me spontaneously grow body hair, but it can be made so it doesn't make me want to cry.  That will be my goal for the day.