As opposed to cats, coffee took quite a long time to grow on me. When everyone was downing cup after cup during exam sessions, I would put on a refrained smile and keep on reaching for my can of Coke. Mind you, I still love Coke, and it’s one of those things, like Coldplay, that I plan to be forever unapologetic about. Yes, it’s an explosion of sugar and artificial flavour enhancers (just like Coldplay, come to think of it), but even the distant fizz of a can being opened puts me in a state- I know, it’s called addiction, but everyone needs the poison of their choice.
So back to coffee, I did have a nice big cuppa one night before my American history exam, and then at 4 am, when I could recite all the amendments of the constitution pretty much by heart but was still staring at my bedroom ceiling with my limbs shaking I said no more of this lethal brown liquid, and to this principle I stayed true for almost a decade.
Then, about three years ago, one fine morning in January I said, well, it’s kind of cold and I’m sort of sleepy, maybe I could have a latte. So I did. A big latte filled with honey and agave syrup- more precisely, what today I call a crime against both humanity and common sense, surpassed only by the green monstrosity of matcha latte. Next day I said, well why not have that latte again. A hundred or so days later I gave up on the honey, and then the agave syrup departed from my life as well.
Soon enough, I discovered that I was craving morning caffeine to degrees which could not be properly serviced by a latte. So I switched to flat whites. And then, on another epic day, in Italy, as luck would have it, I discovered that I could simply have a pitch dark espresso.
And ever since, I have measured my life with coffee cups. Or with distances from one coffee shop to another- of which there are plentiful in Budapest, because we are painfully cool, I know. And still, I have missed a few, so I might as well add visiting them to those new year’s resolutions I never manage to keep and see if for once I succeed.
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| ‘New wave’ Turkish coffee in Kelet- minus the dregs, which is a bit disturbing |
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| The real deal, dregs and all, in 2Cafe Karaköy |
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| Espresso with a prickly friend, Addicted2Caffeine |
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| That time I read about owls in My Little Melbourne |
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| Summer delights in the Massolit garden |
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| An Italian novel demands a small but viciously strong espresso |
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| How my morning walk invariably ends up looking come spring |
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| Lavender days in Budapest Baristas |
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| The My Little Melbourne pit stop with a bit of reading thrown in |
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| The inevitable accident of spilling the coffee while shuffling it around for a better shot |
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| As I was saying, Italian novels and espressos |
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| A Massolit espresso in all its lonely beauty |
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| Spring with latte in Sarki Fűszeres |
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| And for a change, spring with latte in Espresso Embassy |
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| When in Vienna, have some coffee (I might have tried reading in German as well, I guess) |
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| When the table matches your accidental bookmark in Café Demel |
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| Geometry in Espresso Embassy |
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| And here’s my espresso with one of those lovely surprise finds in my home library |
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| I am a pretzel fiend and proud of it |
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| The almost nearly perfect espresso- and my favourite coffee shop logo at Budapest Baristas |
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| So I went a bit over the top in Café Torino, but I just had to indulge in a bicerin, and cute little cookies |
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| To more serious stuff, that killer Italian espresso in Café Florio |
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| Channeling France in Gerlóczy |
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| Autumn rains arrive at My Little Melbourne |
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| And then autumn moved on |
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| But here’s to finishing in a very summer mood, with a Velence lake espresso |
Pocket Diary Budapest 