Coffee, Glorious Coffee

in my early days in Seattle, when Starbuck's was a quaint hole in the wall place in the Pike Street Market with one more outlet at the University Village, I thought myself something of a connoisseur of coffee. I even had the , then, obliging girls at Starbuck's blend my special coffee
( 1/2 java, 1/4 Ethiopian and 1/4 Italian )
on request. Beans. To be ground just before making of coffee in, what in those days was a rarity, the French Press.
Oh, I was so full of it
so much so that when some friends and I went to a most wonderful pastry place, the name was something "Swiss Pastry"I seem to remember, and I glibly asked the rosy-cheeked and very young waitress, if they had "Latte'', when she asked for our preferences in coffee she said
No Sir,
But we have MJB.
and smiled angelically, feeling that she offered the best to be had in coffee.
So long ago, so many cups of coffee ago.
I thought of all this as I looked at the big bag of Starbuck's coffee that James and Kathy had given me and that I will appreciate as much as I did then, only in smaller doses, because otherwise I stay awake all night.
But the smell,
the taste.
Yeah.