An Ode To Diner Coffee

Oh diner coffee. Your mug so thick, off-white and heavy in my hand. Your taste so reviving. Your smell all-encompassing.

When I was little, and living in Tucson, AZ, my mom used to take me to Village Inn. (Which, at the time, did not feel like an over-commercialized schlepy Denny’s.)  She would get a cup of coffee. I would get a hot chocolate (lots of whipped cream, please!). And we would split of a piece of pie.

This is when my love affair with those big, thick ceramic mugs started.

Sometime in grad school I got hooked on black coffee. That’s when I fell in love with diners. The coffee at diners is always better. Better than Starbucks. Better than Filter Coffeehouse. Why? Because something about diner coffee warms my soul. It’s where I go on cold, winter nights after hours of cramming for exams. It’s where you go with your mom to talk about life. It’s where you go for brunch with girlfriends.

Over diner coffee, I have made the best memories, had the best laughs and cried my best tears.

Cheers, diner coffee.

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