Often, when attempting to get my brother and me to try some "new" food item, my Dad would bill it as a "taste treat." Far too often these taste treats would in fact be neither tasty nor a treat. Sorry, Dad, brussel sprouts were not enticing to a 9 year old. But, as we all do, I've become my parents and started adopting his little dad-isms.
This morning, as with every morning in recent memory, I was sipping on my freshly ground cup of French roast and thinking to myself that this is a true "taste treat." When Monday mornings trudge along and seem so inherently crappy, a hot mug of joe certainly does wake up my mind and body. I must say though, coffee-making didn't come instantly to me. The absolute key to my coffee-brewing success is my Cuisinart machine. Ah, sweet nectar of the gods! That machine magically measures the beans, grinds them, and makes a strong and vivacious cup of coffee.
Like Amélie Poulain, my life is all about the littlest pleasures: the freshest, pinkest raspberries; the deep blue of a Vermeer painting; the perfect crispness of a glass of Prosecco; the divine simplicity of an afternoon at the beach; the heavenly scent of a vanilla bean. Here I blog to celebrate the good life, la dolce vita, la belle vie. Cherish life's petits plaisirs and enrich your daily existence.
You should know that I take liberties with grammar, punctuation, & diction. Do not fear! I assure you I've been educated about the woes of abundant comma usage or the impropriety of ending a sentence with a preposition. Here, as this is not my dissertation, I write as I talk. I also make up words on occasion.
"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." -Ernest Hemingway