Dear friends at Cinnamon Cup Coffee, a couple of days ago, some of my husband's family invited us for breakfast. My husband told me we were going to a Chinese restaurant, and I thought, "What could I possibly eat at a Chinese restaurant?" since I'm very particular about my food; I'd never even been to a Chinese breakfast before. Everyone in the family has a big appetite, and it doesn't matter if it's breakfast, lunch, or dinner; they're happy to eat whatever they want and they like trying new flavors. I, on the other hand, am the complete opposite, but oh well, they know how I am and they indulge me. They also put up with me, ha, ha, ha.
The truth is, we got up late that day, and so did they, and by the time we left, it was practically ten in the morning; of course, we left without having coffee. That made me really anxious. While we were driving there, there was traffic, and the place was quite far away; I was dying for my coffee, but since I was a guest, I behaved myself. That day, I jokingly told my husband that I'd rather just bring my boiled egg and coffee, but the funniest thing was that when we got down to the parking lot, my cousin called me over shyly and gave me a cookie just in case I didn't like anything I saw.
We finally arrived at the place; while we strolled around looking for a table, one of them, who knew the place well, agreed that I could watch the table while they went to choose what they wanted to eat. On the way back, she looked for me to see what I felt like. Well, what can I say? While she kindly described the different types of filled bread to me, to see if I wanted any, I couldn't find one that appealed to me, since the fillings were all different: chicken, beef, bacon, and the thought of eating them cold wasn't my thing. We went around three times and I decided I didn't want anything.
To drink, it was a very tasty, refreshing, natural fruit beverage. I assumed that my cousin, given the time—it was almost noon and the heat—had recommended the drinks, and the three of them had already chosen their juices. When she asked me, I was undecided, already resigned, because if it was breakfast, I preferred coffee. Then, suddenly, I caught that characteristic, passionate aroma, and looking around, I saw the staff filling up coffee on a tray. That was my special moment, my moment of glory; everything changed, everything seemed beautiful, and the coffee, a cappuccino, made me so happy that I simply had it with a traditional Chinese bun, and my breakfast was transformed into something special.
I'm a picky eater, but a few simple things fill my whole being when it's what I crave.
