Espresso

I love coffee. Since I was a young girl, my father always was the first to wake up and was the designated caffeine brewer. I would wake up, wipe my sleepy eyes, and sit down at the kitchen table to my steamy hot, delicious coffee. Of course back then, this “coffee” consisted of a warm cup of milk and sugar with a small swirl of caffeine. But I liked to pretend that I was a grown up. I liked to have my morning cup of coffee.


As I grew up and became a young woman, my cup of warm milk soon warped into a large mug of black coffee sprinkled with sugar and milk. My morning was not complete without this simple beverage, and I was now sitting at the table with my father and drinking the same, bold flavorful gulps of hot liquid.
Sometimes when driving, I would have a lingering crave for this satisfying taste. I therefore would speedily drive to Starbucks where I would order a grande Chai Latte, or a Latte with soy. Each gulp satisfied my coffee thirst, and I drove away in happiness and peace. Little did I know, this utter obsession would be taken to a whole new level when I left the United States and my Starbucks heaven, and arrived to Barcelona and ventured the cafes. 

When I came to Barcelona, my coffee cravings would be turned upside down, shaken around, and perfected into a new, transformed passion. No longer would I thrive for my large, oversized beverages. But I would thirstily yearn for a European espresso, a cortado, or a small cafe con leche.

The espresso, however, was my most exciting discovery. I love the small buzz that rushes down my veins as I sip the final drop. And I love that my stomach does not uncomfortably bulge from excess liquid. After living in Barcelona, I no longer need my massive Chai Lattes. I want my small, tasty caffeinated drink. I want to sip. I want to enjoy. I want espresso.

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