Choice
By A.L.Locklin 9/3/16
It was a coffee shop so commonly en，nothing fancy but something of taste. The Air was mingled with something earthy and something sour. We were greeted with a welcoming smile and a long-time-no-e hello to my friend.
“You’ve come at the right time; I've baked some cookie. New flavor. Cranberry's.”The guy who emed to be the boss said.
“Great. But we've stuffed our stomach with Pizza already. Perhaps later.”My friend replied.
I wondered if she had been a frequent of this hou, “Do you always come here?”
“No. Just once. But I'd spent my entire night here till it clod.”She replied.
I'd always amazed at her turning strangers into her long list of old acquaintances.
They'd continued to chat, and left me proceeding with my reading--the menus. This was to be exact, the first time that I'd ever stepped into a coffee shop. I'd always en them, but never en into them. For coffee, in my opinion, was something far too sweet and foamy to agree with my poor stomach. Although I was here, I had not the least intention to order a coffee drink. I studied through the menus in arch of a name that emed in no relevance with coffee, but I was proved in vain becau I was told they sold coffee only.
“Which one do you want?” My friend turned to me.
I stared into her eyes with a hesitant smile, hoping that she may understand. She did understand, however, returned me with an expressive smile and eyed me the anxious look from the boss.
“I don't know. I feel really full. Which one would you like?” I threw the question back.
“Then I recommend you this list.”The boss stepped in before my friend had a chance to r
eply. He pointed the list of coffee written on a small blackboard on the wall,“this list of coffee may help lesn your belly.”
“It is coffee. Shouldn't coffee make me feel wor?”I replied, obviously as someone had not much knowledge of coffee.
“This list of coffee is quite different from what you commonly drink. Come, have a taste of its fragrance.”He invited me.
I leaned over, and was getting ready for this challenge and preparing to say something that was suppod to receive his connt. But when the cap was opened, I knew I could drop all the facade, becau the answer was so obvious：the coffee beans gave off a sour fragrance, light, but not float; crisp, but not sharp. I wondered whether it would taste like Cranberry.
“This one is Sidamo,”he said, “this bean has a sour fragrance. And among the list as it is arranged, it is the mild. Some said it tasted like cranberry. I, however, have not discerned
that, but I hope that you can.” He was beaming like he was a proud father who was introducing his promising child. Then he reached to another can and extended it to me. The fruit fragrance was less strong, but instead something earthy emerged.
“This is the blue mountain; less of fruit fragrance, but more of earthy scent. This one tastes more like the one you normally have.”The boss said and then silently waited for my answer.
I thought I may em rather undecided for him as he began again, “I strongly recommend the Sidamo. I've brewed this for one of my customers this morning and she said it changed her view of coffee ever after.”I could e he was conding his invitation.
I snapped my gaze back to my friend again, “Do you want to drink it?”
“As you choo.”she said coyly.
“Ok. I will have this one.”This time of the decided fashion, I made the order.
“Good or wor, it is just coffee.”My friend muttered it.
Now that we sat on the bar, we got free admission to watch.
He fetched the Sidamo from the shelf with the yellow can, which, I assumed, was the color of the fragrance materialized. He spooned a spoonful or two into the electric coffee grinder and let the coffee beans fully spin and grinded. After this, he told us that the smallest powder needed filtering and only the big one would be kept to make coffee.
“Do you know the reason?”
“Perhaps to decrea its concentration,” my friend said.
“Yes, and I expect the big one can prent you its most original taste.” He said expertly.
He then put the coffee filter right in place on the drip coffeemaker, then the grinded coffee beans. The water was already brewed to the right time and right temperature; he began from the center and then the edge. Instantly, The coffee beans submerged in a pool of their fragrance; the smell of fruit and coffee thrust into my nostrils, heightening the sound of the surging rhythm of Between Worlds.
“Now, you can e the beans are breathing.”He looked intently at his dripping coffee beans that at the same time are swelling, higher and higher.
“This is the way they breathe,”he said, “this is a sign of their freshness；this shows their lives.”
I watched, silently, attentively. I'd never expected it to be alive. Now, I do.
After the dripping process was done; our coffee was finished. He took out two saucers and two cups-- one glass and the other a small mug. He poured me the glass and my friend the mug. “This was no coffee at all！” I thought to mylf. The color was so light that I thought it was a drink of Siraitia grosvenorii I ud to like very much. But the fragrance would not cheat. It was the fruit fragrance that I convinced it was what I'd been paying much attention to.
