{.just a cup of coffee.}

by devourslowly

… by listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of – that a certain type of perfection can only be realised through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect.

Haruki Murakami, Kafta on the Shore

H and I rocked down to Panetone on Halsey early Saturday morning for a weekly sourdough stick and thought we treat ourselves to a couple of coffees.

As usual, he asked for his mocha and I asked for my long-black.

A side note:  Mocha is itself self-evident enough.  Short for Mochachino, also the name of L’s cat.  Coffee and frothy hot chocolate (the drink not the cat) for those who cannot quite decide whether to have a caffeine kick or a sugar kick.  A proclivity I definitely do NOT endorse.  H swears by it.  Long-black I must explain for the sake of those reading this outside of the Australasia region.  Basically a long-black consists of two shots espresso served with varying amounts of hot water to lessen the buzz.  Incidentally, down my end of the world we call a common espresso ‘short-black’.

Anyway, our drinks arrived.  Without ceremony nor any form of enquiry, the barista plunked the mocha in front of me and the long-black down for H.

I was suddenly struck with how often this happens to us when we dine out.  People always give H the long-black and me the mocha.  H always get served the warm blue steak and I would always get the medium rare. I also noticed that the side vegetables always get placed a little bit closer to my end of the table rather than H’s.  It is incredible how often people make assumptions before getting to know another person as to their gastronomic preferences.

Yes I concede I have played up to a few stereotypes in my times.  I am a sucker for dessert and often tuck into H’s dessert on top of my own.  I drive horrendously but because my Crumpet is a smashingly cute Citroen C3, it instantly communicates to my fellow road-users that I am a short female Asian and they should therefore double the 3-second-rule (or triple on a wet day).  I clap when I am excited.  I clap enthusiastically when I am very excited.  I wave everyone hello and goodbye.  I speak in an Asian accent when I am drunk.  By the way – my friends call me the ‘one glass wonder’.

I am ranting.  (A bit like David from Nick Hornby’s How to be Good.  Who by the way has the most unattractive personality.)  But being stereotypical in some respects does not automatically disqualify me from being … just me.  I am short and wear a dress.  I take my coffee black and my steak blue.  I like watching a decent match of ruggers or cricket like any normal Kiwi under the sun.  If you ever have a free ticket, please do offer to take me.  I will make you some cupcakes I promise.