Spanish views from a small town

Grumble, rumble, yaaaawwwn. I look at the clock and see that I've overslept, despite having the talk show blaring into my ear disparate views of the day's political themes. I stumble through washing and dressing and wander downstairs, feeling like Dolly Parton's song, 9 to 5, "Tumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen,/Pour myself a cup of ambition/yawnin', stretchin, tryin' to come to life." In the kitchen, first I feed the cats, then I get the coffeemaker ready to sing out the morning and turn on the computer and get my breakfast. After sitting a few minutes at the computer, eating my yoghurt and nuts, something is off. It's too quiet. I look around. It's the coffeemaker; it's not making any noise. Uh. Oh. I turn it off and I turn it on. Nothing, zero, zilch. The hotplate remains cold and the gurgling of water is non-existent. I've lost another coffeemaker. Ever since my yellow Moulinex gave up the ghost some years ago, I've gon...

Do not speak to me in the morning if I haven't had my coffee. I will only growl. From the moment I wake up to the moment the caffeine hits my nervous system, I am not human. I could morph int o the Wicked Wi tch of the Ea st. Do not bother me. Of course, it's not really true , though perfectly possible, because breakfast with coffee is such an ingrained part of my day, that to miss it is to miss something of normality. Something is not right if my day does not begin with its regularity of stomach routine. I haven't always had coffee for breakfast, though I have drunk it for many years. When I was young, I couldn't face breakfast. For some reason, my stomach rebelled against any solid food touching it early in the morning. So, during the week, I would drink a glass of orange juice before heading for school.  On weekends, though, I would wake up later. Every Saturday and every Sunday, I would eat buttered toast and drink café au lait. I even remember my favorite ...

Like coffee? Spain is your place. But only if you like strong coffee. If the coffee you like is the regular American, drink-five-mugs-at-one-sitting coffee, don't touch Spanish coffee. Because if you do, it'll taste like paint stripper and one small cup will probably keep you awake for two nights. It's not as strong as the Turkish drop-of-coffee-in-a-shot-glass kind, but your eyes will still rival an owl's. I once made the mistake of drinking five coffees on a Saturday night. I had gone out, it was cold, I didn't feel like alcohol or soft drinks or water or syrupy juices, so I drank coffee. My heart was beating the conga when I finished the last one. Suffice it to say I didn't sleep well that night and that I didn't repeat the mistake. Since then I have gotten used to Spanish coffee. I can now drink a cup in the evening and sleep well, but I won't take my chances on five cups again. My husband, however, has no problems with it. One afternoon and evenin...