I like coffee. I greatly esteem coffee. No, I LOVE coffee. I used to ask for it in my milk when I was a kid. Whether going to bed at Nana’s or waking up at Grandma’s house, the smell of coffee and the sound of it percolating are laced into all of my childhood memories. The sound of a spoon ticking its way around a mug is still one of my favourite sounds. I believe my blood is made up…
I just finished a rather lovely dinner that Sarge made. I eat, but I don’t cook. Last night, while watching Life Is Beautiful for the first time (what took me so long?), I ate another meal Sarge made. And I cried. Twice. But that was the film, and had nothing to do with his cooking. When it’s my turn to cook, we get take-out, which is probably safer for all involved. I have tried to cook. I have the burn…
