Hot Lattes

I used to hate coffee. My dad drank it at least three times a day (he's down to one cup now - I have taken his place as the household coffee enthusiast) and would have me brew him a cup every once in a while. I loved the smell and hated the taste, the bitterness and acidity. Everytime I pushed down the French press I resented the thing that could smell so good and be so repulsive. Eventually I started drinking coffee, considering it a necessary evil to get through my school day, and drowned it in cream and sugar. I slowly weened myself off of sugar, realizing that part of what I hated was the flavors the sugar brought out - not just sweet but sticky. I still drown it in cream, loving the way it feels whole; black coffee is too watery and thin, once the right amount of cream has been added it feeds you, it lingers in your stomach. Eventually I branched out into the world of Fancy Coffee, ordering lattes and cappuccinos and every other item on the (confusing) Starbucks menu, trying to figure out the best way to drink it. I discovered that lattes were my favorite, a socially acceptable way to get the amount of dairy I preferred, and richer than drip coffee. For my job as a waitress this summer, I had to learn how to make any drinks that a customer might order. As this was a new restaurant, we had a week of training before opening, which involved the import of a corporate drinks expert to conduct an overly-long wine and beer tasting and show us how to make espresso. He showed us how to turn the milk into warm marshmallow, explaining how it naturally sweetened and complimented the coffee. I fell in love not just with the taste of a fresh latte, but with the process of making them as well. The process is finnicky and difficult, and extremely rewarding every time it works out. Every day when I got to work, I would grind the beans, press them, froth the milk, make the espresso, and let the drink warm me from the inside out.