Refilling the Cup

Image by NoName_13 from Pixabay

The machine hisses.

A cup settles into its saucer.
Steam rises like a quiet signal fire.
Somewhere, someone is already mid-sentence — negotiating a deal, confessing a doubt, planning a future.

Coffee has always been in the room when something begins.

This blog began in 2014.

It brewed for a while — recipes, reviews, reflections — and then, like many good intentions, it went quiet. Life accelerated. Priorities shifted. The writing slowed. The café lights dimmed.

But coffee didn’t go anywhere.

It kept shaping mornings.
It kept lubricating conversations.
It kept fueling markets, movements, and Monday meetings.

And somewhere in the background, the questions kept brewing.

Not just:
What roast tastes best?

But:

What did coffee change?
Who did it empower?
What did it disrupt?
What does it reveal about us?

This is the return — not to post more content, but to ask better questions.

Because coffee is not merely a drink.

It is ritualized wakefulness.
It is structured conversation.
It is portable energy.
It is infrastructure for ideas.

Across centuries, coffeehouses became laboratories of thought. In 17th-century London, they were called “penny universities.” In the Ottoman Empire, they were watched with suspicion because conversation can destabilize power. In early America, coffee replaced beer at breakfast — and sobriety reshaped productivity.

That’s not trivial.

That’s civilizational.

Coffee has been banned, taxed, smuggled, romanticized, demonized, commodified, and aestheticized. It has traveled from Ethiopian hillsides to Wall Street trading floors. It has empowered merchants and mystics, farmers and financiers, baristas and bureaucrats.

Every cup sits at the intersection of agriculture, anthropology, economics, and identity.

And yet, we mostly treat it as background noise.

We talk about notes of chocolate and citrus — which matter — but we rarely ask what the habit itself has built.

What happens when a society organizes its mornings around stimulation instead of sedation?
What happens when strangers gather daily in semi-public spaces designed for alert conversation?
What happens when a single crop connects millions of small farmers to global commodity markets?

Something larger is always brewing.

This renewed chapter of I Want More Coffee will explore that.

Not as a commercial venture.
Not as a trend-chasing platform.
But as an inquiry.

Each week, we’ll move through five movements:

A moment.
A pattern.
A question of power.
A bridge to today.
A closing reflection.

We’ll explore revolutions and rituals.
Espresso machines and empires.
K-cups and capitalism.
Ceremony and supply chains.
Faith and foam art.

Because small rituals shape large worlds.

And coffee — humble, bitter, beloved coffee — has quietly shaped more of ours than we realize.

The café is open again.

The questions are sharper.

The cup is full.

Until the next cup,
Stay curious. Stay caffeinated.
Brew thoughtfully.
History is always brewing.

Image by NoName_13 from Pixabay

Pop It!

I remember when Pop Rocks first came out in the 80's.  It was a hit.  Just imagine shards of sugar pieces with a secret surprise.  When they are hydrated with saliva, the pop rocks candy starts to crackle and pop.  It even has a sensation of popping in your mouth when you close it.  I heard some rumors however about a possible danger.  Drinking soda after consuming pop rocks  was said to pop your stomach.  Careful not to chance it being true, I stayed away from that.

Sips in Review

Dropped in to #i-teausa the other day and enjoyed a sip of the Honey Brown Rice MT.  It wasn't too sweet but the brown rice flavor was lacking.  Probably won't try this one next time except with maybe no sweetener, something I'm more used to.

Drop Everything

CF had a few proses to leave on the grave day it happened.  I like his smile for the way it seemed the core in his chest would bust out in bloom.

He said he calmly walked through the crowds who treated as just another passerby.  Such is a moment of grace for one with so many fans.  A moment's peace for him then, and unerring peace now.

Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra [Cover] by Julien Mueller

Blue

[Cross Post:  Time to Get Busy, from The Halo Halo Blog, with edits]

I remember what he told me before the day. Now, here I am passing each one by one by one until the blend into a blur. My routine changes in hopes to remember that I am not just passing the same day over and over.

I write, I create, I visit to see the places around me. Did you know that He never traveled more than two hundred miles in any direction from his birthplace. Even then, his effect was a shock wave hi and around and around to be for ever.

There is this place I remember. It is in the fields along a wall of rocks about waist high. It is at an intersection in the middle of the vineyard that there is a lone tree on a hilltop.

I never thought that I would follow so earnestly this tale and invitation. Half embarassed, it wasn't really me there when he talked of it. Just overheard from a reading passed on, a message left for someone I dearly hoped would be

me too.

It was a nother time.

An innocent man.

Disappeared. Exonerated.

I often wonder how that place might look, that place on the water. And so I fall asleep afoot of the tree from wandering. And in the waking back to the walking, I looked forward to the rise of the sun.

With hope.

A Cuppa Pike's

Sip in a Quiet Sunday

It was an afternoon like any other, only being hundreds of miles away from home.  I was on a stopover from my southbound journey by train, and it would be an overnight or more before I continued onward.

The hostel where I stayed was packed.  Backpackers travelling through this waterfront metro busily wandered about our floor preparing for an evening of sight seeing.  I found a flyer in the lobby downstairs that caught my attention.  A quick phone call and a reservation had me set for a special night on the water, for one.

Vancouver had been a wonderful one, laden with clean air and more waterfront views.  I told her it was so much like San Francisco, only cleaner and with less people.  We laughed about the locals and their accents, until I remindered here that people could pronounce their "r's" more easily than she.  In the silence I couldn't tell if it was annoyance or brooding embarrassment.  No worries, I could understand just as well, love, listens intently, no matter.

The market was a busy place.  It was just around the corner and up a steep hill from the hostel.  The weekday workers busily went about for their evening fare.  A broiled salmon and fresh vegetables would perhaps go well with a local bottle of wine.  Flushed from the walk, I step up to the walk where the vendors and sales of things fresh and delightful.  For sure, I would pass here on my last day in town for something to eat, and something to share for my reception back home.

Laughter exploded from the fish counter to my left.  Curious, I enjoyed the display of showmanship from the fishmongers behind their counter.  To pass their workday faster, they learned themselves to toss and catch their catch as fast as fast can go.  Take caution, low flying fish, my dears.

A tug at my arm at the table.  Is it that time to go, I thought lost in thought.  An appointment awaited and errands to be done.  A half cup full still, enough for the ride home.


Photo Credits

[1]:  A Corner Seat;  Photographer:  Rich Pascual, Location:  Downtown Pleasanton, California 

Brewing Up From the Underground

Scoot Along Now

It's a convenience to pick up your Java right as you step off the underground train.  Seriously though, coffee shops from above and below?  There seems to be enough demand among the throng flowing through the station.  Cheers.  Now scoot along and get to work!

Holiday Cheer

Beans and Brews Just Steps Away

There's a Starbucks coffee shop I pass each day on my morning walk to the office.  The lights on the trees nearby bring a smile to my face.  This has been a good year, and for what I haven't got there's an armload of gifts that have been with me on this life journey.

Step Up to the Bar

I got my first sip of the signature Christmas blend coffee at Starbucks.  I'm glad I acquired the treat of plain coffee.  Some say it's bitter.  It's not.

I like the idea of a seasonal variety because it leaves you always looking forward to the next time.  It's like that with cherry blossoms in bloom.  They're so beautiful but fragile and temporary at the same time.  The first rains and winds of spring knock them loose from the branches and then they're gone, until the next spring comes along.

There are many things that are certain.  It's only a matter of waiting long enough for them to return.  For that many understand the feelings of a joyous reunion and what it means in a universal sense.

Cycles and circles keep me spinning with anticipation.  Christmas is here again.  What have you given?  Let's find out!  Under a tree in the middle of a forest of concrete, I ponder and take myself another sip of spicy, smoky, dark brew.  I know, it's cool.

A Warm Brew and a Gift

Happy holidays to all my readers.  Even in the cold of winter, look for the blossoms that have continued to return faithfully to your life, and smile.

Rich
「お金持ち」

Gunpowder Tea

I first discovered this variety of tea at a tea shop in Boston. The name was so unusual, but it refers the way that the tea leaves are cured and prepared.  There can be many different flavors of tea with this style of preparation.  The photos show that it is tightly coiled up leaves in the form of pellets.  I like the flavor of this green tea as it resembles the flavor of fresh leaves... as it seems to have preserved the most intact form (I've seen) of tea leaves revealed in the reconstituted form.