It just tastes better....

                                                      

    I usually wake up before my husband does.  I make myself some coffee and then sit on the little window nook and read while I slowly wake up.
My coffee is usually wonderful (some days a little better than others) with the bitterness, acidity, earthiness, and the sweetness from the raw sugar delighting my taste buds as I sip.

Some mornings though, J rises before I do.  And on those mornings, there is an extra element to the morning coffee routine, that for whatever reason, just does not register when I make it for myself:  the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lacing the air.

   I remember the first time I went to Napa with the family I used to nanny for.  They own a lovely little cottage in St Helena, and the guest bedroom is outside, off the patio.  I was awaken from a restful sleep by the smell of coffee traveling from the main house, all the way to my nostrils. Seven years later, when the smell of fresh coffee wakes me up, I still think of that moment, and of how wonderful a way to wake up this is.

  Two mornings ago, as I lay in bed trying to summon the strength to peel my body of the sheets, the same intoxicating perfume sneaked itself in the bedroom.  And then it hit me:  it never smells like this when I make it for myself!

                                                 

   Now, I'm sure there is some scientific (neurological, psychological or whatever) explanation of why this is.  My theory however, is that everything always tastes better when someone makes it for you.  Because when you are eating or drinking something that someone else made for you, you are dwelling in gratitude, either for that person, or for the simple fact that you did not have to make it yourself.

   Since my morning coffee is as much ritual as it is the plain need for caffeine to aid me in waking up, the smell of it plays a great role in how wonderful the experience is.  And the fact of the matter is that it just tastes better when J makes it for me...
                                               

 

  This got me thinking about all the foods that taste better when someone else cooks them.  As a professional cook, I unfortunately don't get invited to dinner often.  Many friends and acquaintances tell me how much they love cooking, but then add that they would be too nervous to cook for a professional.  Most of my chef friends and I agree, that a home cooked meal, made with love and intention, is a thousand times better than any restaurant meal could ever be.

  And when we do get invited over for dinner, we always enjoy it so much more than when we make it ourselves.   As a cook, being able to sit down in someone's home, and eat a full meal not prepared by you, is a humbling and heartwarming luxury.

  It's not about who can prepare the best roast.  It's about how much care and intention went into it. And when I speak of intention, I don't just mean the intention of the people preparing the meal, but also the intention of the folks who are consuming it.  I am convinced that gratitude makes that food taste better, and be better for you.  Which made me question why we are often so quick to thank others, yet so slow to thank ourselves...
                                                        

                                                 
    With this in mind, for the next few mornings, as I sip my coffee that I will have made myself (my new schedule has me rising before sunrise, so there ain't no way J is making my coffee) I will breathe in gratitude. 
  For hearing my alarm, for having two legs that can get me out of bed,  for having a reason to do so, for having a fully functioning brain and body that can make my coffee for me,  for having delicious fresh Dominican coffee beans hand delivered by my mom, for having multiple vintage coffee mugs, hand selected at various thrift shops around the country, that brighten my day when I see them,  and a lovely little window nook, above a fully functioning radiator, with a view of Paris and the Seine river (from some really old wall paper but hey... still Paris) where I can enjoy this precious nectar while I greet the new day.

  I will think of J, and his loving kindness, and sip in gratitude for having found a mate who once in a while, is willing to make my coffee for me.

  I am certain that bringing gratitude to the equation, and intention to my routine, will open my heart,  and maybe even my olfactory receptors,  and the room will instantly fill with the bittersweet scent of freshly brewed coffee.