I love my morning rituals. Waking up early and seeing the sunrise, looking ahead of the day through the red and purple clouds above my street. Getting up just to get down on my yoga mat to stretch the sleepiness away and pump some blood to my brain. I yawn and sweat and do my Sun Salutation, the Sun coming through the windows, its rays touching my pillow-wrinkled face.
Those moments are priceless and they set the mood for my whole day and are a precursor to one essential part of my daily journey. Breakfast. I love breakfast. I enjoy making it, I cherrish the time having it and believe fully in its importance for a day well spent. It is the magical ingredient to the day, it makes all the difference. It wakes up your senses: touch, smell, taste, sound, vision.
You boil the water & measure the coffee. The ground beans fill the flat with their aroma, your vision sharpens and your mood gets automatically better. Just drinking the black gold from a ceramic cup, sat in the sunny window, you will know there is nothing you cannot achieve that day. That feeling lasts at least until the early afternoon when you make your second brew.
I know it sounds too good to be true, but I perhaps haven't made you a breakfast, yet.
What I am getting at is that I get to brew a lot of coffee and eat a lot of food, so this is a sort of poetic spoiler alert: there will be coffee posts up here. And most likely, I will have brewed and drunk them all, too.