Friday, March 20, 2009

Coffee President

I Like My Coffee How I Like My Presidents

by Trent Hartman

I like my coffee how I like my Presidents. Shade grown in Indonesia and cultivated on the hills of pacific islands, or grown by ancestors in the heartland of Kenya, the cradle of human civilization. Picked, dried and roasted by hand on what were once large coca fields, now running profitable organic ventures. I like my coffee like I like my President, drinking it first thing in the morning and digested with a glimmer of freedom knowing that is why I am a citizen of this world.

Fairly Traded to be consumed by an alleged free market from all parts of the world sometimes for $4.28 a cup. A marked up price attempted possibly batched by a bad barista, or so inorganically streamlined that you are assured it will get your day going. Or served from your

favorite cafe, by your best friend and barista who creates a simple cup of joe into a masterpiece. A delicious latte with a good friend, profound, articulate and innovative conversation to spark ideas that caress your eagerness to follow your dreams. I like my coffee like I like my Presidents, shared with cobblers and tailors, artists and CEOs at cafes around the world, short pulled espresso shots or hot and sweet like a Cuban cigar, sticky and dark like a Turkish or mastered to perfection with a small hand crafted dessert morsel.

I like my coffee like I like my President, economically bailed out or not, I still need it everyday, all day, and even sometimes at night, its the reassuring blend of filtered and roasted goodness that I am addicted to.

I like my coffee how I like my Presidents, black, bold and in the morning!

-- Trent Hartman
Meaningless Metaphors

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