A Simple Cup of Coffee and another Bowl of Rice

I am going to start with an honest confession, I’m not here to mention the intense sushi, the type that swims near Monterey Bay, oh what the freshness! Nor am I going to describe the awesome Mammoth Mountain Irish potato pancakes filled with bursting cheese and spinach. I want to talk about food that I traveled to, but in a different way. It's probably gonna sound like I’m bragging, but I believe in this simple kind of plain and honest hunger. And I believe that the culture that drove these three honest dishes deserves some honor. So a simple cup of coffee, another bowl of rice, and a bit of french bread ended up perfect.

Three recipes meant to restore a calorie-deprived college student. A culture rooted in high-speed calorie consumption, granola bars, pop tarts, McDonald’s cheeseburgers, and cold coffee from the night before. I’d describe it a bit more like this: the oven is broken even though it’s not, and the microwave is the obvious option, but the vendors outside the library are waiting to over-charge us... and if that means instant calories, well then... it’s going to be another empty wallet.

So the scary truth within this rapidly accelerated flavor-driven college culture is to avoid its awful ability to be a spirit-diluting experience. Food has value if we believe it has value. If the food is another quickly processed bite latent from calories, but carefully attuned to our daily diet, then the journey has already fallen short. So let's make it a goal, let’s decide to bless our simple meal, a cup of coffee, a bowl of rice, and another bite of buttered french bread. Follow my story and you’ll notice how a small culture of friends and family brought the rich flavors found in hidden parks, secret go-to grubberies, lost Mexican burritos, missing fragments of Italy gathered randomly, and hopefully-still-in-business pizza shops to three simple dishes.

The story takes place in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. An elevated mountainous terrain that has echoes that shout like winter roars, wind that rips the temperature away from bones, and frost that slides down the black asphalt. These icy streets terrify every rotating rubber wheel.

Frigid travelers can catch their eyes upon university students lingering outside a local coffee shop. They are seen clinging to coffee cups that warm their small desperate breaths. Shivering purple lips steam out words that come out as whispers, puffs like freezing laughter. More snow flutters down and the wind has been quieter since the day before. Today the snow was soft and almost warm, the snow faded when it touched my jacket.

I was visiting my friend today and he was going to drive thirty miles to pick me up. He wasn’t a race car driver, but the snow was an honest attempt to slow a well guided missile.

A light blue sudan glided down to a gentle stop, it had been five minutes since he said, “I’ll be there in five minutes”. The car’s slow stop whipped a snowy slush. A mess of frosty sand crumbed up the rubber luxury tires.

He told me I was skipping class today, I was too depressed from constant homework not to agree.

“ How's it going? “ The driver side car door was half way open, easing down to close.

“ It’s okay I guess, I have some homewo… '' Before I could cut my words through the cold, his voice steamed out a heavy pume.

“ Well, want a cup of coffee?” a delicious well established family secret arose into the gentle flurry.

“ Thank God. “ I ignored all mathematical inclinations and politely jolted my hands forward.

What a surprise, a friend that woke me up with a flimmering cup of must-have-smell. Cinnamon, vanilla, dark and intense coffee purged of impurity, driven to the border of infinite coffee taste. Wow, Praise God when that liquid hits the lips It was like a motion picture film captivated in a single refreshing sip. The first drink might as well have reflected the whole cup. I suddenly say, “Okay I have coffee now.” I can now be un-hungover from the nothing that happened the day before. Like waking up was the exhausting part of the day. A simple cup of coffee with a twist of cinnamon, a few drops of vanilla, and a friend that was as kind as the newly fallen snow.

So what’s two newly reunited friends to do? Well, the obvious choice is to get some warm french bread straight from the bakery.

“ Hey, we gotta pick up some french bread from the store. “ My best friend could say the world was ending and I’d start laughing. Even if it was a few small smiles and a wheezy giggle it always happened, I was tickled and giggled.

A drive through the crunching snow, a smooth take off, and some well guided corner turns, and we were already pulling up to the local supermarket. We strolled up to the front door moving through wet puddles along the way, water splashing up across our feet the whole way.

Daily bakers were hiding in the background, we could tell they had plotted all morning against our bellies. It was likely the bakers were driven nearly mad by the Christmas carols jiggling ‘ding’ ‘thing’ ‘ding’. I smashed my hand into the french bread.

As the hand was crunching down my friend in shock said, “ What are you doing? “ Sarcastically reprimanding me.

“ Prepare! “ I wrenched the french bread through the air. The sudden rush of caffeine from that simple cup of coffee exhilarated my actions. The bread then rose like it did from the oven. My momentum took the bread high above my head and crispy crust flakes flung outside the top of the bag’s back. I think some of the flakes glanced at my friends' eyes, because they started twitching funny. The well raised bread prepared itself for a gentle swordsmen swing, swoosh swish, and poof.

“You sure woke up frenchy. “ My friend ended the excitement as we carried on. Smiles anyone could see waking up to the warmth of morning bread and coffee.

Now that the caffeinated story has died down to the dull roar of bread rising, let's begin to discuss rice. So another bowl of rice… this dish wasn’t discovered by me personally until a University buddy asked, “ Do you want some rice? “ I had never been asked this before. Most people didn’t really offer me much food, well, by offering someone food I mean OFFERING someone food, he didn’t do it like a demand, but he did it with an art, whether he knew it or not, he was going to play one of the largest roles in my growing food culture. So I ate the hearty rice and I asked if we were supposed to eat it with something. I think he replied it had butter in it. I didn’t search for the recipe, but succumbed to the simplicity of having a simple bowl of rice with a new friend.

Now, let’s be honest a simple fluff of rice like snow flush with yellow flimmering butter isn’t as exciting as travelling down the street to get river side sushi. Or flying across the Northern States to the Cascades just to taste a three star hamburger that overtook the breath and captured the air that was meant to be vital. The flavor was a replacement of cheesy crispy flavor driving itself past my tongue and straight to the lungs. Those types of flavorful adventures were there, but they still weren’t as important to me as another bowl of rice. A recipe that takes two friends and one polite, “ Would you like some rice? “.

So… a simple cup of coffee, another bowl of rice, and a bit of french bread. Oh… and I guess a glass of water.