Coffee, Tea, You and Me

I come from a mixed marriage.

My moth- er could not function without two pots of coffee daily.

My father, on the other hand, drank hot tea every day before going to work.

So my own mixed marriage seemed normal. Not that I had always identified as a coffee drinker. As a child, I stole a taste from a grownup’s cup. Bleah! I vowed I would never, ever, consume such bitter stuff.

At age 13, though, I grew desperate. Every morning when I awakened, my skinny legs had grown another inch. My feet had grown two.

Common wisdom declared that coffee stunted a person’s growth. All right, I would choke it down.

Mom left numerous cups of cooled coffee — with five children, she did not finish one for 20 years — around the house. I sampled the cups, then held my nose and drained them.

Sure enough, I stopped growing at five feet, nine inches.

During midlife, I swallowed the idea that drinking coffee also would shrink my waistline. Like Mom, I chug a couple of pots a day (one decaffeinated). So far, the intake has not diminished my waistline a single inch. Maybe if I give up the decaf …

My husband, on the other hand, wants nothing to do with coffee. But once, decades ago, he did condescend to purchase a cup at an Indiana University football game. An ice storm exacerbated that miserable Saturday (we were losing). Spectators, players, and even the band exchanged snowballs and unflattering comments. Hubby and I could not leave, of course. Loyal I.U. fans, we had paid for season tickets.

I survived by drinking quarts of coffee. He, on the other hand, was told the concession stand did not sell hot tea. So he bought a cup of the drink he had loathed all his life.

He did not consume one spoonful. Hubby used the cup warm his gloveless hands.

How the son of two confirmed coffee drinkers abandoned his heritage, I do not know. They scratch their heads as well — and buy teabags whenever we visit.

In the past, my husband appeared content with the inexpensive brand I purchased. Eventually, though, he discovered fancier teas. I blame our daughters and their husbands for his progressive addiction.

One Christmas, our younger daughter gave him an electric teapot. It promptly absconded with a section of my kitchen counter space, plus the extra outlet I had kept free for my crockpot, waffle maker and George Foreman.

“Did you see that?” I hissed to Mr. Coffee. “That teapot’s taking over the world!”

Mr. Coffee burbled his displeasure, loud and clear.

Worse, our elder daughter gifted her father with an assortment of gourmet loose teas from snooty websites. Now, nothing will do except his favorite loose Zenith British Premium Offblack-with-a-touch-of-citrus Tea.

“Just what am I supposed to do with the case of Cheapo Creepo Teabags I bought you?” I demand.

He snorts. An aristocratic snort. “A proper tea steeps to a full, rich flavor. That ‘tea’ you bought tastes like yard waste.”

Not only is he turning Downton Abbey before my eyes, he has developed his own tea ceremony — minus the geishas, fortunately. Still, the Japanese have nothing on him.

First, he rinses out his cup — one that used to be our cup — and fills the electric pot. He carefully measures the tea from its air-tight, crystal cannister into an infuser. To add water before it boils is a sin that will wreck the family karma of a hundred generations past and present. (Though shoving a cupful into the microwave with a previously used Cheapo Creepo Teabag probably already has done that.) Then, the tea must steep for five minutes. Exactly.

How does Hubby accomplish that? He sets a tea alarm on his phone.

We have a mixed marriage. He maintains an elite tea bar. I cherish my coffee bar. Even cranky Mr. Coffee.

Worse, we have perpetuated the beverage clash in our family.

Both our daughters drink coffee. Our son drinks tea.

Which legacy will our grandchildren choose? Tune in to the next generation.