Memory of Food and Drink Prompts & Writing: Coffee, the Skeleton Key

I heard a quote this week that said, “The memory of food is also a food.” As in, the memory of food itself, is nourishing. Something that the brain “snacks on” to understand the world. It got me thinking about one’s first memory of coffee. What’s your first “core memory” of coffee? Let’s explore some writing prompts and I will also share a new piece of writing, “Coffee, the Skeleton Key.”

First memory of coffee. Many people have childhood memories of coffee, especially if they are from Latin American countries. Children grow up drinking some version of cafe con leche, or coffee with lots of milk — or shall we say milk with a few tiny drops of coffee.

While I personally didn’t grow up with coffee in this way, there was a summer that I was blessed enough to visit France, and I do remember sipping a version of cafe au lait, which is the same idea and similar translation to cafe con leche. It landed with an expected bitterness on my little tongue, but there was positive communal encouragement from those around me. My family. The memory is a cloudy, but it was likely my mom, probably holding me gently, smiling and nodding as I tested coffee. Giving me non-verbal cues that it was okay, that I somehow had just experienced something familial, safe, and cozy. Something special, sacred, and also to be respected.

How can a child hold all of these truths?

How is it that coffee is woven in a tapestry with family, and community?

Coffee is (a) universal family.

Think about what your youngest memory of drinking coffee is. Write it down.

Even beyond the *first* memories, we also have the strongest memories of food and drink. Where we were, who we were with, what it meant to us. What is one of your strongest memories of drinking coffee? Where were you, at home or a cafe? Which world city? Which season was it? Describe the scene via the 5 senses — the aromas, the textures, the colors, sounds, flavors. Write it down, via an essay or a poem. Write in your notes app on your phone, with pen on paper, or on your computer’s keyboard. This is your personal diary — no one needs to read it.

Below is a piece, perhaps to get you started, one window into my past life with coffee. Don’t worry, there are many. This window is the “dark academia,” autumn coffee, in Buenos Aires.

Coffee, the Skeleton Key

It was hidden on a back street,
The café.
The dampness of autumn rain, as the winter was starting to crawl in.
Weighted wind, born from the ancient neighborhood cemetery in
Recoleta.
Like a living scene from my favorite Zafón novel, this was my new life.
She whispered to me,
Join her in studying.
An extended hand.
Umbrella, wet in my palms, I opened the glass door of the café and recognized her at one of the bistro tables.
Waiters, clad in black and white, trays. Classic.
A secret invitation,
Formal attire, coattails.
It felt luxurious, foreign,
To request,
To order,
That first coffee.
Yet more, like I somehow acquired—
Held the skeleton key,
To coffee.
Would this tongue like coffee?
In the city, my tongue could only taste cigarettes.
The capital wouldn’t be the same without smoke curling through the air,
Sticking briefly to the wet clouds of autumn, fleeting, exhaling.
Muted color palette, with earth tones and washed in grey, this corner of the city was
Intoxicating, seductive, and comforting at the same time.
It was
Smoke, coffee, tango music, and dulce de leche caramel.
Buenos Aires had already seduced me.
Coffee was next.
Black liquid, smooth like a satin ribbon.
As soon as she touched my lips
I was disarmed, transfixed.
The flavors glided across my palette,
Black satin ribbon slipping off of a small jewelry box
A promise,
Accepted.
It’s been a stirring love affair, a slow tango with her ever since that fateful study session at the café.
She shaped my entire experience of the city, a vagabond in her own right, the perfect combination of wildness and intellectualism.
She gave me clarity, creativity — I was in captivity.
While she’s taken different forms and traveled different cities through the years, she’s always there
With a wink from across the room, pulsating, offering a rush of adventure, unlocking
Escape.