One of the fondest memories from living at home/visiting my parents is mornings with my dad. Even when he had to be at work early during the week he would make everyone morning coffee. He would wake up a bit earlier, load the ground beans into the coffee machine, steam the milk, and pour my mom and I the exact mix of espresso, froth and sugar he knew we preferred. Then he’d deliver the coffee to our bed side tables.
Most weekday mornings though we did have a little bit of time to spend together. And so I’d walk out to the kitchen, still in my pyjamas, and spot my dad all showered and ready in his button down shirt and work pants. His graying hair was always just a little bit damp but slicked back. People always tell him he reminds them of Dan Marino, or the better known Bill Clinton. I think they resemble my dad. I’d walk over, give him a hug then stumble into the living room and turn on Morning Joe or The Today Show or the recorded episode of American Idol from the night before. He’d soon come join me on our white leather couch with two coffees in hand. He’d hand me the coffee in my usual flower patterned anthropology mug and say something like, “Can you see the moon I made?”
He’s always referring to the same thing: his impossibly terrible attempts at latte art. To this day, he’s never drawn anything better than a circle or moon, but my goodness do I really hope he never stops trying.
The weekends were always better though. I got to wake him up in the morning, and no matter how tired he was, or how annoyingly early I entered his room he would always get up the instant I offered to make the coffee that morning. That’s a fathers job, I guess. And then the same weekday routine happened, except on Sunday I put on the Saturday Night Live episode from the night before.
I’m not saying this because I miss him or love him or want to him happy but if you’re wondering if he makes good coffee, he does! In my humble but honest opinion he makes the best coffee in all of the US.
This is why the first day in Sydney when my dad ordered an espresso and Giancarlo Coffee was placed in front of him no one moved a muscle. There wasn’t enough time in the world to process the situation. It felt like Giancarlo Coffee was actually made for him, and the fact that we were halfway around the world and THIS is where he found it! Like maybe it was a sign that it was okay I had moved 23987461050 miles away from them. We were where we were meant to be. (W’s galore!)
You’re probably shaking your head thinking no, no it’s probably just coffee. But I think my family felt that same feeling very strongly. My mom immediately suggested she steal the espresso cups. Steal!? We aren’t thieves! I’ve never heard her speak like that. As me and my sister chanted “yes! yes! yes!” my dad talked us all down and asked the waiter if we could buy them off the restaurant. Can you believe they said no? We obviously couldn’t take them anymore, but we did walk away with a lot of the Giancarlo Coffee sugar.
I wake up every morning and make myself coffee before work here in Melbourne, but I can’t say it will ever feel the same.